Ozzy waved goodbye to his Criminology teacher and shut the door, before leaning his back against the wall and breathing a sigh of relief. His first apology had gone well, much better than he could have ever imagined.
He'd arrived too late for the actual lesson, but luckily, the teacher had stayed behind to mark some of her second year students' essays, and he'd manage to catch her just as she was putting on her jacket to leave.
After listening to him read out his apology letter, she thanked him for his honesty, and showed him where they had got up to in the textbook, so he could catch up before the next class. She had been so much more understanding than Ozzy had expected, which made him feel even more guilty for having missed so many of her classes.
That was about to change, though. He was determined, for once in his life, to stick to his timetable and follow through on all of his commitments. He owed it to his teachers, to his coach, to Drix, and, most importantly, to himself.
He looked down at his watch and his eyes widened. 6:30pm?! God, I was in Roja's office for over an hour?
He sighed and adjusted the straps of his rucksack as he started walking down the corridor. It didn't feel like an hour. More like ten seconds and ten years at the same time. Like no matter how much time we had together it would never be enough, but equally, it's like I've known you forever.
He pushed on the door to the courtyard and squinted in the light. It's all so comfortable with you, so easy. I don't have to pretend to be anything I'm not, and neither do you. We understand each other, recognise each other, see each other as we are.
Ozzy looked up at the sky and inhaled deeply. I wonder if you feel the same. Sometimes I think that you do; the way you looked at me before, your eyes warm and lost and yearning, like they were trying to convey something you don't quite understand yet.
The way you held me so tightly, stroking my head and whispering into my cheek, as if you didn't want to let anything bad happen to me.
You made me feel so fucking safe, y'know? More than I can ever remember.
You must feel something for me, surely. We're not normal with each other, we never have been. I mean something to you, I know I do, I'm just not sure what that something is yet.
Ozzy frowned and shook his head. Stop it, Ozzy, don't do this to yourself. He wanted to get rid of you, he probably doesn't even have a meeting to go to tonight. He was just trying to get you to leave in the most polite way possible to avoid having you cry all over his sweater again like a fucking baby…
Just then, he was interrupted by the sound of his stomach grumbling, and he realised how long it had been since he'd eaten anything.
Normally he wouldn't be able to go two hours without stuffing his face with something greasy, sugary, or dripping in cheese, but he'd been so nervous about his review that he hadn't been able to get anything down all day, and he was currently running on that single chocolate that Professor Roja had given him.
Shit, how long can someone go without food before they literally just die? 'Cause I feel like I could keel over any fuckin' second.
He gripped onto his stomach and groaned as he felt another pang of hunger. God, I'm wasting away! I need to get some food in me, asap!
He ambled over to the first pizza place he could find, dragging his feet and wincing as he felt another gnawing sensation in his stomach.
He stopped just outside the door and looked up at the sign with a frown. 'Kidney Stone Baked Pizzas'. That sounds absolutely rancid, but it's gotta be better than literally starving to death here in the middle of the street, right?
He pushed on the door and shuffled over to the counter, before catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror that was hanging on the wall to the side.
God I look fuckin' awful… maybe I really am starvin' to death. He fiddled with his curls and pulled at his face, before sighing and letting his arms fall to his side.
I can't believe he saw me like this. He must've thought I was a right freak. Especially since he always looks so fuckin' good.
That sweater looked absolutely incredible on him, tight in all the right places, and, ugh, I almost fuckin' passed out when I saw he'd tied his hair up.
Ozzy tilted his head to the side and smiled to himself. What I wouldn't give to sit on his lap and pull his head back by his hair, pressing my tongue to his neck and dragging it up to his jaw while I trail my other hand down his stomach and slip it into his-
"Are ya gonna order, or what?" the cell behind the counter spat, bringing Ozzy back to reality again.
Ozzy blinked at him for a moment, before scrunching up his face into a scowl. "Yeah, yeah, don't get ya nucleus in a twist," he mumbled. "Gimme a double pepperoni and… and a large carbonara. Oh, and make sure to put extra cheese on it, will ya? And go easy on the mushrooms. Super duper easy."
"Pfft, whatever you say, pal," the pizza boy scoffed, prompting Ozzy to frown at him.
"No, actually, y'know what? Just take the mushrooms you would normally put on it, cut them up into teeny tiny pieces and then take them over to the trash can and throw 'em out, alright?"
He threw a crumpled bill on the counter and leaned his forearms on top. They both glared at each other for a moment, before the pizza boy turned around and headed over to the back to grab a piece of dough. He threw it down on the table and started roughly kneading it with both hands, probably imagining that it was Ozzy's face.
Ozzy rolled his eyes and rested his chin on top of his hands. What a fucking dickhead. He watched him for a moment, trailing his eyes down over his neck and across his shoulders.
Although, maybe he can help me out with my little 'sexuality' problem. He's not bad looking, and he's a little bit older than me, which I like, apparently. Let's do a lil experiment, shall we?
He relaxed his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. Okay, so the question is this: am I attracted to guys in general… or just to Roja?
He looked the pizza boy up and down, watching how his membrane stretched over the muscles in his forearm as he continued kneading the dough, how his jaw and neck would occasionally tense up, how strong his hands looked. Yeah, okay, I can definitely see how this guy could be considered 'attractive'.
Ozzy's gaze trailed up towards his face, and he narrowed his eyes while he studied his features. I dunno though... sure, he's got something about him, that moody, stand-offish kind of sexiness, but I don't find him hot, and I don't feel any desire to jump over this counter and grab him, like I do with Roja.
I've never even looked at another guy before, and definitely never doubted my sexuality. I mean, sure, me and Drix used to cuddle at night during our sleepovers when we were little, but it wasn't in a sexual way… I don't think.
But with Roja it's different. Even when I think about all the crushes I've had in the past, they've never been this intense, this uncontrollably, violently all-consuming.
What is it about him that has such a hold on me…?
"There ya go, that'll be 35 calories," the pizza boy spat, throwing the boxes on the counter and snatching up the money. He shoved the bills into the cash register and looked back down at his phone, seemingly unaffected by the way Ozzy was glaring daggers at him.
"Cheers, pal," Ozzy murmured, before he picked up the boxes and stormed out.
Well, that was fuckin' useless! I need some more thorough research to really test this gay thing out.
His stomach grumbled as the smell of the pizza wafted out of the box, making him speed up his steps. Should I ask Drix? No, best not. I'm not ready to have 'the talk' with him. Not again. It was bad enough the first time, but with gay stuff it'd be insufferable. He'd probably buy a jar of pickles and use them to do a silly little demonstration. Ugh, no thanks.
He turned the corner onto his street and started walking towards his dorm room, when something caught his attention.
He took a step backwards to stare at the newsstand he had just walked past, and his eyes widened. There before him were rows upon rows of adult magazines, an obscene amount, really. Probably not something that should be sold in the street where anyone could walk past and see them.
Right now, though, Ozzy couldn't care less about whether it was moral, or even legal. It was exactly what he'd been looking for, the answer to all of his problems. Oh, this is perfect!
He looked left and right to make sure there was no one around, before leaning down to place his pizza boxes on the floor and picking up a magazine titled 'XY'.
He rolled his gaze over the front cover; it showed a male cell leaning back against a wall with both hands on either side of his head, wearing nothing but a pair of tight jeans and a seductive smile on his face.
Ozzy swallowed and drew a breath. God, imagine how good Roja would look like this, in nothing but his tight jeans.
He placed a finger over the cell's chest and started tracing over the shapes of his torso. He'd call me into his office and I'd find him lying on his desk, his sweater crumpled on the floor and his eyes gazing into mine as he gestured for me to come on over and climb on top of him and straddle his waist and…
"Ahem."
Ozzy's eyes opened wide and he snapped his head up to look at the vendor, the heat rising to his face. He smiled nervously and started babbling at a speed only he could match. "I-it's not what it looks like, heh, I thought I recognised the guy on the cover, and, y'know I had to get a closer look to check, y'know, because, um…"
"Yeah, yeah whatever you say. Look, we've got an offer on at the moment. If you buy three magazines, you get one of our 'special interest' magazines at half price."
Ozzy furrowed his brow. "Special interest?"
The vendor gestured with his head towards a dark and dusty corner of the newsstand, underneath all the shelves of cigarettes, and Ozzy felt his blush spread through his whole body when his eyes landed on the dirtiest, most scandalous magazine covers he had ever seen.
Limbs intertwined, leather outfits, chains, whips, ropes, and an obscene amount of bare flesh, with every type of microorganism you could possibly imagine; germs on cells, viruses on germs, cells on viruses on germs on cells.
Ozzy gulped and cautiously approached the dark, seedy corner, his heart threatening to beat right out of his chest. He didn't even know where to begin looking; there were so many hazy, hungry eyes, so many open mouths and legs, so many different colours and shapes and sizes.
After his eyes had adjusted to the offensive imagery, they landed on a particular magazine cover that had caught his attention. 'Uncoating'. He picked it up and held it tightly in his hands, staring down at the virus on the front cover.
He was tall and slender, and despite his light purple skin, there was something about him that reminded Ozzy of Professor Roja: the spikes on his cheekbones; those bright, ardent eyes; that crooked, flirtatious smile.
He stared at it for a few more seconds, before turning around and heading back to the section with the 'normal' magazines. He picked up the one called 'XY', as well as two more, 'Testosterone' and 'Hottest Membranes', and threw them all on the counter, making sure that 'Uncoating' was hidden on the bottom.
He pushed on the door with his shoulder and peered round, seeing that Drix was, thankfully, still in the bathroom. Ozzy hurried over to the desk and dropped the pizza boxes on top, before stuffing the magazines underneath his pillow.
He stood back up to his full height and turned around, whistling in an attempt to appear as normal as possible.
Drix came out of the bathroom then and smiled at Ozzy, before letting his face fall. "Ozzy, what happened to you?! You look positively awful!"
Ozzy's smile was wiped away too and replaced with a frown. "Thanks, man, that's real nice. I go and buy you pizza and this is the thanks I get?" he snapped as he headed back over to the desk.
"Ozzy, you know I don't eat processed foods. One slice could contain up to 13 micrograms of fat! And I'll bet all my savings that the cheese topping has come straight from in between Frank's toes," Drix said, scrunching up his face in disgust.
Ozzy simply rolled his eyes at that and flipped the box open, his face lighting up as he saw the layer of grease sitting on top.
Drix sighed and circled his finger over the grooves of his canon. "Sooo… how did your review go? You seem… different somehow. Did everything go okay?"
Ozzy simply smiled to himself and headed over to his bed, pizza box in hand. He threw himself on top of his duvet and took a big bite of one of the pepperoni slices, shutting his eyes and moaning as he felt the hot grease wash over his tongue and trickle down his throat.
"Ozzy! Don't eat in bed, that's so disgusting!"
He swallowed and turned to face Drix, tomato sauce dripping down his chin and onto his shirt. "Oh, I'm disgusting now? At least I don't constantly spew out effervescent bubbles. That's disgusting."
"Hey, you know I can't help that!"
Ozzy looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow, before taking another bite of his pizza, chewing extra loudly and letting the cheese drip down his chin.
Drix grimaced. "If we get a microbe infestation, you're paying for the exterminator."
Ozzy swallowed and turned to look at Drix again. "Oh, stop ya whining, will ya? I'll wash my sheets later if it upsets you so much."
"Yeah, just like when you promised to clean the kitchen three weeks ago. It got so foul that I ended up having to do it."
"Well that's just because I know how much you love cleaning. Consider it a gift, my friend."
Drix smiled at that. "You're insufferable, Jones. Anyway, stop trying to change the subject. How did your review go?"
Ozzy groaned and waved the pizza in the air, but Drix simply asked the question again.
"Ugh, okay. It went fine. Nothin' to report. Like, it was weird, obviously. Nothing with Roja is ever gonna not be weird, but it was fine."
"Did you pass your exam, then?"
"Hmm… not exactly… Well, not yet."
Drix cocked his head. "What do you mean by 'not yet?"
"Roja didn't have time to grade my paper, that's all," he said, taking another bite of the pizza.
"Oh, that's unlike him. I've never seen him give back work late. But either way, are you sure you're okay? It's like there's something different about you."
Ozzy swallowed and nodded. "'M fine. Oh, but I am gonna start going to all my other classes. Roja made me promise."
"Oh, I see. So you refuse to listen to anything I say, but the second Professor Roja tells you to do something, you hop straight to it. Since when were you two on such good terms?"
Ozzy frowned. "Don't get jealous, Dripsy, it don't look good on ya. Besides, if you had a scary-ass claw instead of that trail of fruity bubbles then I'd probably listen to you more."
Drix sighed at that, and Ozzy shook his head and smiled. "I'm kiddin'. You know I respect your opinion over anyone else's. You'll always be my number one best buddy."
He jumped off the bed and wrapped his arms around Drix's waist, nuzzling his cheek into his chest. "Sorry I've been such a cock lately. I promise I'll be a better friend from now on. I'll take you out tonight, how does that sound? Wherever you wanna go, man, my treat."
Drix narrowed his eyes and hummed as he thought about it. "Ooh ooh! There's a new café near the corner of the eye that looks delightful! My friend Sam said they have the most scrumptious blueberry muffins!"
Ozzy smiled up at him and tightened his grip around his waist. "Sounds great, man! It's a date! Can I borrow one of your bow-ties? That way we can match and pretend like we're super-mega-uber-rich! It'll be so fun!"
Ozzy was hunched over his desk, a hand pressed to his cheek as he got started on the apology letter for his Forensics teacher. He'd already spent the last two hours going over his Criminology module to try and catch up with the rest of his class, and his brain felt like a disgusting pile of mush by now.
He looked over his shoulder at Drix and smiled to himself. He was tucked up in bed, humming away and reading his book, a picture of happiness.
Ozzy spun around in his chair to face him and threw his eraser straight at his head, hitting him on the forehead.
"Ow! What in Frank was that for?" Drix said, picking up the eraser and chucking it back at him.
Ozzy caught it and laughed. "I dunno, you just looked so sweet and peaceful."
Drix blinked at him for a moment. "Why does that justify throwing an eraser at me?"
"It doesn't, I just wanted your attention. I'm glad we got to spend some time together today, by the way, I've missed you. Sorry for being so out of it lately. Like I said, I'll make more time for you from now on."
"Drix smiled at him and lowered his book. "I had so much fun tonight. Your English accent was hilarious, and that waiter definitely wanted to kill you when you kept mispronouncing everything on the menu!"
He cocked his capsule to the side and lowered his voice. "We should make sure to set a day every week, just for us. It's not only your fault, I can get so wrapped up in the nonsense of life too: my studies, my clubs, my tutoring business. It's up to both of us to make time."
Ozzy furrowed his brow and crossed his arms over his chest. "You tutor?"
"Yeah, I have an advert out there on the bulletin board in the hallway."
"Oh… see?! I didn't even know that about you! Right, I agree, we both need to make more time for each other. It's settled, every Thursday'll be our date night." He stood up and held his hand out. "Shake on it."
Drix did as he was told and grinned up at him. "I'm so glad you're here with me, Ozzy. I don't say that enough, but it's true. I'd be lost without you."
Ozzy leaned down and patted Drix on his capsule. "Me too, bud." He glanced at the clock and raised an eyebrow. "God, is it that late already? I better turn in for the night."
He stretched his arms in the air and yawned, while Drix laid his head down on the pillow. "Good idea, I've got an early class with Professor Roja tomorrow, so I better get to bed too. Good night, Ozzy."
"G'night, Dripsy," Ozzy whispered, slipping on his pyjama bottoms. He got into bed and stared up at the ceiling for a while. He didn't actually intend on falling asleep, he just needed some time to himself, some time alone where Drix couldn't see what he was doing.
After about five minutes, he heard Drix murmuring in his sleep, and he crawled under his duvet. He turned on the torch on his phone and pulled his new magazines out from underneath his pillow.
He decided to start with the one titled 'Hottest Membranes', as this one seemed the least 'erotic' of the four. He thumbed through the pages, but struggled to find any guy that he would consider 'hot'. Sure, they were physically attractive, that was obvious, but there was nothing about them that set his nerves alight. Nothing that made him feel like his throat was on fire, or like his chest was about to explode. Not like Professor Roja.
He sighed and let the magazine fall to the sheets below, before picking up the one titled 'XY'. This one was a little more risqué, but even so, there was nothing in it that inspired any kind of feeling within him.
He closed his eyes and sighed. I guess this means I'm not gay, but I'm not entirely straight either if I'm crushing hard on another guy. Maybe I'm just Rojasexual.
He looked back down at the magazine and turned the page, cocking his head when he saw a guy in particular who caught his attention. He was shorter than the others, softer too, less well-built and more boyish. Hey, it's rare to see a guy who looks like me in one of these magazines… that's nice.
He studied his features for a second, before a smile spread over his face when he noticed the two slits shaved into his eyebrow. Now THAT is hot. I need something like that!
He crept out of his bed and tiptoed over to the bathroom, shutting the door softly so as not to wake Drix.
He took his razor in his hand and carefully shaved two small lines in his left eyebrow. He then took a pair of tweezers out of his toiletry bag and plucked a few stray hairs, grinning to himself the entire time.
Once he'd finished, he stepped back to admire his work. He ran a finger over his eyebrow and blew himself a kiss. God, I didn't think it was possible, but I'm somehow even hotter than I was before!
He slicked his hair back with his hands and winked at himself in the mirror.
Look out, Roja. You ain't ready for me, baby.
The next morning, Ozzy was waiting outside his Biology classroom, biting the nail off his thumb. He'd arrived ridiculously early today, a full twenty minutes, but he just couldn't bear waiting around in his room any longer.
His nerves had woken him up at around 5am, and after spending an excessive amount of time choosing his outfit, he had been pacing back and forth from one end of his room to the other, until eventually, Drix told him to stop being so annoying and go for a walk to calm down.
He'd chosen to wear the same outfit that he wore to the club last Friday night- a black, long-sleeved top and light blue, baggy jeans- but this time he'd paired it with a chain necklace and the black sneakers he'd worn for his review.
He was fiddling with his necklace and shifting the weight from his heels to his toes as he waited, flinching as soon as he heard the familiar sound of the professor's boots approaching.
He turned his whole body towards him and shot him a big grin, but his face fell as soon as he saw him walk straight past him.
He didn't even acknowledge Ozzy's presence, and simply slotted the key in and slammed the door against the wall, hooking it open. He then stormed over to his desk without saying a word, leaving Ozzy stunned.
Ozzy swallowed thickly, his heart pounding against his ribs as he continued to watch the professor out of the corner of his eye, unsure whether he should follow him in or not.
He seems super mad. I was right, I made him super uncomfortable yesterday. He probably doesn't even know how to act around me now.
Ozzy hung his head and sighed. I guess I did imagine it after all. He doesn't care about me. He probably can't fucking stand me. I'm nothing but an annoying, overly emotional kid to him. A fucking burden, just like I was to my parents, to my uncle, to Drix, to everyone who's ever had the misfortune to-
"Are you just gonna loiter outside my classroom mumbling to yourself, or come in and sit down?"
Ozzy flinched when he heard his voice, and turned his head to blink at him. "Huh?"
The professor rolled his eyes and gestured with his hand for Ozzy to come in. "Take a seat, Jones."
Ozzy nodded and shuffled into the classroom, his head down and his hands gripping tightly onto the straps of his rucksack. He didn't dare look up as he made his way to his usual seat, but he sensed that the professor's eyes were on him the entire time.
He slumped himself down and started taking his things out of his rucksack, well, Drix's things.
After a few moments he looked up and caught the professor staring at him, before he quickly averted his eyes and looked down at his textbook. Ozzy felt the knot in his stomach tighten. I knew it, he's feeling uncomfortable, awkward, uneasy. He'd rather be anywhere else right now than here with me.
The worst part about this is that neither of us are saying anything! Are we just gonna let the silence build up around us until we eventually suffocate? God, this is unbearable!
I should do something, say something. Literally anything would be better than sitting like this.
He saw the professor shift in his seat and cross one leg over the other, his brow furrowed as he read over his textbook. God he's pretending to be busy so he doesn't have to talk to me!
Right, that does it, I can't take this anymore. I'm gonna apologise for the panic attack, for the chocolates, for the hug, for the prank, and for all the weird, fucked up shit I've done and said to him.
Ozzy sat up in his seat and softened his face. "Sir, I-" he started to say, falling silent as soon as he heard the sound of the other students' shoes on the floor just outside the hall.
He closed his mouth and slumped back down in the chair. Shit, missed my chance.
He dropped his head and fiddled with his pen as all the students filed in, not making eye contact with anyone while they all found their seats.
"Right, as you all know, today we'll be starting on Unit 2: Mitosis. Everyone turn to page 23 in your textbooks."
Ozzy winced when he heard his voice; it was lower than usual, laced with anger, or possibly disappointment. It was obvious that he was upset about something, and Ozzy felt as his heart started to sink. He fucking hates me. God, I wish the floor would just open up right now and swallow me whole.
He kept his head low for the first few minutes, just listening to the professor's voice as he outlined the brief for the second module.
He only dared to raise his gaze once the professor had turned around to face the blackboard. He propped an elbow on the table to rest his chin on his hand as he stared at him, watching the way his black shirt tightened over his bicep as he started drawing a mind map on the board.
His eyes trailed downwards, landing on his jeans, and Ozzy sighed as he admired the way they hugged his hips and thighs.
The professor turned around then, and Ozzy's gaze got stuck on his chest, lost in the way his shirt tightened over it as he pointed to the board behind him with his thumb, how the muscles in his arms bulged slightly as he gestured at one of the students at the back of the classroom.
Ozzy started to daydream then, feeling as if he was physically melting over the sound of his voice.
He felt so fucking lucky right now. He had Professor Roja right in front of him and could ogle him as much as he wished, but the best part? No one could stop him or question him about it. As far as everyone else was concerned, he was just a student paying very, very close attention to his teacher.
No one had to know that he was focussing more on the way his broad shoulders tapered down to his obscenely small waist, or how his braids trailed over his neck whenever he turned his head, than listening to him describe the basics of mitosis.
He smiled to himself and sank further into his chair. God, this feels illegal. I can literally think anything I want about him right now, and no one can stop me. I can stare at him all I want, for as long as I like, and there's nothin' anyone can do about it.
"Jones?"
Is it me, or is he somehow even hotter today? That black shirt looks so fucking good on him, especially with the sleeves rolled up.
"Jones…"
And sometimes, when he lifts his arm to point, his shirt rides up a bit, and I can catch a glimpse of his hip. Of that V-shape cut into his lower stomach, leading down to his belt. Jesus, this is so wrong, it feels almost pornographic.
"Jones!" the professor snapped, breaking Ozzy out of his train of thought. "What do you think about it?"
Ozzy blinked at him for a moment. Shit, what do I think about what?! What did he say?!
He sat up in his seat and forced a smile. "That's a really good question, sir, uh, and I completely agree with whatever you said, y'know, about mitosis and stuff."
The professor furrowed his brow and left the textbook on his desk. "Jones, were you even listening to anything I was saying?"
Ozzy gave a small nod, but the professor drew closer, clearly unconvinced. Ozzy's eyes widened as he leaned down in front of him, his hands behind his back.
"I thought we were gonna be honest with each other?" the professor whispered, his expression serious.
Ozzy swallowed, his eyes darting over the professor's face as he felt the panic rising in his throat. He saw his expression soften then, and sighed. "Okay, fine. You're right… I wasn't listening to you before, I was… distracted."
"But I've been asking lots of questions and drawing mind maps on the board, just like we agreed. What's distracting you right now? Is it the noise coming from outside? Do you need me to close the window?"
Ozzy shrugged and looked down, but the professor insisted. "Ozzy, please. I just wanna help."
"S'nothin', I've just got a lot on my mind, is all," Ozzy said quietly, not daring to make eye contact.
The professor frowned. Oh, he's found something else to obsess over, or rather, someone else.
He sighed and drew himself up to his full height, his chest feeling unusually tight all of a sudden. I guess that's it, then. He's moved on. He turned around to head back to the podium, stopping in his tracks when he heard a whisper coming from the student who was sitting directly behind Ozzy.
He didn't catch everything they'd said, but two particular words rang out as clear as a bell. 'Jones' and 'idiot'.
He spun back around and glared at the student in question, before storming over to him and hitting his desk with his pointing stick, making everyone jump. "What the fuck are you doing?! Why are you whispering during my class?!"
The student widened his eyes and shook his head. "I wasn't… I mean, I was just asking my friend where we were in the text-"
"Shut your yap," the professor barked, stabbing his textbook with his claw and leaning in closer. "Now, you're gonna stand up in front of everyone and read the entire page. And if you mispronounce even one tiny word, you'll have to stay behind with me and write it out one hundred times. You got that?"
The student nodded weakly and started to slowly stand up, when the professor grabbed him by the front of his collar and yanked him to his feet. "Dontcha see that poster by the board? 'Treat each other with respect'. Get that into your thick skull, you lil squit. You're lucky I don't kick you off the fucking course." He let go of his shirt and pointed towards the podium. "Now, get to the front."
Ozzy was mumbling nervously to himself and gripping onto the strap of his rucksack as he ran down the corridor to the professor's office. He looked down at his watch and started running faster when he saw the time.
He was absolutely exhausted. College life had certainly been much easier when he was only attending one of his classes, but now, with Biology, Forensics, Criminology and tennis, he was starting to feel overwhelmed.
Despite this, it had been a pretty good day overall, as long as he didn't think too much about the way Professor Roja had acted during his class.
He didn't quite understand what had happened with that student, nor why the professor had gotten so angry with him, but Ozzy thought it best not to bring it up. Being ignored was better than being threatened, that he knew for sure, and he didn't want to risk being on the receiving end of his rage again.
After his Biology class, he had headed to his second ever tennis practice. There, he had channelled all of his frustration and upset into his racket and used it against his opponents, beating one of the third years and officially earning himself a place on the Varsity team.
At the end of the practice, he made sure to apologise to his coach for his absence, and promised to show up to all of the sessions from now on, even committing himself to two extra practice sessions at the weekend before the Varsity match against Heartvard University next week.
Then he had to run home, take a shower, get dressed, force some food down and hurry on over to his Forensics class. This hadn't gone quite so well, with the teacher lecturing him in front of all the other students about how he couldn't just come and go as he pleased, which eventually led to a long, drawn-out speech about what it meant to be a responsible adult.
Ozzy had just stood there and taken it, knowing deep down that he was right. He hadn't been at all responsible, and there was no one to blame but himself. Still, true or not, it hurt to hear.
His Forensics class had finished at 4pm, giving him just under an hour to get home, take another shower and choose a new outfit for his exam with Professor Roja.
He'd wanted to wear the new clothes that he had bought for his review, but he'd unfortunately forgotten to wash the shirt, and had left his jeans in a crumpled heap in the corner of his room.
Luckily, he'd found a pair of tight purple shorts buried at the bottom of his suitcase, along with a white V-neck T-shirt and a pair of white trainers. He knew he looked good as fuck right now, but that did little to calm his nerves.
Thoughts about why the professor could have acted so strangely with him today were swirling around his head and clouding his mind. Was it because of his panic attack? Was it something he said? Was it because of his failed attempt to kiss him? Or a horrible combination of all three?
He reached the door and stilled. Somehow, he felt even more nervous than he had done for his review. Yesterday he was worried; worried that the professor might expel him for his prank, that he might give him a bad grade in the exam, or that he might figure out that Ozzy had developed a teeny-tiny (massive) crush on him.
That couldn't compare to how he was feeling now, however. He was scared, really scared, absolutely fucking terrified. Finally, for the first time in his life, he had found someone who understood him, accepted him in his entirety, and seemed to genuinely respect him for the things that people usually mocked, and the thought of losing that physically hurt.
He raised a hand to knock on the door, but stopped himself, before looking down at the box of chocolates he was holding.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why did I go and buy him more chocolates? He's gonna think I'm such a pathetic, brown-nosing freak, desperate for his attention.
He gripped tightly onto the box and hung his head. And maybe he'd be right. I am desperate for his attention. For his approval. For him to laugh at my jokes, to complement me, to comfort me, to hold me, to…
He gasped as the door suddenly opened in front of him, and snapped his head up to see the professor looking down at him with a confused expression on his face. "Jones, what are you doing standing outside my office? Why didn't you knock?"
Ozzy blinked at him as he tried to come up with a convincing lie. "W-well, I just got here like three seconds ago and, uh, was about to knock, but then you opene-"
"No you didn't. You've been here for at least a minute, just staring into space and mumbling to yourself. You do understand how windows work, dontcha?" the professor said with a smirk, leaning a shoulder against the door frame and crossing his arms over his chest.
Ozzy grinned at that and narrowed his eyes. "So you were watchin' me for a whole minute from your desk chair? That's a bit weird, sir, even for you."
The professor rolled his eyes. "God, your ego's even bigger than mine." He started turning around to walk back into his office, but did a double take. He frowned and reached a hand up to rub his thumb over Ozzy's eyebrow. "When did you do this?"
Ozzy followed his thumb with his eyes for a moment, taking in a breath, before he returned his gaze to the professor's face. "L-last night. I don't really know why I did it, to be honest with you. I guess I felt like I needed a change, or something."
"Oh, I didn't notice it earlier. It looks good." Fuck me, that's the hottest thing I've ever seen.
He ran his thumb over it a few times, straightening out a few stray hairs, before clearing his throat and withdrawing his hand. He opened his mouth to say something else, when he noticed the box of chocolates in Ozzy's hand.
Oh my God. He's bought me more chocolates?! Lord help me. "A-are those for me?" he asked weakly, pointing a claw at the box.
Ozzy gripped it tighter and gave a small nod. "Yeah, I know how much you liked them yesterday, so I got you another box, because I figured that it must be pretty shitty having to stay behind just so your annoying student can retake his exam. Heh. I dunno. You don't have to take them, if it's too weird."
The professor stared at him for a moment, before letting a small smile break out on his face. "Tell ya what, we can open them now and eat them while you do your exam. The sugar in the chocolate will improve the cytoplasm flow to your brain. Sound good?"
Ozzy smiled back at him and nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Okay!" He pushed past the professor and headed to the desk. "Right, well I'll set them down in the middle of your desk so we can both reach…" he started saying, falling silent as he saw that his chair had been pulled round to the professor's side again.
The professor came up behind him and furrowed his brow, mumbling quietly, "yeah, I moved your chair again. I can move it back if you prefer to be on this sid-"
"No no no!" Ozzy interrupted, spinning around to face the professor. "Ah, I mean, no, it's fine. Really. This makes it easier to share the chocolates anyway," he said, waving the box in front of the professor's face.
Professor Roja simply smiled and gestured with his hand for him to go take a seat.
Ozzy dropped the chocolate box on the desk and sat cross-legged in the chair, prompting the professor to raise an eyebrow.
"You're a flexible lil thing, ain't ya?"
"Oh, this is nothin'! You should see me put both my legs behind my head," he said cheerfully, his eyes widening as soon as he realised how dirty that sounded. He laughed nervously, before looking away and uncrossing his legs to dangle them over the edge of the chair.
They both sat in silence for a moment, the tension almost palpable, until the professor cleared his throat and opened his drawer to take out the exam paper. "Right, well, here's the exam. Do you have any questions before you start?"
"Umm… yeah, but it's not really about the exam. Can I ask it anyway?"
"Yeah, of course."
Ozzy turned to face the professor, his brow furrowed. "Why were you so… off with me today in class? I know yesterday was a bit weird, for both of us, but I hope I didn't creep you out too much."
The professor inhaled deeply and frowned. "Don't worry about it. It wasn't anything to do with you, or what happened yesterday. It's just been a shit couple of days in general, is all."
Ozzy sat up in his seat and cocked his head, concern plastered over his face. "What's happened? Are you okay?"
"It doesn't matter," the professor muttered, placing the exam paper down in front of Ozzy. "Now, here's your exam, write your name at the top and then-" he started saying, falling silent as soon as he felt Ozzy put his hand over his wrist.
He froze in place and flicked his eyes up to meet Ozzy's. His hand was so soft, radiating a comforting warmth that was slowly spreading over his skin. He drew a breath then as he felt Ozzy loosen his grip and lightly trace his fingers over the back of his hand.
"I thought we said we were gonna be honest with each other?" Ozzy said firmly, his eyes locked on the professor's.
The professor stared at him for a moment, before sinking into his seat and sighing. "Fine." He dropped his head to be in line with Ozzy's and said quietly, "well, you know I had that meeting last night for Not All Viruses?"
Ozzy nodded slowly, his hand still resting on the professor's wrist. "Yeah?" Oh, so he really did have a meeting. He wasn't just making it up to get rid of me. "How did it go?"
"Shit. Abysmal. A big fucking waste of time. The Mayor didn't give a shit about anything we had to say. He didn't even fucking sit down. He just came in, thanked us for coming, took a publicity shot with our least threatening-looking member and fucked off."
"Oh… I'm sorry," Ozzy said quietly, moving his hand down towards the professor's. He rested a finger in the gaps between each of his claws and breathed in deeply. "I wish things would change, I wish it was easier for you."
He felt the professor's hand relax under his own then, and stroked up and down one of his claws with his index finger. "I know what it's like to not be accepted exactly as you are, it's fucking infuriating. People have put me in a box and covered me in labels too, 'reckless', 'stupid', 'selfish', 'obnoxious', 'careless'."
Ozzy raised his head to look the professor in the eye. "I can't imagine how horrible it is for you, though, being judged for the way you look before you even get a chance to open your mouth or show who you really are inside. They don't give you any time to prove yourself or make a mistake, they just fall back on all of these preconceived notions that society has invented about you."
He swallowed and took in a breath, whispering, "I wish everyone could see you the way I do."
The professor's face relaxed to a smile, and he turned his hand over to lace his claws with Ozzy's fingers. They stayed like this for a few moments, their gaze stuck on each other, until the professor withdrew his hand.
He cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. "Right, well, you better get started on your exam, unless you wanna stay here all night."
You can, you know, stay here all night, if you want.
Ozzy nodded slowly.
Would you let me, if I asked?
He sighed and looked down at his exam, before screwing his eyes shut and shaking his head to try and get his mind to focus. Right, Oz, ignore all of these weird, awkward, confusing feelings, just until you've done this exam. He's given you a second chance, and you're not gonna let him down, right? Right.
He opened his eyes, took a pen in his right hand and reached out to take a chocolate in the other.
He wrote his name at the top as neatly as he possibly could, and got started on question one. He was pleasantly surprised by how easy it was. He had actually studied for this one, after all, and it wasn't long before he'd managed to answer the first 10 questions.
He reached over and took another chocolate to congratulate himself. He chuckled it into his mouth and chewed happily, blissfully unaware that the professor's eyes hadn't left him the entire time.
Fifteen more minutes went by, and he reached over to take yet another chocolate as he finished the third section of the exam. He trailed his fingers over the grooves in the box, gasping when he felt that it was empty. He snapped his head round to look at the professor with an apologetic expression, only to see him grinning back at him.
"God, you've got a good appetite," the professor said, before leaning in to wipe the chocolate off the corners of Ozzy's mouth with his thumb. "How's your exam going?"
Ozzy looked back down at the page. "Yeah, good, much easier than the last one. I've almost finished."
The professor checked his watch and raised an eyebrow. "Already?"
"Yeah well, I dunno if you know this, but I'm a fuckin' genius," he said with a smile. "That, and the fact that I had actually studied for this one. Like, a ridiculous amount of studying."
"Yeah, I know. I wanted to tell you how impressed I was with you during that second class, by the way. It was like you'd done a full 180, become a different person. Your confidence was still the same, but it was now rooted in something tangible."
Ozzy shook his head. "Maybe on the outside, but on the inside I was fuckin' floundering. What I was doin' wasn't sustainable in any way. I missed all of my classes that week to learn that entire module off by heart, just to beat you."
The professor laughed and pinched Ozzy's cheek. "You're ridiculous. Speaking of your other classes, how did your apologies go?"
"Pretty good, actually. My Criminology teacher was super nice about it! She let me explain myself and actually listened to me. No teacher has ever done that before..."
Ozzy saw a flicker of sadness in the professor's eyes then, and he quickly added, "apart from you, of course."
The professor grinned at that, uncrossing his legs and leaning in slightly. "What about your other classes?"
"My Forensics teacher was a bit pissed off with me, but I guess that's to be expected. I have been acting like a dickhead. My tennis coach was pretty cool with it though, and I actually have a match next week against Heartvard University."
"Oh right, the Fall Varsity."
"Yeah, it's down in the Left Atrium." He paused, before letting a grin spread over his face. "You can come and watch, if ya like. I'm pretty fuckin' good."
The professor raised an eyebrow. "Heh, yeah I bet you are." He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "Okay, Jones, maybe I'll stop by, but it depends on one thing."
"And what's that?" Ozzy said, swallowing thickly and parting his lips as the professor's face stilled just in front of his own.
"On how well you behave. If you're a good boy and keep all your promises, then I'll make sure to be there."
Ozzy nodded and looked down at his lap to hide the blush that was quickly spreading across his cheeks. "You don't have to, like, don't feel pressured. But, I'd like it if you could come," he said quietly, shifting in his seat.
There was a moment of silence then, until the professor placed a hand on his thigh and uttered, "but you'll have loads of people there to support you, right? Your friends, your teammates, the Police Chief? He is your legal guardian, isn't he?"
Ozzy shook his head and dug his nails into his thighs. "Nah, he won't bother to show. He's barely even tried to contact me since he dropped me off at college, my teammates don't like me, and Drips has already said he can't go, so I guess I'll just be on my own."
"Who's Drips?"
"Oh, sorry, I mean Drix." Ozzy laughed quietly and relaxed his shoulders. "Drips is what I call him, because when he was a kid he had this weird lil speech impediment, so I thought it was funny to call him Drips."
"Oh, right," the professor said with a frown. "Anyway, as long as you go to all of your classes before the match, I'll definitely try and be there, y'know, for moral support."
Ozzy's eyes lit up then, and he looked back up at the professor with a big smile on his face. "Okay, but you gotta make a lil sign with my name on it and wave it about in the air, and… and wear a T-shirt with my face printed on it!"
"Pfft, okay now you're just pushing your luck," Professor Roja said, rolling his eyes.
They smiled at each other for a moment, until Ozzy cleared his throat and looked back down at his exam. "Okay, I've only got, like, three questions left, then I can get outta your hair and stop wastin' your time."
The professor laughed. "Yeah, we're both easily distracted, it seems. Okay, I'll let ya concentrate."
He spun around in his seat and stood up to go look at the books on his shelf, pretending to be busy. You don't waste my time. He pulled a book off the shelf at random and flicked through it, not reading a single word. If it were up to me, every single fucking second of my life would be spent with you.
The professor closed the door and waved Ozzy off through the small window, watching as he turned around and headed down the corridor.
His smile faded as soon as he saw him turn the corner, and he locked the door, switched off the office light and headed back to his desk. He threw himself onto his chair and spun it around to face away from the door, the lamp in the corner of the room softly illuminating his face.
As soon as Ozzy had finished his exam, the professor had told him that he had another meeting to go to, but this wasn't true at all. He just physically couldn't bear being around Ozzy any longer. Not without grabbing him and kissing him and ripping off all of his clothes. Those tight-fitting, figure-hugging, overly-revealing clothes.
Sighing, he tilted his head back and shut his eyes. God, it's getting harder and harder to control myself around you.
He relaxed into the chair and groaned, bringing a hand up to his forehead. What is it about you that has such a hold on me? Since the very first moment I opened your file and saw your picture, I haven't been able to get you outta my head.
There was something in your eyes; I knew you weren't gonna be like the rest. I was so intrigued to meet you, to see what you'd be like.
God, and how nervous I was during that first class, watching the minutes tick by, thinking you just weren't gonna show up… but then in you came, fifteen minutes late, so confident, so full of fight, wearing the shittiest outfit I've ever seen in my life and not giving a fuck about what anyone thought.
Even when I raised my voice and threatened you, you still refused to bow down or give into fear.
You reminded me so much of myself, or rather, who I used to be.
The professor brought a hand down to rub his thumb against the seam of his jeans, trying to relieve the throbbing sensation that had been building between his legs from the second Ozzy had stepped into his office.
And I hated you for how you were making me feel, for how much your mere presence could throw me off.
His breath hitched as he applied more pressure, his jeans growing increasingly tight. It was only made worse by the fact that I knew it was wrong of me to feel like this. So, so fucking wrong. You're my student, and you're literally half my age.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, mapping out the shadows cast by the soft light from the lamp. Although, it's not like I didn't try to push you away.
I used all of my usual tactics to try and force some distance; intimidation, fear, humiliation. I even fucking insulted you and ended up making you cry, but you just kept hitting back, every time harder than the last.
You've not made this easy on me, y'know. Admitting you bought those clothes for me. Eating in the way that you do. Fidgeting nervously whenever you feel my gaze on you. Smelling so fucking good all the time. Being so kind to me, so gentle, so understanding.
The professor's eyes rolled shut again, and he exhaled deeply. God, I sound so depraved. Imagine if you knew.
You'd hate me. You'd fucking despise me if you knew, and you'd be right to do so.
It'd disgust you if you knew about how I get home every evening and sit down on my couch in complete silence, just thinking about your deep, dark eyes, your pretty mouth, the curve of your back and waist, about how good you'd feel in my hands.
The professor's body arched forwards slightly as he felt the heat pooling below his stomach, and he rubbed his palm over the front of his trousers, digging his heels into the wooden floor to try and stay grounded.
If you knew what I do then, when I start thinking about what it would feel like to have your legs wrapped around me, your bare chest against mine, your back pressed into the mattress and your head thrown back while you roll your hips to meet mine.
The professor groaned. He was painfully hard in his jeans by this point, so much so that it was clouding his judgement. He took hold of his zipper, and in a moment of weakness, slowly undid his pants and pulled himself out of his boxers.
And just imagine the noises I could get you to make, the delicious expressions that would cross your face, how fucking good I could make you feel, over and over and over again.
His eyelids fluttered, but he made sure to keep them closed, desperately trying to cling to this fantasy a little bit longer. The fantasy where Ozzy wanted him back. Where he was his.
The professor's breathing faltered as he wrapped a hand around his cock, feeling how it was already curving straight up and throbbing. You'd hate me if you knew what I was doing right now.
He kicked off his boots and slid his jeans down over his legs, pushing them onto the floor. If you knew all of the things I want to do to you.
He drifted one leg up to rest his heel on the edge of the chair and rubbed his thumb over the head of his cock, before spreading some of the precum over his fingers. All the things I've dreamed of doing to you since we met.
He wrapped his hand back around himself and took a sharp intake of breath. He started slow, clamping his other hand over his mouth to muffle any noises he might make as he continued to let himself get lost in this fantasy.
God, if only I had you here right now, all to myself, those pretty eyes of yours looking into mine as I pull you onto my lap.
You'd be confused at first, with an adorable, flustered expression across your face, but that would quickly melt away as soon as I press my lips to yours. Our kiss would start off soft, gentle, loving, but then I would feel your fingers weaving through my hair to pull me closer, and I would kiss you harder, leaving your lips all bruised and swollen and beautiful.
Then you would swing a leg over to straddle my thighs, and I'd feel your cock against mine through your shorts, feel just how dizzyingly hard you were too.
The professor tightened his grip around himself and slid his hand down a little further, groaning deep in his throat.
Then you would open your mouth and press your tongue to mine, and our kisses would become messy, sloppy, desperate, while you hurry to undo my belt and I slide your shorts down over your thighs.
The chair would be creaking beneath our weight, your moans quickening as I take your cock in my hand, and you bury your face in the crook of my neck and whisper my name into my skin.
But that wouldn't be enough for you, oh no. You'd need more than that, more of me. You would break away to look me in the eyes and beg for me to fuck you, your voice all low and breathy and desperate, and how could I possibly say no to that?
The next few seconds would be blurry, with you throwing your arms around my neck and me sliding my hands around your waist, both of us groaning as you sink yourself down onto me, and, FUCK, you would feel so, so good.
The professor bit down on one of his claws and moaned softly, his cock now dripping over his knuckles as his arousal continued to pulse down over his thighs and up into his throat.
You'd be such a good boy for me, so perfect, gasping and moaning my name while I made you feel better than you ever had in your fucking life.
And I would shower you with compliments, just watching as you fall to fucking pieces in my lap, looking so gorgeous and fucked out, all hazy-eyed and open-mouthed.
But it wouldn't only be you; I'd be a mess too, an absolute fucking state, lavishing your skin with kisses, bites and licks between all the incoherent obscenities that would be spilling out of my mouth, about your eyes, your lips, your neck, your chest, your thighs…
The professor's mind seemed to drift off without him then, his vision becoming blurry as he felt the heat rising between his legs.
It would become much rougher then, more savage, with my hands gripping onto your waist to pull you down into each of my thrusts.
The friction would almost be too much for both of us, but you'd take it. You'd take it so fucking well, and you'd fucking love it, crying out my name as you screw your eyes shut, throw your head back and come absolutely undone in front of me…
The professor groaned then, before tilting his head back and moaning into his palm as he felt all the built-up pressure release at once. The shudders ripped through him, his thighs shaking and his heels digging into the wood floor.
Silence filled the room then, save for the professor's heavy breathing, and the fantasy started to fade away.
After a few seconds, he sagged into the chair and opened his eyes, and that's when it all came crashing down. The reality of what he'd just done.
He could, and had, justified this to himself when he was in the privacy of his own home. There, he was just a man getting himself off to fantasies about a younger guy.
It was easy to pretend that Jones wasn't his student, and that he'd simply met him at a club or a bar. His age wouldn't even factor into it, and he could trick himself into believing that this was all fine. Normal, even.
But here, in his office, mere minutes after Ozzy had left, his seat still warm and the smell of his cologne hanging in the air; there was absolutely nothing normal about that.
His muscles were relaxed and his limbs lazy, still shaking slightly from the aftershocks that were pulsing around his body, but a knot was forming tight in the pit of his stomach. Guilt.
He sank further into his chair and brought a hand up to cover his face. Shame.
He took in a breath, the air shuddering in his throat. Disgusting. Perverted. Obscene.
The same way he felt after every single time he had done this thinking about Ozzy.
They had only met two weeks ago, but he'd already lost count of how many times it had been. How many mornings, evenings and nights, in every place imagineable; his bed, the living room, the shower, even his fucking kitchen. Except this time it was worse.
He breathed out raggedly and let his hand fall down into his lap. God, if you knew.
Sometimes I wonder if you do. I've not exactly been very good at hiding it.
You must know something. What do you think this is between us? Surely no other teacher has treated you like this.
Do you think this is normal? You shouldn't, y'know, nothing about us is normal. But, then, why do you keep coming back?
The professor opened his eyes and stared straight ahead at nothing in particular, a lost look in his eyes.
I definitely think you feel something for me, though; the way I sometimes catch you staring, the small blush that forms on your cheeks when I dare to get a little too close, the way you never try to pull away when I grab you.
Yesterday, when you said you were obsessed with me, you made me happier than I can ever remember being. How sick is that?
I was ecstatic thinking that you might be suffering just as much as I am. That you might be burning inside with desire like me, or longing for my presence so much that it fucking hurts.
Your obsession seems to be fleeting, though. Just a flash in the pan, burning bright for a brief moment until it soon fizzles out, letting you move on with your life.
Some of us aren't so lucky.
For me it's like a constant, aching yearning. It's painful, the twisting in my stomach whenever you walk into class. The sparks that ignite in my chest when you look my way. And, oh God, when you smile at me, it's like my heart is gonna fucking burst right out of chest.
I didn't know how to handle this at first, how could I? I've never been interested in anyone, not like this.
So I lashed out, treated you poorly, probably caused you so much stress and anxiety and distress. And yet, for some reason, you've decided to forgive and put your trust in me, and that just makes me feel so much worse.
The professor gripped onto his knees and hung his head.
Why am I so fucking pathetic? I don't fall for people. I don't doubt myself like this. I used to be fearless, travelling from body to body, facing danger every single day and killing hundreds of thousands of millions of cells, germs and bacteria without a second thought.
So, why am I so fucking petrified to tell you how I really feel?
