AN- Okay. So I blame my obsession with high school fics and the lack of them in the fandom to start yet another high school fic. Maybe I was missing Live Wire, or maybe I was just inspired by the latest season of Sex Education on Netflix. Either way, Erandi was the driving force behind me starting this as she was supposed to be the one doing a fic based on the show, but instead, I am doing it. This will be a little bit different from the show as I am doing my own spin on it, but it has almost the same premise. I really hope you guys like it!
P.S. Shoutout to Maggie who came up with the name. You are amazing deary.
Unfinished Business
Chapter One: Jaded
Killian grimaced, shifting uncomfortably in his bed as a fine dusting of drywall rained down on him from above. There was a persistent squeaking of bed springs emanating overhead creating a symphony of sound with the accompanying noises of the headboard knocking rhythmically against the wall. Matters were only made worse by the cacophony of moans and pleasurable screams that centered around the activity mere feet above his head.
Groaning, he fisted the pillow underneath his head and folded it around his ears to muffle the animalistic noises. He kicked at the annoying sheets wrapped around his legs that prevented him from moving and flung himself onto his stomach, burying his head into the mattress to wait for the moment the madness ended.
His wish was granted when he heard heavy footfalls down the steps followed by the front door slamming shut behind his mother's 'guest.' He couldn't help the sense of relief that flowed through him and he rolled himself back onto his back, noting the obvious discomfort between his legs as he did so.
His eyes drifted to the throbbing erection tented in his boxers and let an annoyed sigh tumble from his lips at its awkwardly timed existence. "Christ," he exhaled sharply as he ran his fingers through the wild mop of hair on top of his head.
Most teenagers would be woken to the sound of an alarm clock blaring — but not him. No. He was often treated to the shrill sounds of his mother climaxing — sounds that she made with her latest conquest that rivaled the Philharmonic.
It was rude awakenings such as this one that made him crave an ordinary life. Killian Jones' life was anything but ordinary for nothing could be normal when your mother is a sex therapist.
Hooking his grip into the elastic waistband of his boxers, he slowly lifted the material and craned his neck to peer inside the bulging fabric. He winced at the sight of his rigid cock standing at attention, the hardened flesh already starting to leak precum at the tip.
In the middle of his inspection the door burst open. "Good morning darling," his mother greeted him with a peppy upbeat demeanor having just been thoroughly and satisfyingly shagged.
"Mum!" He exclaimed, his eyes bulging in horror at her presence in the doorway. He released the waistband of his boxers with a firm snap at his hips and yelped in pain as he fell backward onto the mattress.
Crossing his arms over his bare chest, he twisted himself onto his stomach and pushed himself into his pillow to yell a stream of obscenities into it. "What are you doing here?" He demanded gruffly, the pillow capturing the majority of his voice into its cold embrace.
"Sorry? Can't understand you underneath all that teenage brooding, love," she answered dryly before lifting her cup of tea to her lips and taking a long pull of its contents.
Popping his head out from the pillow with a groggy expression on his face from having been so abruptly awaken before his alarm, he openly glared at his mother who stood in the doorway — her housecoat haphazardly tied at her waist, a gentle flush to her otherwise pale cheeks, and shoulder length hair wildly tousled.
"Mum, we've talked about boundaries. You can't just go waltzing in here without knocking," Killian moaned in a low gravelly voice that was still hoarse from sleep. "I'm not a child anymore," he grumbled in frustration.
"Yes. That much is quite apparent judging by the rather large erection you are sporting this morning," she noted without the faintest hint of shame or hesitation in her voice. "I can see it is causing you a fair bit of distress, would you like to talk about it?" She offered sincerely as she nursed her tea.
"Christ, mum! No!" He said shrilly. "You know—" he grabbed the sheets and placed them over his body to shield himself from his mother's prying eyes and maneuvered himself onto his side.
"You know, most 16 year-olds aren't greeted by their mothers commenting about their penis'," he told her, hoping to appeal to her sense of reason. "Please, I am begging you. Can you just be a proper mum?"
"Like the kind that make Sunday breakfast and drive carpool?" She wondered, cocking a curious brow in his direction.
"Yes," he sighed in relief that she understood his plea for normalcy.
"Yeah," she acknowledged distastefully. "Not going to happen," she stated firmly with a slightly amused grin gracing her lips.
In all the years he had known the woman who gave birth to him, she had never conceded to anything a day in her life. She was the most stubborn and resolute woman he had ever known, with the petulant need to be right about everything and have the last word on just about anything. So it had been unsurprising that she didn't resign herself to his cause and give up her livelihood for intrusive behavior.
"Now hurry up darling. You're going to be late for school," she told him with a cheshire grin before closing the door with a soft click.
"Ugh," he groaned once more, kicking at the mattress in frustration. "I need a bloody lock on my door," Killian roared into the pillow before glancing up to look at the blinking numbers on the alarm clock next to his bed which read— 6:30 A.M.
"Bugger," he cursed, blinking rapidly to remove the sleep from his eyes. He rubbed his eyelids, hoping to God above that he could hide the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. Between the rigorous rocking of the bed and the non-stop moaning, he had hardly gotten a wink of sleep.
Rolling onto his back with a concerted grunt, he blew the stray hair from his forehead and then sat up. Smoothing his ruffled black hair, he glanced around his room, the sunlight streaming in through the slight openings in the curtains.
His eyes fell upon the posters spattered about the walls bearing the names of his favorite bands — Oasis, The Cure, The Smiths, Queen, David Bowie, and Led Zeppelin to name a few. Opposite him was an opening separating the two sections of his room was square shelving containing numerous vinyl records and the record player with which to play them. Beyond the shelving was a beat up leather sofa next to his drum set — a thing of beauty with its silver hardware and glossy shell just begging to be played.
Gathering his legs, he tucked his knees into his chest and rocked gently, his feet digging into the mattress underneath him as he willed his erection to go down. He closed his eyes trying to imagine all sorts of disgusting scenarios ranging from naked grandmothers and his principal in a peculiar position, but it was all to no avail. There was no way this thing was going to rid itself on its own.
"Killian!" His mother yelled from the other side of the house.
"Alright! Alright! I'm up!" He screamed his reply, cringing at the double meaning of his words. He glimpsed down at the prominent bulge and muttered, "up is an understatement."
Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he placed a hand on either side of him and pried himself up from the bed. Once standing, he let out a long languid yawn and stretched his achy muscles. He padded through his room and threw the door open, setting off toward the bathroom.
Absent-mindedly, he pushed the door to the bathroom open and wasted no time going over to the shower. He pulled the shower curtain to grant him access to the tap, and turned it on, jerking the knob violently to its coldest setting. The freezing temperature was either going to bring down his throbbing erection or consequently turn him into a human ice lolly, but it was a risk worth taking. There was no way he was going to school with a raging hardon.
Gripping the waistband of his boxers resting at his hips, he dragged the material down his legs until it pooled at his feet. He stepped out of them with ease, kicking them off to the side with his foot before leaning over the shower to test the chilly waters.
He retracted his hand just as fast as he had put it under the spray and shivered at its unforgiving touch. "Bloody hell," he cursed, backing away from it as if his body could sense the impending danger.
He gritted his teeth, seething at his predicament and trained his head toward the ceiling, berating himself. Killian took a moment to cross himself and then took the plunge, deciding to go into its icy depths rather than working up to it.
It was like ripping off a bandage — he didn't need to give himself a moment of hesitation or he would have never gone through with it. However, at this moment, he was regretting his decision. He inhaled sharply, the chilly water beating down upon his skin. The cold temperature was punishing, the water rendering him incapable of rational thought.
Killian shuttered violently, his mouth parting at the shock overwhelming his body. Folding into himself protectively, he began moving around the shower awkwardly to disperse the cold water over his flesh.
His eyes darted down to his straining length in disappointment. Gripping the base of his cock, he turned it over in appraisal, noting the angry protruding veins from his neglect. "Come on!" He screamed at it, begging and pleading for its merciful discontinuance.
Wincing, he placed it under the spray with a strangled, "ah." Holding himself steady underneath the spray, he could see it slowly starting to go down. He breathed a sigh of relief, the steady stream rendering that part of his body useless — completely devoid of sexual need.
"Yes," he moaned. "Yes. God yes," he felt his cock go limp in his grasp. Once out of the woods, he immediately took his trembling hand and turned the faucet the opposite direction to combat his piercing skin with warmth.
He resumed his normal hygienic itinerary, washing his body and running shampoo into his scalp before shutting off the tap and retreating from the shower. Claiming the towel on the rack, he wrapped around his lower half and moved toward the mirror.
He wiped the fog from the mirror with his forearm and fisted the edge of the sink and stared at his reflection. Turning his head, he inspected his jaw lined with a fine dusting of dark hair, the deep blue hue in his eyes underneath his long dark lashes, his thick brows, and his full lips. He ruffled his wet locks for an easy purposeful unkempt look.
"Today is going to be a great day," he told his reflection in the mirror, surprising himself by how convincing he sounded.
Killian finished his morning routine and walked into the kitchen dressed for the day. He was in the process of pushing his arm into the sleeve of his leather jacket when he rolled his eyes at his mother sitting in front of the paper at the kitchen table.
"Nice shower I presume?" She teased with a smirk, her eyes shining with a hint of mirth as she pressed her lips to the rim of her cup.
He shook his head in aggravation as he sank his arm into the leather and stretched it so it fit over his lean muscular build. "Don't you have a sexually oppressed client to tend to? Perhaps some derelict man who is fantasizing about fucking animals?" He supposed with a slight shrug as he adjusted the collar around his neck.
"Not until nine. And I believe the particular appointment you mentioned isn't until mid-afternoon. Sorry to disappoint you, love," she licked her thumb and turned the page to the classified ads at the back of the paper.
"I don't know why you waste your time with a physical copy of the paper when you can read it on your phone," he said as he strode over to the counter where an open loaf of bread stood next to a half lidded jar of raspberry jam.
"It doesn't contain the classifieds," she informed him, her eyes roving over the pleas of the complicated souls littering the page.
"There is a better way to solicit clients than searching the classifieds," he replied, tugging open the drawer and pulling out a butter knife.
"It's for research," she didn't bother looking up from the page when she spoke.
"Sure it is," he said skeptically as he dropped a slice of bread in the toaster and waited for it to heat. Drumming his hands against the ledge of the counter, rocking to a beat in his head that only he could hear, he glanced up at the window to see a moving truck parked in the driveway of his neighbors house.
"Mum, are the Pauls moving?" He inquired with a slightly raised brow as he leaned forward to get a better look at the commotion next door.
"Don't be daft son, they moved out weeks ago. They must be the new neighbors," she responded without the slightest interest.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked slowly, craning his neck to survey the movers unloading furniture from the truck and into the house for any clue into the family that now occupied the residence. He continued to stare out the window with a keen curiosity when a flash of blonde curls caught his immediate attention.
She was pacing on the balcony in a blur of gold and black, paying no mind to the going ons around her as she studied the phone in her hand. She proceeded to chew on her fingernails nervously, her head bobbing up and down to a song flowing through the earbuds secured in her ears.
Turning on her heel awkwardly, she staggered and raised her head from her phone to see him staring at her from the window. She wrinkled her face in distaste and narrowed her gaze to meet his. She looked pissed — a little more than angry at his intrusion on her private moment. Shifting her stance, she pressed her tongue against her cheek and raised her middle finger to flip him off.
His eyes widened and he backed away from the window, ducking his head slightly from view.
"Darling?" His mother popped her head up and glanced over toward the smoking toaster to alert him to his burning breakfast.
That's when his nose finally registered the pungent smell of burning bread, the vapors rising from the kitchen appliance confirming his suspicions. Placing his arm over his mouth and nose to block the fumes, he began to cough. "Buggering fuck," he began to fan the smoke wafting from the toaster and managed to raise the lever to reveal the blackened toast. "Great. Just great," he grumbled in frustration.
"You don't have time to make another, do you?" She wondered with a faint laugh on her lips.
"No," he confirmed with a growl and whirled around. He stomped through the kitchen, murmuring under his breath as he moved to collect his messenger bag sitting by the backdoor. With a look of annoyance on his face, he set his jaw and threw open the back door.
"Have a good day at school, darling," she called out to him before she heard the abrupt slam of the front door.
That was the third strike against him today. First the restless night, the painful erection followed by the cold and bracing shower, and now the bloody toast — this day was destined to be complete and utter crap.
Throwing the strap of his back over his shoulder, he shuffled to the driveway and took his keys out of his pocket. He strode over to the all black 1970s Chevy Chevelle parked in the drive. Much like his shit father it was American made, and the only thing his father left behind when he walked out on him and his mum several years ago.
Turning the key in the lock, he pushed the door open and slid inside the restored leather interior. He closed the door behind him with a thud and removed his bag from his shoulder and tossed it into the back seat. He pulled the phone from his pocket and unlocked it to glance over the numerous text messages from the same number all of them wondering where the hell he was.
Gripping the phone in his hand he sent out a quick message: Running Late. Be there in 5.
"Fuck," he sighed miserably and threw his phone into the seat beside him before securing his seat belt and bringing the vintage sports car to a rumble underneath him. He revved the engine and placed his foot on the break so he could put the car in reverse.
Turning in his seat, he placed his arm around the headrest on the passenger side and slowly began to back out of the driveway. A quarter of the way into the street, his eyes widened in panic as a yellow bug came into view, inches away from being hit by his own car. He barely had time to hit the break when the bug came to a screeching halt behind him. He put the car in park and opened his door to look out at the late model Volkswagen and assess the situation.
The owner of the bug already had the window rolled down and was seething in rage. "Look much, asshole?"
"I'm sorry lass. I wasn't paying attention. I've got a lot on my mind and I—" he stammered awkwardly.
"Of course you don't," she pressed her lips together and tightened her grip on the steering wheel when she noticed just was driving the car that had just nearly hit her. "Oh, it's you," she opened and closed her mouth. "No. I suppose you do plenty of looking—" she amended her prior statement.
"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" He blanched, slightly taken aback by the comment.
"Don't pretend that I didn't see you gawking at me this morning," she tossed him a mischievous smile, looking at him behind her dark eye makeup.
"I wasn't—" he gritted his teeth and inwardly cursed himself. "I wasn't gawking," he averted his gaze and scratched behind his ear.
"Whatever you say perv," she glared at him with a concealed threat in her expression as she began to pump the window up with the manual crank. "Nice shirt by the way," she complimented, giving him no time to respond when she turned the volume up on her stereo and sped off.
He tugged his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes bulging at the encounter as he watched the yellow bug blasting Nine Inch Nails drive away. He gave himself a few moments to collect himself before getting back into the car and headed off in the opposite direction.
Killian pulled up in front of her house a few minutes later. He fidgeted in his seat, one hand placed on the steering wheel while he fiddled with the knob on the stereo until he found a station he liked. He sat back into his seat, his shoulders visibly relaxing as Pink Floyd filtered in through the speakers.
He heard the slam of the front door of the house and snapped his head to see the female figure approaching the car, her dark hair flowing in the wind as she walked. She rounded the back of the car and he followed her using the rear view mirror, his aviators slipping down the bridge of his nose.
He didn't make eye contact with her when she opened the door and placed herself into the passenger seat with an exasperated huff. "You're late!" She complained, the sound of her voice grating on his ears.
She pushed her seatbelt into place and brushed the hair trapped behind her neck. "Where the hell were you?" She demanded in obvious annoyance.
He turned his head slightly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye with a dubious expression hidden underneath his shades.
"Are you even going to look at me?" She asked him pointedly.
Killian sighed, rolling his head against the back of the seat as he pinched his nose in annoyance.
"Ugh," she scoffed. "Turn this trash off," she leaned forward and turned the knob aggressively to shut off the music.
"What the hell Milah?" He interjected, his mouth slightly agape at her behavior. "I was listening to that—"
"You seem rather distracted this morning. Maybe you'll focus better without all of that—" she wrinkled her nose in distaste as she circled her hand around in the air.
"That noise just happened to be Pink Floyd," he corrected her.
She blinked at him, her lips pursed, disinterest evident in her eyes.
"You know. Roger Waters. The Wall," he told her with a bewildered look in his eye.
"Is that supposed to mean anything to me?" She asked incredulously and turned her nose up when she caught sight of what he was wearing. "You aren't honestly going to wear that are you?"
"What is wrong with it?" He pulled his shirt taut and looked it over in confusion. "It's The Ramones."
"Honestly, I don't know why you dress like that—" she pulled the visor and looked herself over in the mirror, blotting the color on her lips.
"Let's just get to class," he shook his head in aggravation and put the car into drive for the silent ride to school.
He gave her a few sideways glances, watching nauseatingly as she primped herself in the mirror. Pushing his sunglasses further up his nose, he concentrated on the road before him until they were pulled up into the school parking lot.
She pressed her lips tightly together, staring out the windshield longingly as she tried to put her best face forward and prepare for the day ahead. She could sense his presence beside her but refused to meet his gaze as she shoved open the door.
"Milah, can we—" he wasn't able to finish his thought when he jolted at the sound of the car door slamming shut. "Sure Killian, let's discuss why you don't want to fuck me?" He supposed, putting on his best impersonation of his disgruntled girlfriend.
"Ugh!" He screamed out in frustration, With his hands still placed on the steering wheel in front of him, he jerked himself back and forth in his seat. "Fucking imbicile," he grunted as he took his bag from the back seat and exited his viechle.
"Killian! My main man!" He was greeted by the sound of Will's voice. The teen in question strode over to him and flung his arm around his shoulder, escorting him over to their mutual group of friends. Killian offered him a sheepish smile as he suddenly found himself amidst his best mates Robin and Graham.
"Killian, in all your wise and experienced wisdom — I need you to tell these blokes righere' what a tight pussy feels like," Will recruited him for the task of educating them with something he knew nothing about. However, Will didn't know that. The only one who knew was Robin.
"This tosser right here is a bloody legend, ain't that right Killian?" Will shook him slightly as Killian tossed Robin a look of apprehension wanting nothing more than to avoid the topic of conversation altogether.
"Killian, can't tell you that," Robin spoke up, registering Killian's wide eyes but silently urging him to calm down. "He has a particular affinity for loose women. He wouldn't know a tight cunt from a cave."
Will chuckled, shaking his head and ruffling Killian's hair, which Killian immediately tried to smooth down. "You alright, mate?" Will asked him.
"Sure. Everything's great," Killian tried his best to conceal the unease in his voice and craned his neck slightly to make eye contact with Milah from across the lot. She sneered at him and then immediately turned her back toward him to converse with her friends.
"Ouch," Will winced, patting him on the shoulder. "What the hell you'd do? She looks right pissed."
"It's nothing. She's been in a bloody mood lately," Killian kicked the ground with the toe of his boot and stroked his chin.
"Time of the month, eh?" Graham mused.
"No, you wanker. Why do all men think that all women on their periods are bitches?" Killian demanded, meeting the bewildered gazes of those surrounding him. "Don't be a dick."
Graham threw his hands up in surrender and backed away a few paces. "Didn't expect to be therapized today," Graham muttered under his breath.
"Graham, if anyone needs therapy it is you for your stupid mesochinistic comments. Grow up!" Killian roared, grazing Will's shoulder as he cut through the group and stormed off toward the entrance to the building.
"Blimey, she sure did a number on him. I guess dating the hottest girl in school is finally taking a toll on him," Will scrubbed his hand down his face, his mouth slightly agape. "Do you know what this is about?" He looked toward Robin for guidance.
"No," Robin shook his head. "Haven't got a clue. But let me catch up with him and see if I can't beat it out of him," he suggested to a few nods of agreement.
"Fill us in later, aye?" Will called out to him as he walked away and Robin threw his hand up in the air to signal his understanding.
Killian rushed past the group of girls near the entryway and briefly made eye contact with his girlfriend as he whizzed by. Her mouth parted slightly at the distressed look in his eyes and she whirled around to face her friends.
"Oh my gosh Milah. You are so lucky—" Belle gushed, her cheeks reddening.
"He really is gorgeous Milah," Jasmine peeked around the corner to catch a glimpse of him walking away and giggled.
"I'm into lady parts and even I have to admit that is a fine piece of ass," Ruby hummed, teeming with excitement.
"Yeah. Super lucky," she flashed her eyes toward the ground, the lie leaving her lips, the longing evident in her voice.
"Hey, Killian! Wait up!" Robin cried out, jogging down the hallway after him.
Killian ignored him, focusing on the trek to his locker. He turned the corner sharply, his eyes squinting in annoyance as they fell upon his locker. He stopped in front of it, throwing his bag down onto the floor with an exasperated huff then began to punch the combination into the dial.
"Killian!" Robin breathed, panting slightly as he closed the distance between them. "Are you going to tell me what the hell that was back there?" Robin looked over his shoulder to illustrate his words.
Killian pursed his lips, side-eying his friend with contempt as he thrust open his locker. "Are you really going to make me say it?" He twisted himself to the side, a hand poised on the door of his locker.
"Still having trouble wanking?" Robin assumed, shifting the backpack on his shoulder and placing himself against the wall of lockers next to Killian. "Not quite 'up' to the task, eh?"
"Can you not be a bloody ponce for one second?" Killian growled, glaring at him as he reached for a book from his locker.
"Sorry," Robin offered him a meaningful shrug and encouraged him to continue.
"It can get hard and I wank just fine thank you. I just can't—" he shook his head punitively, fearful to say the words aloud.
"Finish? Jizz? Climax? Come?" He listed off synonyms like he was reading off a damned grocery list.
Killian gave him an extremely vexxed look as he shoved the book into his bag.
"I'm sorry you can't have the big 'o,' Robin provided his sympathies, perhaps a little too loud for Killian's liking.
"Oy, mate," Killian scolded and inched toward him. "Keep your voice down. I don't want the entire bloody school to know that I'm impotent," he dropped his voice into a low timbre as he said the last word.
"Killian, you aren't impotent. You are far too young," Robin argued reasonably. "You are just going through some shit—"
"If this is me 'going through some shit' then I am standing in a bloody sewer!" Killian muttered violently, frustrated by his own body. "For the love of Christ, help me," he pleaded with him.
"I know you can't, but she can—" Robin nodded his head, urging his troubled friend to follow his thought process.
"Yeah. What's your point?" Killian deadpanned, arching a curious eyebrow.
"So, what's preventing you from you know—" Robin separated his pointer and middle fingers and placed it over his mouth, darting his tongue between the v-shape his fingers created on his face to demonstrate his suggestion.
"Christ, mate. What the hell is wrong with you?" Killian spluttered, slapping Robin's hand away from his face and giving a sheepish smile to passersby. "Can you make it more obvious? Honestly, if you aren't going to offer any helpful advice then you can just fuck right off."
Killian slammed his locker shut with an audible thud and moved to turn around when he was yanked back by Robin. "Wait. Killian. Just wait—" he urged him calmly, dropping his voice lowly. "Have you seriously not tried to get her off?"
"Whatya think?" Killian tapped his foot impatiently as his hand tightened its grip on the stap of his bag.
"Why the hell not?" Robin nearly screamed at him.
"You know exactly why not," Killian told him. "If I do anything to her I'm going to get all pent up and she is going to insist that she you know 'do something' about it and I can't have—" Killian stammered anxiously and fidgeted where he stood.
"Okay. Okay. Okay," Robin held out his palms to calm him down. "Don't burst a blood vessel, okay? Let's think, aye?" Robin stood pensively for a moment and then broke out into a grin when he had a thought. "When was the last time you tried to jerk off, maybe things have changed since—"
"They haven't," Killian told him, darting his tongue between the opening of his mouth to lick his lower lip. "I tried last night and I woke up with my member as hard as a fucking tree trunk," he shouted with a whisper only to have people give him wayward looks. "Damnit," Killian brought his forearm to his mouth and paced where he stood.
"Since when are you shy about sex? You're mum is a bloody sex therapist," Robin reminded him with a slight smirk.
"Keep your fancy for my mum to yourself," Killian pushed him back slightly. "And do answer your 'burning' question. It was when everyone started making such a big deal of it. Look around you mate, everyone is fucking."
Robin looked over his shoulder and wrinkled his face in distaste to see a guy behind him openly scratching his crotch. Killian followed his eyes and quickly located the vile display going on to his back.
"Well, maybe not everyone," Killian amended, shuttering slightly as he tried to push the memory of what he had just witnessed from his head. "But loads of people are. Everyone but me," he dug his finger into his chest.
"Well you, and him," Robin corrected, nodding toward him while he held his fist to the corner of his lips to keep the building laugh from escaping his mouth. "Besides, when did you give a fuck what people think?"
"I don't. I mean I do. Not really," Killian shook his head vehemently.
"Then stop worrying about it," Robin waved his hand in dismissal.
"Easy for you to say, you can jerk off to completion while I'm here stuck in—"
"Sexual limbo?" Robin finished for him, wincing slightly as he waited for the onslaught that was soon to follow for his insensitive comment.
"Ugh," Killian groaned, rolling his eyes. He spun around and muttered, "call me when you have actual valuable advice."
"Come on, you have to appreciate the humor in all of this!" Robin appealed to him, calling out to him as he walked away.
Killian scoffed, picking up his pace and flipped him off as he went.
"Love you too, mate!" Robin cupped his hands around his mouth, letting his voice carry through the hallway to reach Killian's ears. "Fuck, that boy is a goddamn mess," he mused to himself.
Killian stumbled into his homeroom, his eyes flitting toward the clock on the back wall before sliding into his seat. Leaning back in his chair, he scooted himself toward the edge and spread his feet out wide in front of him. He stared blankly at the chalkboard in front of him, only stopping to glare at Robin as he took his seat closer to the window. Some friend Robin was — useless bastard.
Robin craned his neck toward him, offering him an apologetic smile to which Killian replied by motioning him slitting his throat. Robin scowled at him like a two-year-old and Killian turned himself in his seat just as the teacher was making her way to the front of the classroom.
"Okay. Okay. Everyone settle down now," she urged everyone as she looked down at a piece of paper in her hand containing the day's announcements. She opened her mouth to speak and was immediately interrupted by a voice coming over the intercom overhead.
"Jones — Can Killian Jones come to the front office? The headmaster would like to see you," the voice said and Killian's eyes drifted to his teacher's, who promptly tilted her head toward the door with an insistent look in her eye.
"Fine," he mouthed in annoyance and a slight eye roll as he lifted himself out of his seat and removed himself from the classroom.
During the short walk to the headmaster's office, he rummaged through his mind for any just cause for the headmaster's sudden invitation, but came up empty. What the hell had he done to warrant such a visit? For the life of him, he couldn't think of one.
Striding through the open door of the front office, he stopped at the front desk to announce his presence. "Hi, I'm—"
"Jones, get in here," he could barely get out his name before he was being called into the headmaster's office.
Opening the door cautiously, he poked his head into the crack and met the man's stern gaze. "You rang?" Killian inquired with a curious and unenthusiastic brow, taking in another body in the chair before his desk.
"Glad you could grace us with your presence Mr. Jones. There is someone I would like you to meet Emma Nolan," he introduced, gesturing to the young woman sitting in the chair. "I expect you to make her feel welcome when you show her around our prestigious campus," he told him with a slight pep in his tone.
"I what? I didn't volunteer—" The words died in his mouth when his eyes landed on the familiar blonde he had encountered earlier that morning.
She turned to look at him, her eyes finding his as a teasing grin split her face in recognition. "I think we've already met," she noticed. "Jones, was it?"
He gulped at her appearance and he scratched the back of his neck nervously.
Fuck.
AN- Okay. No one freak out that Dashing Pirate and Rate My Professor haven't been updated yet. I am working on it. Professor Killy is almost finished but the smut flowing in both of these fics was just fucking persistant and I don't think you guys will mind that. Like I said, this is a little different from the show but has some of its charm. This is a very different version of Killian than what everyone is used to. There will be plenty of smut, don't worry. But you guys have to bear with me a bit. I tried to put to use some of the quaint British terminology and culture into it and I really hope I didn't offend anyone. I think it is just so darn cute. I really hope you guys like it and aren't turned off by it at first glance. There is a reason and purpose for everything, I promise. Have I ever steered you guys wrong? Please, let me know your thoughts on it.