Dont read this, this is just for stories i want read

Mr. Push and Pull pt1

This is wrong, Clay knew that.

If it was any other situation, the age difference between him and his crush would be unnoticeable; nobody would even bat an eye. Three years is entirely acceptable nowadays, desired even, but when your student is 19 and you , the highschool teacher, is 22; people are bound to raise an eyebrow and not because of the age difference. That didn’t stop the boys from becoming smitten.

It started as innocent as any new ‘friendship’ would; a seed planted in blissful soil. On Mr Block’s first day, or as his students would call him ‘Dream’, He shuffled the stack of orientation papers when his surprisingly enthusiastic class of seniors scuttled into AP English. Dream wanted to seem strict, then, later reveal himself as the laid back teacher he currently is to earn more favor, it was the people-pleaser in him. In reality, he was extremely nervous, embarrassingly so, the same nerves causing his hands to shake and sweat to bead at his hairline. He sported a simple outfit, a white button-up with the sleeves rolled up and cuffed, charcoal trousers and a jet-black skinny tie. The carefully put together outfit perfectly juxtaposed the teacher’s messy blonde hair which he simply ran his hands through to ‘style it’. Clumps of woven, gold strands stood in every direction, fluffy at the top and short at the sides, accentuating his piercing green eyes.

His heartbeat pulsated through his limbs, that mixed with his fidgety fingers resulted in the thick stack of papers slipping out of his clammy hands and plastering themselves on the speckled floor. The class erupted in a fit of giggles, students clasping their mouths shut to avoid getting in trouble. Clay’s face flushed immediately as he bent down to gather the scattered papers and glanced back at the group of students with a death stare, a sure-fire way to shut them up. So he didn’t notice when a cold hand brushed up against his, dream jerked back to meet face to face with one of his students who crouched in front of him.

The slender boy picked up the papers and handed them back to Dream, carrying his weight on his feet. The boy had pale, white skin and a crisp jawline, long eyelashes that batted innocently over the pools of honey-like eyes. Chocolatey brown hair swooped over his forehead, the student presented a soft awkward smile whilst attempting to gather his footing off the floor when all the papers were scooped back into the hands of an awe-struck Clay.

He’d never seen someone so pretty.

The younger boy wore a pleated, pale blue skirt and a black graphic tee. His converse slipped on the floor as he fell flat on his ass in front of his teacher. This time only a couple of students in the back cackled hard, presumably his friends. Clay yet again pricked red in his cheeks and turned away faster than the speed of light as to not embarrass the boy, and himself, even more. The younger waddled to his group of goons in the back of the class and took his seat.

“Uh hum-thank you-”

Clay stood up to scan one of the papers with the names and pictures of his students to fill in the blank information before a few people chimed in with his answer instead.

“George.”

A couple of people overlapped in sound, as George looked up with big doe eyes to meet the gawking of his superior. Why did his teacher have to look like that? He was so dreamy. The butterflies ate them alive.

And with that, the flower bloomed.

It started as rumors stemming from the first day of school; people joking around about the new hot, young teacher and his hilarious encounter with the school’s busybody. Unfortunately for Clay, this built George’s confidence slowly but surely via small actions and unforgettable words. He started snapping back at his teacher, making obviously sexual innuendos with snarky quips for the cherry on top. Always beginning with Clay saying something seemingly meaningless before George sticks the knife in his heart and twists his words. ‘It’s not that hard’, ‘I can change that’ , ‘yeah I’m young’, ‘good for me…’ . Oh and always accompanied with that sickening smirk that would make Clay’s blood boil. Why was he so persistent? And why couldn’t Clay resist giving him a reaction? He was the one in charge, literally. Yet he always blushed, stuttered, excused, hardened and longed for his favourite student. Classmates would hum in approval with supportive ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ when George just ‘happened’ to drop something on the floor and just ‘had’ to bend over to pick it up, making sure to put on a show for his favourite teacher on the way down. The angle allowing one, and one person only, to see the lacy undergarment. The teasing exhilarated George and made him feel wanted, and boy was he wanted. The school ran rampant, fawning over the two men and their questionable looks of hunger within their half-lidded eyes you can spot from a mile away; no need for a front seat.