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Chapter 7

Kurt had an interesting rest of the weekend, to say the least. Sunday he more or less relaxed, then did homework, then went back to relaxing. He hung up various clothing that was strewn all over the floor, washed his three pairs (yes! He got three pairs!) of those sinfully-delicious-ass-hugging jeans, then carefully folded them neatly in his drawers. He cleaned the rest of his room, trying to distract himself from a certain pair of amber honey eyes that would not leave his mind.

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Monday morning Kurt walked to his locker, head swimming with thoughts of the teacher of his dreams. He tried to focus on his combination, but wasn't having much luck.

After a few tries, he finally got it open.

"Je ne peux pas attendre de vous voir en classe, Kurt..." (I can't wait to see you in class, Kurt.) A familiar voice spoke from behind the teen.

Kurt paused momentarily and smiled. He turned and saw Mr. Anderson who today wore a baby blue collared shirt with a red polka-dotted bowtie complete with beige slacks. Kurt trailed his eyes back up to Mr. Anderson's eyes getting lost in his gaze yet again. But then, THEN, Kurt noticed (OHGAWDKILLMENOW) the teachers' dark (usually gelled) hair was, in fact, curly. Like, his dark hair was a mess of tousled, sexyashell, CURLS.

Well, shit.

Kurt mumbled breathlessly, "GawdIloveyourcurls..." and he blushed a scarlett red as Blaine's eyes went wide.

"C'etait quoi, Kurt?" (What was that, Kurt?)

"I said, I wonder what it'd be like to run my fingers through that hair...." Kurt muttered.

"Tu veux tester cette theorie, Kurt?" (Wanna test that theory Kurt?) The teacher placed his arms across his broad chest, a sultry and expectant look spread across his face.

Kurt looked around the hallway for any watching eyes. Finding that no one was paying attention, he responded, "Pluie cheque, beau? (Rain-check handsome.")

Kurt ran a single finger down the teachers' face, the teasing tickle causing the man to close his eyes slowly at the touch.

Not letting Mr. Anderson even recover, Kurt continued, "Je vous verrai en classe puis sexy. (I'll see you in class then sexy.) And with that, the student walked away, purposefully swaying his hips, his new pants totally serving their purpose.

"Baise. (Fuck!)" Blaine exhaled; this boy would be the death of him. "Je veux absolutement tapez cet ane..." (I definitely wanna tap that ass...) Blaine finished with a whisper before licking his lips and he felt his pants tighten around his crotch.

Merde. (Shit)

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"Puck! Puck, wait up!" Kurt yelled rushing up to Noah Puckerman in the locker room. He panted between breaths, "I need a big favor..."

"Unh, unh. Nope. I'm not giving you potcakes again, Hummel. You want 'em? I need big bucks." He said as he grabbed his football jersey out of his locker.

Kurt gaped at him. "What?! NO! Not that!"

"What is it then. I'm running late. Coach Beiste is already pissed at me. Make it quick." Puck took his shirt off and put on his football pads, draping his jersey over.

"Iwantyoutobemyboytoy."

Puck looked flabbergasted. "I'm sorry? What was that?" he blinked.

"I want you to act like my boy toy...?" Kurt said more slowly, with hesitation.

"Why?..." Puck asked warily.

"There's this guy..." Kurt started, talking with his hands as well.

Puck slapped his forehead and rolled his eyes. "Of COOOOURSE... there's always a guy..." he mumbled, slamming his locker.

"C'mon! Please, Puck! I'll... I'll do anything..." Kurt begged.

Puckerman paused. "Last time someone said that I ended up in jail, Hummel. JAIL. Where they steal your Eggo Waffles, apparently." He made a face.

Kurt threw his hands up and shouted, "Shit! Noah, I'll buy you 100 Eggo Waffles! I'm desperate here!"

Puckerman raised an eyebrow and stuck out his hand saying, "Ok. Deal."

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