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Don't Stand So Close to Me

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The last time Richard looked forward to attending class, he had a crush on a girl in his first year of high school. And that ended poorly, too. He’s taken to avoiding developing strong relationships with people he shares his classes with; just fucks around with both sides of the spectrum, nothing ever lasting.

He doesn’t look forward to a certain class due to a peer, but his biology teacher. A middle-aged man with a developing beard and black-framed glasses. A man with a handsome, yet somehow beautiful, and elegant, and flawless, face accompanied by striking blue eyes and the prettiest lips Richard has ever fucking seen.

Every time Schneider writes on the board or adjusts a stack of papers on his desk, Richard’s eyes immediately dart to his broad hands; the prominent veins, the strong fingers, the graceful way they moved.

The way he smiles, broad and teeth-baring, accentuating his crow’s feet and the lines of age in his face. Though, this is rare. Richard often tries to evoke it from him—and often fails. He’s not easy to amuse. He’s more likely to give his students that tight, thin-lipped smile that is so obviously forced.

How timid he tends to be when his students show any level of interest or fondness in him, beyond what’s expected. One time, Richard had complimented him on his hair—the shaved sides, the wavy locks combed to the right—and it made him light up with a blush, joined by nervous, flattered laugh and a dismissal. Richard was, and is, totally hooked on this man. A perfect balance of handsome and masculine, with a certain shyness, a humbleness that shows his softer interior.

Richard isn’t sure how to win the heart of a married man with two kids. How do you even approach your teacher like that, much less when he has a (very gorgeous) wife? You would have to be absolutely shameless. Richard just needs to develop some sort of relationship beyond “that guy tells me things, and I listen”. But where does he start? Just going up and striking conversation isn’t his style, and Schneider doesn’t seem like the type to just chat with his students.

So, naturally, he resorts to gaining his attention by causing trouble.



“Richard, care to explain to the class why you’re late?”

The placement of attention on him doesn’t bother Richard. Some girls he’s slept with laugh from behind hands, amused by his obvious display. He smiles at Schneider and shrugs, gripping his notebook and pencil in a fist.

“Sorry, sir,” Richard says, not even bothering to act remorseful, “I just lost track of time.”

Schneider is watching him with his hands placed upon his desk—he had been writing something down when Richard entered, one hand gripping a pen and poised to write. Richard sweeps his gaze over him—today, he’s wearing a simple gray, long-sleeved shirt with a black-banded necklace. He’s so fucking handsome. Richard swoons a bit, staring at him, but he doesn’t let it show. Schneider straightens from his desk, crosses his arms with a displeased frown. His glasses are propped low on his strong nose.

“Don’t let it happen again. Take your seat.”

His voice is firm, his icy blue eyes searching in his—sending a thrill straight into Richard’s gut. Richard lets out a breath, and then nods. A grin is pulling at his lips, though he manages to repress it. He turns and navigates through the desks to reach his own. He drops down into it and gets comfortable for the forty minute session of just eating Schneider up like eye candy.


As usual, Richard had written everything down, considering he’s a workaholic by nature, and he even tried to sketch Schneider on the far back page of his notebook. There’s no way he could properly capture his beauty. But for the most part, he had zoned out, opting to just stare at the way Schneider’s lips moved when he spoke, how he would adjust his glasses.

When Schneider would come around to either check on their progress or hand out worksheets, Richard would always try to brush against him in some way—touch his hand “by accident” when accepting a sheet of paper, touch his arm to ask some question he needn’t ask, purposefully lay his arm along the edge of his desk so Schneider brushes against it as he squeezes past. It’s stupid and childish of him to pull that kind of shit, but he can’t exactly practice his usual methods. At least, not yet.

At the end of the class, Richard waits for everyone else to filter out before he approaches Schneider, who is currently reseated at his desk, slipping papers into a folder. Schneider glances up past the frame of his glasses. Richard runs his tongue between his lips—he feels heat rise into his face. Schneider looking at him like that, straight-faced with slight impatience in his eyes, is a bit much.

“Yes?” Schneider speaks, unmoving, hands still grasping the folder. Richard maintains the eye contact despite his flustered state as he asks lowly, “I just wanted to ask when that packet is due? Of the different bodily systems.”

He already knows, but he’s grasping at straws. He can’t just go out and ask personal questions yet. He just wants to build some foundation of a relationship, he wants to be somebody in Schneider’s eyes. Somebody outside of the herd of high school students. And giving himself a presence outside of the usual class runtime is a good place to start.

“Wednesday,” Schneider says, leaning further back in his chair to regard Richard, “Usually you have no trouble paying attention. This is the first time you’ve had to ask me.”

Richard’s stomach twists. He laughs a little, shrugging again.

“Just missed it this time.”

Schneider nods, searching his face.

“Anything else?”

A million things surge to the forefront of Richard’s mind: How long has he been a teacher? How old is he? What does he like to do in his free time? Would he be interested in sharing a coffee with Richard sometime, maybe, possibly? Richard wants to reach out and slide off his glasses, run his hands through his graying hair, touch at his beard, hold his hand. Richard lets out a breath and shakes his head.

“No. Have a good day, Herr Schneider.”

Schneider manages the tiniest smile at that, directed his way, and it makes Richard melt. Spoken in a gentler tone, Schneider says, “Thank you. Now get out of my classroom, you’ll be late for the next.”

Richard laughs and does just that, with a departing lift of a hand.



“Herr Schneider, I think there’s something wrong with my microscope.”

Schneider had been pacing among the desks, checking on his students and offering help when asked for. He pauses and takes a step back to peer past Richard’s shoulder, hands folded behind his back. Richard looks up at him with alert eyes and an open mouth, his cheeks hot. Schneider is so unfairly attractive, especially this up close. Richard is left speechless, until Schneider’s blue eyes flick over to his, and an eyebrow arches. Richard clears his throat and looks down at his microscope, saying, “I can’t focus it correctly.”

“Let me see,” Schneider says, politely reaching out and waiting for Richard to remove his hands before turning the microscope his way. Leaning in, Schneider looks through the lens, fiddles with the dials, and then says, “You just needed to adjust the finer focus.”

“Oh,” Richard says dumbly, staring at Schneider’s aged face so close to his own. He can smell his cologne. Richard feels a heat flush through his body. Schneider raises his head, brow furrowed, and turns the focusing dials a little more, before testing it again. He does this until it’s right, and then he looks at Richard and says, “Next time, I’m sure your partner can help you.”

Richard wasn’t particularly interested in flirting with his desk mate. He knew how to adjust the focus of a microscope he just—

“You know, Herr Schneider, your eyes are very beautiful,” Richard says lowly, soft enough not even the girl beside him could hear. Schneider searches in Richard’s gaze with a slight widening of his eyes. Then he blushes. He actually blushes! Richard see his cheeks deepen in color. He leans back from the microscope, straightening from the desk. He crosses his arms and reaches up with one hand to adjust his black-framed glasses. Schneider smiles faintly, seemingly embarrassed.

“Thank you, Richard.”

He replies with an equally lowered tone. Richard knows not even he wants the others to hear; he’s such a timid man, it’s adorable. Richard beams at him without really meaning to—he’s just so damn happy he could get a response out of him like that. Schneider searches his face, and then nods before turning away. He retreats to his desk, immediately. Richard smiles to himself as he leans back in to peer through the eyepiece lens of the microscope.



“Late again, Richard!” Schneider calls out as soon as Richard languidly paces into the classroom, notebook and pencil clutched in a hand like always. Schneider is standing at the board, holding a thick book open with a hand, the other poised to write. He lowers the hand wielding the whiteboard marker and peers at Richard beyond his glasses, unamused. Richard doesn’t even feign shame. He just smiles a little at his teacher and says, “Sorry, sir.”

“Look, if this becomes a habit, you do know there will be consequences,” Schneider says with a sigh, looking rather despondent over his tardiness. Richard knows he’s only shown total diligence before now, so it must come as a disappointment. Richard nods.

“Yeah… Sorry.”

Schneider eyes him and then points towards the desk positioned in the corner of the room, a few feet from the teacher’s desk. It’s meant to be something like a shameful time-out corner, a punishment dealt after the second tardiness, but Richard doesn’t mind. In fact, it makes him closer to Schneider, so who cares? The judgmental stares he’s given are ignored, for he doesn’t give a shit.

He takes a heavy seat in the corner desk with a rattle of its hinges and then drops his things atop it. He props his chin in his hand, elbow upon the desk, and gets settled to stare at Schneider for the remainder of the class. Schneider throws piercing glances his way occasionally, checking if he’s paying attention, and each time Richard gives him a sweet smile and a bat of his eyelashes. Schneider takes it as teasing, rather than flirting, so he just looks away and continues writing, or speaking, or whatever he was doing. Richard just barely heeds the lesson enough to write some notes down.



The following morning, Schneider’s class is the first of the day. So Richard comes earlier than usual, twenty minutes before class starts. He tries the door to the room and is delighted to find it unlocked. He peeks inside to see Schneider seated at his desk, elbow propped atop the surface with fingers in his wavy locks. He glances up at the creak of the door. He smiles faintly when he sees who it is.

“Richard. You’re early.”

Richard lets out a shaky breath, willing the butterflies in his stomach to fly away. He enters quietly and shuts the door behind himself. He returns the smile and says, “Yeah.”

He navigates around the desks to approach Schneider. Setting his pen down, Schneider devotes his attention to his student, crossing his arms loosely with a raised brow. Richard tries not to stare too much. He gives Schneider a slight smile as he says, “I just wanted to say… Thanks. You make the whole shitty high school experience not so shitty. The—the way you run your class, I mean. I think this is the only class I don’t dread. So, I don’t know. I wanted to show my appreciation.”

He then boldly places an expensive box of chocolates on the desk. Bold in its proclamation of something more than just respect. There is a written note inside, done in calligraphy that Richard has been practicing because he’s a hopeless romantic. Schneider looks at it, startled. He stares at it, stares up at Richard.

“I—Well. Thank you, Richard,” Schneider says, unsure of how to take this. He smiles, that tight-lipped, pursed smile that brings out the apples of his cheeks. He’s adorable. Richard grins. As a nervous gesture, Richard rakes his manicured fingers up through his locks.

“You’re welcome. I hope you’re not allergic to chocolate, or anything. I would’ve asked but I didn’t want to spoil it.”

Schneider nods, smiling still. He accepts the box of chocolates and admires the elegant lid of it, before suddenly the door is opening. Richard bites his lip to repress his laugh when Schneider hurriedly pulls open one of his desk drawers and places the box inside, before snapping it shut. Peering past Richard, Schneider takes notice of the fact its one of his co-workers. He trains his dazzling blue eyes on the teen and says quietly, “I appreciate it. I’ll return the favor sometime.”

“That would be nice,” Richard teases, grinning broad enough to bare his teeth and wrinkle the skin at the corner of his eyes. Schneider smiles warmly and then trains his attention on the other teacher when they approach. They begin rambling about some book on neurology, passing a copy over to a willing Schneider, so Richard turns to approach his desk and then takes a heavy seat in it. Gradually, students begin to filter in—each time the door opens, the racket of the full hallway fills the room. Richard keeps his hungry gaze trained on Schneider throughout the length of the brief conversation, and dares to hold it when Schneider’s eyes flick over to meet his.



“You’re very talented at poetry.”

Richard startles, flinching back against the open door of his locker. He turns to see Schneider standing there, arms loosely folded with a faint smile on his bearded face. Looking him up and down with a quick glance, Richard takes notice of how he’s wearing a short-sleeved, black jacket with a hood. He looks… Strangely adorable in that. Richard tries to regain his composure. Readjusting his hold on the books in his arms, Richard flicks his tongue between his lips and then smiles at him. His face is already burning, having been caught so off-guard by him, and then blindsided by how handsome he looks.

“I—Thank you. I wrote it for you.”

“I assume so, considering it was in the box of chocolates. Did you want my opinion on it? If that’s what you plan to write for a girl, I’m sure she would fall head over heels.”

Schneider seems to be teasing him, but with sincerity in his tone as well. Richard opens his mouth, gaping, and then closes it with a click of his teeth. He looks at his smiling, oblivious face with wide eyes. He lets out a breath, a slight laugh, and then glances down, eyes training on his chipped nails currently gripping his books. Some long locks fall from behind his ear to rest against his brow.

“Herr Schneider, it wasn’t meant for some girl,” he says quietly, peeking up at him with a sheepish smile on his boyish face. Schneider tilts his head with a furrow of his brow, smile disappearing and becoming a confused frown.

“It was for you,” Richard emphasizes with a glance towards the many students rushing past them, occupied by their animated conversations and bustle to get to class on time. He peeks up at Schneider again, hopeful. Schneider seems momentarily stunned. His head had recoiled a bit with his shock, his brow knit and lips in a line. Richard shrugs, a little embarrassed. But his balls are definitely bigger than his shame.

“You can’t help that you’re my type. You’re handsome. And you’re kind. I like that about you. So. Yeah. The poetry was for you.”

Richard smiles at him, searches his wide-eyed, baffled face, and then turns back to his locker to finish putting his things away. He grabs his notebook for art and shuts his locker with a firm slam of metal. Richard turns to his teacher and sees reluctance in his eyes, though there’s a heat in his face now—it’s cute.

“Catch you later,” Richard says with a salute of two manicured fingers, and then turns away from a speechless Schneider to melt into the swarm of students, ignoring his pounding heart and the butterflies in his anxious belly.



For the next week or so, Schneider avoids speaking to him privately. He doesn’t look at him longer than necessary, and does his best to avoid touching him: he navigates around him without risk of brushing against him, hands his papers to him by setting them on his desk rather than passing them into his hand, doesn’t lean over his shoulder to peer at his work like he used to. Richard is stubborn, and determined. He can’t avoid him forever.

Richard writes thoughtful, heart-felt poetry every night for him. He even tries drawing him, based on the pictures he finds online or in the school yearbooks. The portraits come out nice enough to include in the little note he hides in Schneider’s grading folder. Sometimes, when the students are busy working on some project or worksheet, Richard sees him open it up and find the note within. And sometimes, he sees him read it, followed by an inevitable blush and a glance of piercing blue eyes. Richard smiles every time their gazes meet. Schneider makes a point by shaking his head with a frown, before shoving them into his bookbag, to dispose of later, no doubt. It’s not like Schneider can be caught with that shit in his desk. He’d be fired.

But Richard enjoys the look of surprise on his face, followed by the embarrassment that shows through his pressed lips and narrowing eyes, his darkening cheeks. It’s worth it.

It continues like this for a week. But then after the eighth time Richard leaves poetry on his desk, Schneider waits until the end of the class, just as the bell rings, to call out calmly, “Richard, I’d like to speak with you.”

The other students filter out immediately, eager to make it closer to the end of the school day. Richard quietly gathers his pen and notebook, and then weaves between the desks to stand before Schneider’s. Schneider rises from his chair with a creak and then grabs his bag from under his desk. Richard watches, face hot and stomach flipping, as the older man sets it on the surface of his desk and digs into one of the zipper pockets to pull out a stack of small papers, folded and slightly wrinkled. He slaps them down onto the desk. Richard recognizes the smooth calligraphy.

“Enough of this,” Schneider says quietly, setting his hands on his desk, leaning forward and staring straight into Richard’s eyes. Richard takes a deep breath and then adjusts the rolled up sleeves of his gray Henley shirt. He gives his teacher a smile and asks in a controlled tone of voice, “Why?”

“It’s inappropriate,” Schneider states, sharp like a whip. He doesn’t look away from Richard’s green-eyed gaze, his own stern and unrelenting, his jaw clenched and mouth in a line. Richard bites his lip, still smiling faintly. He nods. He then steps closer, reaches out to set his hands on his side of the desk. He leans in towards Schneider now, and it has Schneider leaning back. He looks taken off-guard. Richard speaks lowly, staring deeply into his beautiful azure eyes as he says, “Being a little inappropriate isn’t always a bad thing. It’s fun. And I really like you. I want to express my affection.”

“It’s—No,” Schneider stammers, flustered now. Richard grins a little, his eyes becoming amused and excited as he searches the older man’s blushing face. Schneider takes a deep breath, straightens up from the desk to pinch his eyes under his fingers.

“I am married, Richard. I do not have interest in you, and even if I did, I would refuse to act on it.”

“C’mon. We don’t have to do anything like that. I just…”

Richard swallows hard. His heart is pounding, his ears burning with his own blush. He lets his fingers drift along the surface of the desk as he rounds it, to carefully join Schneider on his side, his green eyes trained on Schneider’s face when he drops his hand to warily watch the younger man. Richard leans his hip against the desk, rests his hand atop the surface, his amorous eyes trained up on Schneider’s. Schneider stares at him, his hand curled into a fist against his cheek, elbow propped against his folded arm. Richard smiles.

“You’re charming, and I think you’re wonderful. I like being around you. I like seeing you smile. I want to know what it’s like for you to touch me—to hold my face, to stroke my hair, to take my hand. What is it like, for your big hands to run across my skin? How would your beard feel against my face if you were to kiss me?”

“Richard—I—oh my God,” Schneider sputters, unfurling his fist to press his hand to his reddening face. Richard grins, dares to step even closer. He raises his hand from the desk to carefully rest it on Schneider’s arm, wound around his midsection. Schneider remains silent, but shakes his head, face partially hidden behind his hand. Richard continues softly, leaning in close enough he can smell him, can see his eyelashes against his cheeks.

“How soft would my skin be, under your fingers? How eager would I be, to feel your hands running up under my shirt? How responsive would I be to your kisses? How heavenly would it feel, for you to kiss my lips?”

“Richard!” Schneider snaps suddenly with a jerk of his hand, a harsh growl of his deep, smooth voice that startles the younger man. Richard removes his hand from his arm, curls it up against his own chest. Schneider searches his startled face with conflict on his own. Richard bites his lip, realizing he went too far.

“Sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed, “I got ahead of myself. It’s just—that’s all that’s been on my mind. I wanted you to know.”

He doesn’t want to end this on sour terms. He reaches out to take Schneider’s hand—his fingers and broad, and rough-textured, and warm—and then boldly raises it to press a firm kiss to his knuckles, sea green eyes fixed on icy blue. Schneider looks shocked, his eyes wide and cheeks red.

Then Richard lowers his hand and gives him a faint smile, before he lets him go and turns to leave. Schneider doesn’t say anything as Richard makes for the door.



During the weekend, Richard can’t stop thinking about him. He considers grabbing his email off the school website, send him more poetry that way. He considers looking through his yearbooks again, admire him through pictures alone. He considers how Schneider’s hand felt, clutched in his own. He considers how hot his skin felt, under his lips.

With these visuals and sensations in mind, Richard masturbates in the warmth under his secretive covers, biting his wrist as he thinks about Schneider’s big hands gripping his hips, holding him down as he fucks him. He thinks about his pretty, thin lips moving over his inner thighs in sloppy kisses, his beard scratching across him as he explores his skin. Marking him with bites, with hickeys, until eventually lowering his head between his eager legs to suck him off. Richard comes with beading tears in his eyes, tears built solely from immeasurable want. He can’t handle how much he wants him.



For a month, Richard respects Schneider’s plea for him to stop giving him what may essentially be love letters. Richard doesn’t want to creep him out. He just wants to make him smile. He wants to see him blush, he wants him to feel flattered. So, he refrains from doing anything romantic. And it’s almost torturous. Richard wants to always express his feelings—he’s just that kind of man. He wants the people he loves to feel loved. But he can’t. Understandably so, in this case. Schneider is an authority figure, and if they were to be caught, doing whatever it is they’re doing, there could be repercussions. Richard imagines if he weren’t legally considered an adult, Schneider wouldn’t be as tolerant. Not to mention he has a goddamn family. Richard doesn’t have many good cards on his side.

But Richard is not one to give up, if anything.

Schneider seems to have appreciated the distance. He treats Richard like the others again—he still avoids touching him if possible, but now he leans in over his shoulder again, smiles at him, looks into his eyes without shame. Richard hopes the spark hasn’t faded, if there was one to begin with; he hopes it’s just become dormant. He’ll reignite it soon enough. The time just has to be right.



One day, he decides to make his move when he’s asked to stay behind after class, due to being tardy too many times (on purpose, mind you). Considering biology had been his last class of the day, Richard doesn’t have to worry too much about interruptions. Schneider had scolded him, yet again, and threatened that he’ll have to assign him detention if he’s late once more. And then when he was dismissed, Richard lingered a moment, and that moment was long enough for Schneider to accidentally knock a stack of books off his desk, followed by a flutter of paper. Richard immediately took the opportunity. He moved to kneel before the mess and began gathering the scattered paper while Schneider cursed under his breath and crouched to do the same.

“It’s fine, you can go,” Schneider says with a wave of his hand—his wedding band glinting in the light overhead—and then finishes stacking the fallen books. He reaches up to set them on his desk. With a crack of his joints, he moves to kneel and begins gathering the paper alongside Richard. Richard says nothing, just finishes collecting them, and then holds them out for the older man to take. He watches Schneider with a ducked head, his eyes peeking up past his loose silver locks. Schneider glances at him incredulously as he takes the papers. They both move to stand, simultaneously, and then Schneider sets the papers back on his desk. He looks at Richard and smiles, though it’s forced. He doesn’t say anything.

Desperate, Richard steps closer and reaches out to take him by the wrists, gently. Schneider tenses up, looks at him with wide eyes. Before he could protest, Richard raises his hands to cup them around his cheeks. He flattens his palms and fingers across Schneider’s, leans into the touch with closed eyes. He clutches at his hands, soaks in the soothing warmth of them.

“Richard…” Schneider sighs, but doesn’t pull away. Richard’s throat constricts. He takes a shuddering breath and turns his face into Schneider’s palm, noses at the rough skin there. Heart pounding, cheeks hot, Richard shyly, boldly kisses him there. His eyes open, flicking up to look into Schneider’s as he gently pecks him over his inner hands. Love and fear and arousal fill his core, clenching around his heart. He’s so ecstatic to be touched by him like this, but he’s afraid that Schneider will push him away.

Richard presses his face into one of his broad palms and lets out a deep breath.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, his voice ghosting across his skin, “I couldn’t help myself. I want you to touch me. It haunts me.”

Silence is Schneider’s reply. Richard turns his head to rest his cheek in his hand again. He keeps his eyes closed. He can’t bear to look at him again—he doesn’t want to see disapproval, or pity. He just cups his hand over Schneider’s, shares the embrace for just a little longer.

But then Schneider is pulling his hands away, slowly. Richard lets him. He lifts his head and opens his eyes to see a schooled expression on Schneider’s face, save for the slightest furrow in his brow. Unexpectedly, Schneider then steps closer and draws his arms around him—Richard staggers forward into it, taken off-guard and off-balance. He presses his cheek into Schneider’s shoulder, winds his arms around his midsection. He stares off into the room, surprised and stunned, before closing his eyes and nuzzling closer. Schneider’s broad hand rests over the back of his head. Strokes down over silver locks, to rest on the back of his neck. That sends a shot of arousal straight into Richard’s gut. He tenses up in his arms.

“I’m sorry that you have these desires, Richard,” Schneider murmurs, continuing to hold him, “But I can’t. And I won’t.”

“Not here.”

Richard feels Schneider begin to pull away; he does the same. They meet gazes, and Schneider looks vaguely uncomfortable. But he’s not denying it. Richard takes in a breath and gives him a smile. Before they could totally separate, Richard arches up onto his toes and presses a sweet, warm kiss to Schneider’s cheek. He feels Schneider’s facial hair scratch against his lips.

“Thank you,” he says with a tingly belly and a warmth in his face. Schneider swallows hard, his gaze flicking down. Richard’s heart seizes when he realizes he’s looking at his lips. Schneider nods, stiffly steps away and folding his hands behind himself. Richard bites his bottom lip, flustered and giddy. Schneider clears his throat and then gestures to the door.

“Richard, please. You can go now.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I get it. See you later, Schneider.”

He purposefully revokes the formal title.

“Richard,” Schneider says with scolding disapproval and a piercing look from blue eyes, though there’s no force behind it. Richard brushes his hair behind an ear and says, winking cheekily, “I’m being totally respectful, don’t worry.”


The same afternoon, after he’s gathered his things and left, it begins to pour outside—the students filling the parking lot gradually disperse. Richard lingers near the school entrance, left with only a few stragglers who are standing out by the curb. There had been broadcasts throughout the day of rain, and now it’s come. Sitting upon one of the benches outside the school with one hand in the pocket of his leather coat, Richard peers up at the cloudy sky through squinting eyes. The rainwater falls heavily upon him and the pavement around him in big, fat drops. He flicks his cigarette, watching the glowing embers disappear underneath the building rain.

It begins to descend faster, heavier as each moment passes. Beats against his leather coat, flattens his silver hair to his scalp and forehead, clings to the sides of his boyish face. The built water descends from his brow to drip off his eyelashes. He likes it. He likes rain. Doesn’t care that he’s getting soaked to the bone. Richard brings his fresh cigarette to his full lips, takes a drag. The lit end burns brighter.

He sits there for ten minutes, works through another cigarette before lighting a third. Suddenly, the rain ceases around him.

“Smoking is unhealthy for you. You shouldn’t engage in it.”

Richard blows out the smoke in a steady burst as he turns his head to peer over at Schneider, who stands beside him with an open umbrella poised above them. Richard lowers the hand wielding the cigarette, hooks his thumb into the other pocket of his jacket, cigarette pinched between his fore and middle fingers. Schneider is impeccably dry. He’s wearing his black nylon jacket with the prominent shoulders. Looks good on him. Richard smiles, reaches up with his empty hand to rake his wet, silver bangs aside with painted fingernails.

“It’s something to do.”

Schneider looks at him disapprovingly, and then glances up to scan the parking lot. He trains his gaze on Richard’s again.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

Yes. You.

“No,” Richard says instead, his smile weakening, “I don’t have anyone to wait for. My father has me walk home. So now, I’m waiting for the rain to pass.”

Schneider doesn’t look happy about that. He gazes down at Richard with pursed lips and debating eyes, who’s appearing much like a drowned gray cat. Richard looks up at him innocently. Schneider sighs, peers out towards the parking lot. Readjusts his grip on the handle of the umbrella, clenches his hand around the strap of his bookbag.

“I can drive you home,” he says, seemingly reluctantly. He fixes his blue-eyed gaze on Richard’s. Richard smiles sweetly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with a hint of developing crow’s feet.

“If you would insist, I wouldn’t argue.”

“It’s stupid for you to wait for this to pass. It’s predicted to last until eight.”


“So, I can take you home.”

Richard grins, arching a brow. He nods.

“If you so insist.”

“I do. Now get up—and throw away your cigarette!”

Richard rises without a word. Rainwater runs down his face from his long locks. He approaches the nearby trashcan. He puts the cigarette out on the wet metal and then tosses the half-spent cigarette in. He turns to Schneider, smiling. Schneider looks exasperated, but there’s a faint smile on his bearded face. Richard loves him.

He steps up to rejoin him under the umbrella. Now, they’re standing together, closely. Richard feels rain on his shoulder considering the umbrella isn’t big enough, but that’s okay.

“Lead the way,” he says teasingly, readjusting his backpack. Schneider searches Richard’s pleased expression, his own unreadable. Richard wipes the rain out of his face with a hand and then glances towards the parking lot. He’s not sure what Schneider’s car is like. Now he’ll know, he supposes.

Schneider begins to walk—Richard follows closely. The rain patters noisily around them. There are still a couple students loitering about. Richard wonders if Schneider’s anxious about what they might think. But then again, Schneider knows he’s just doing him a favor. Nothing more, nothing to feel guilty about. Richard is silent the entire walk to the car.

Schneider has an SUV. Richard shouldn’t be surprised. He does have two kids, after all…

Removing his keys, Schneider unlocks the car with a press of a button. His car is facing away from the school, towards a row of trees. Surprising Richard, Schneider walks him to the passenger’s side and then politely pulls the door open for him. Grinning cheekily, Richard meets his gaze and says, “What a gentleman. Thanks.”

Then he climbs in, pulls off his backpack to set it at his feet. Schneider shuts the door without commenting. Richard watches him round the car. He opens the door on his side, glances in towards Richard, and then he steps up to sit partially on the seat. He closes the umbrella, shakes it out as best as he can, before tossing it into the backseat. Then he slams the door shut, turns on the car, and cranks up the heat. He hits the button for seat heating. Richard relaxes immediately, sighing. Schneider buckles up; Richard pauses, then does the same.

“Where to?” Schneider asks, earning a glance from wide, sea green eyes. Richard’s gaze roams over him, momentarily speechless. Here he is, seated in his nice car beside him, witnessing him at the wheel. Like a kid with a crush, Richard fantasizes that it’s meant to be like this. That this is commonplace, like it’s natural. Driving around in Schneider’s car, sharing warmth and close space. This is what it would be like if they were more than just teacher and student.

Richard’s lengthy silence and tense staring has Schneider furrowing his brow with concern. Richard glances back towards the schoolyard over his shoulder. The rain is beginning to beat down so heavily, it rushes down the passenger window in a blanket, obscuring his vision. He swallows hard, turns to look at Schneider again. Schneider is watching him silently, his jaw clenched and eyes hard. Richard’s heart begins to race, his stomach twisting.

Well, fuck. This is the best chance he’s going to get. May as well bite the bullet while it’s presenting itself.

Reaching out, Richard clutches at the lapels of Schneider’s jacket. He pulls him closer, shifting towards him across the console of the car. Schneider’s face opens up with shock, his hands jerking down from the wheel to regain his balance on the console. With their noses nearly meeting, Richard searches in his wide blue eyes. He angles his head and leans in to kiss him softly over the cheek, his eyes closing. He hears Schneider’s breath hitch. Richard kisses him twice more, lower and lower, across stubble and warm skin, until he presses a third against the corner of his mouth. He can feel it when Schneider opens his mouth to speak reluctantly, saying in a shaky tone of voice, “Richard—”

Before he could shatter the moment, Richard finally, firmly presses his lips against his teacher’s. His lips are wet from rainwater, slightly open considering he had been mid-sentence. Schneider makes a disgruntled noise, his hand flying up to grasp Richard’s wrist. Richard tightens his grip, afraid he’ll withdraw. He kisses him with tender purses of his lips, letting him feel just how soft and full his mouth is, pressed against his so intimately. Richard’s heart clenches when he feels those perfect thin lips reluctantly, faintly kiss back.

Their mouths purse together a few times, a scared, timid overlapping that fills the confining car with the sound of their lips sliding together. Schneider’s beard rubs against his chin. He can feel his huffing exhales against his face, expelled through his nose as their mouths are a bit occupied. Richard feels him squeeze his wrist, purses his lips with finality against his, and then rips away from him, pushing at his chest to flatten him back against the passenger seat.

Richard collapses with a gasp, looking at the other man with red cheeks and widened eyes. He rakes his fingers up through his disheveled silver locks, watching him as he swallows thickly. Schneider is cupping his other hand over the lower half of his face, eyes trained out beyond the windshield. He still has a broad hand pressed to Richard’s chest, keeping him restrained. Richard bites his lip. He’s hard in his jeans, excited both by the kiss and the firm, commanding touch.

“This can’t be happening,” Schneider mutters from behind his palm, shaking his head. He slaps his hand over his eyes and sighs. He removes his hand from Richard’s chest and instead reaches down to grip the gear stick. Wordlessly, face impassive and stony, he puts the car in reverse and hits the gas, sharply turning the wheel to spin the car so hard it jostles Richard. Then he violently changes into drive with a jerk of the gear shift, before making for the exit of the parking lot.


The drive is silent. Richard’s heart is in his stomach.

Once they make it to Richard’s place, Schneider doesn’t even put the car in park. He just sits with his foot on the brake, staring out into the cloudy sky wordlessly. Richard doesn’t move. His hands are linked nervously in his lap, his concerned eyes trained on Schneider’s profile. He looks upset. His jaw is clenched, brow furrowed.

“You need to forget about this,” Schneider says, his voice firm and lowered. He doesn’t look at Richard. Richard wants him to. Schneider’s hands are tense on the wheel.

“This never happened. You cannot tell anyone, do you understand me, Richard?”

Richard remains silent, his heart racing and hands in fists. His silence earns a glance from Schneider. Richard meets his hardened gaze, trying to mask his own uncertainty. He searches his aged face, finds only exhaustion and frustration.

“Yeah. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Alright. I hope I can trust you.”

“You can,” Richard insists strongly, holding his gaze intensely with a furrowed brow and passionate emerald eyes, “I would never do anything to hurt you or your reputation.”

“Trying to put your foot in the door is hurting me enough!” Schneider snaps abruptly, slapping his hand against the wheel and making Richard flinch back. Schneider stares out the windshield as he speaks with anger in his tone, something Richard never wanted to hear, “Do you even realize what you’re doing? I have a wife. I have kids. I am your teacher. You have to understand that you could ruin my life. You kissing me, in the parking lot of the school? What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking of you!” Richard growls, unable to handle this anymore. His hands are so tightly clenched in his lap, his knuckles hurt. Schneider looks at him with a deep frown and guarded blue eyes. Richard takes a few deep breaths, shakes his head sharply, once. He feels overwhelmed, choked, suffocated. He speaks shakily, frustrated, cornered.

“I was thinking of you, so I wasn’t thinking, alright? You make me fucking crazy! I can’t think straight when it comes to you!”

Richard then slaps his hand against the car door, rips the handle open and shoves the door out. He grabs his backpack, drops onto the wet pavement, slams the door shut. He charges straight for the front door of his house. He’s unable to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder as he digs out his keys. Schneider is lingering, watching him with his hands on the wheel—Richard can’t see his face that clearly through the haze of the rain. The glance has Schneider looking away and pressing on the gas; the car begins to move with a crunch of pavement under the wheels, and then he’s disappearing down the street.


An hour later, seated at his laptop and listening to painfully loud grunge, Richard realizes he forgot to say thank you. He finds Schneider’s email via the school website, writes up an email that says only:

“Thanks for the ride.


After hitting send without considering it further, Richard snags his cigarette pack from the pocket of his damp leather jacket and escapes to his mother’s backyard garden, to suffocate himself in the smoke.



The next day at school, Richard skips Schneider’s class to smoke at a nearby park.

Administration calls home—when he gets back from school, his dad smacks him upside the head and tells him to grow the fuck up.

The following day, Richard skips Schneider’s class to hide in the corner of the library, where he spends the forty minutes on his phone. They call home again, warns his father he’ll get detention if he skips one more time.

Schneider passes him three times in the halls during these two days—both relieving and crushing Richard, he doesn’t even acknowledge him. Richard is angry that he didn’t fall for his attempts like everyone else had before him.

The next day, on Friday, Richard skips biology yet again and is subsequently given detention. His father drags him by the collar into his room, throws him onto his bed and tells him he can forget about leaving his room for the rest of the night. His mother comes in to talk to him hours later, trying to figure out what’s wrong—why has he been acting out suddenly, when he used to be such a dedicated student? Richard doesn’t give her anything, stubbornly refuses to let her make him feel better.

On Monday, he’s stuck in detention until lunch. At lunch, Richard doesn’t eat, for he lacks an appetite. He stands outside under the light drizzle, hidden underneath one of the trees by the front entrance. He crushes his cigarettes underfoot before he can be tempted to smoke. He’s tired of Schneider’s words that ring in his head whenever he digs a fucking cigarette out of a pack.



It’s like this for another couple days. He manages to avoid Schneider’s class entirely, before he’s eventually risking his education for this bullshit. So, reluctantly with anger, he forces himself to step within the threshold of his discomfort and takes a seat as far back as possible. He hides in his notebook the entire time, refusing to even look at Schneider. Schneider leaves him be.

At least, for the first week.

The second week of total unresponsiveness rolls around, and then Schneider becomes agitated. He calls on Richard every class, and when Richard refuses to answer, Schneider makes his way over to his desk, leans in real close and says something along the lines of, “You need to get over yourself and be what you’re supposed to be: my student.”

This happens every time, and Schneider becomes a little more impatient, a little more forceful, until he just gives up, simply because Richard refuses to give in. Richard is a stubborn brat, and he will always be. At least he’s maintaining the perfect grade—that’s all that really matters, anyways.

(And he just cannot get Schneider off his mind, it’s an obsession—he’s constantly spinning around in his thoughts. When he’s roaming the halls, when he’s walking home, when he’s eating lunch, when he’s sitting in his classroom, staring determinedly at his notebook. It’s driving him crazy. He still wants him so badly, it’s tearing him apart.)



Three weeks since the kiss, Richard receives a message labeled “Concerned” from Schneider’s email address. His heart immediately leaps into his throat. Anxiety squeezes like a fist around his guts. Richard opens it reluctantly.

Things are obviously not okay. But they’re not improving. You seem like you’re having a hard time. I’m probably the last person you want to talk to, but you can talk to me.

It’s signed with his full name, his email address, his phone number.

Herr Christoph Schneider. Richard stares at his first name longer than necessary, reading it over and over again: Christoph, Christoph, Christoph, Christoph, Christoph, Christoph.

He’s seen it before, of course. He looked his name up in the yearbook as soon as his crush, or whatever this is, began developing. But he could’ve easily just left it as “Herr Schneider”. Including his first name, refraining from removing it from the signature, seems unlike him. He often insists on the formalities.

He doesn’t write back, but he doesn’t delete it. His heart is tight, heavy in his chest.



The next day, Richard looks at Schneider, watches him sit at his desk, reviewing some papers as the students work together on a project involving pH levels in various substances. Richard stares beyond the shoulders of other students, watches him closely as he writes, as he rubs at his eyes tiredly, as he rakes his fingernails through his beard, a subconscious habit.

Schneider glances up eventually, scans the students to make sure they’re focused, meets Richard’s gaze across the room. Richard holds it for a few moments, throat closing, heart pounding, his face unreadable—Schneider is staring straight back, his brow furrowing, lips pressing together as the corners lift in a weak attempt of a reassuring smile. Richard then looks away, towards his partner.


Biology had been the last class of the day. When Schneider calls for him after the bell rings and students are already out of their seats, packing their things to leave for the day, Richard hesitates. He still debates whether or not to talk to him, standing motionless at his desk, just as the last student exits the classroom. Shit. He swallows his courage, snatches his notebook off the desk, turns to Schneider from across the length of the room. Schneider beckons him with a curl of two fingers. Heat bursts into Richard’s face.

“Lock the door,” Schneider begins, which has Richard freezing. He looks shocked. Schneider realizes why and blurts out, obviously horrified at the unspoken assumption, “I want to talk to you, and I don’t want interruptions.”

Oh. Richard tries to ignore his racing heart as he silently makes his way to the door. He grips the lock, twists it, hears it snap into place. He places his notebook and pencil on the desk closest to the door as he passes it, makes his way to the teacher’s desk where Schneider sits. Richard crosses his arms, stands on the other side with a frown. Looking him up and down, Richard takes note of how he’s wearing jeans and a casual, faded gray button-up. He represses the weak smile that pulls at his lips; as usual, he looks handsome. Schneider clears his throat. The sound of rushing, talking students outside the door is faint, somehow contributing to the tension.

“How are you doing?” he asks, plainly, with a faint, forced smile directed Richard’s way. Richard feels sick.

“How are you doing?” Richard remarks, digging his fingernails into his biceps, arms remaining crossed. Schneider arches a brow. He shrugs.

“I’m fine. Tired. Your turn.”

“I’m angry,” Richard seethes from between his teeth. Schneider furrows his brow, looks at him with tension in his jaw. Richard sighs, shakes his head, lifts a hand to rub it down over his face.

“Forget it. Just forget it.”

“No,” Schneider firmly says, leaning forward to fold his hands atop the desk, peering up into Richard’s reluctant gaze past the black frames of his glasses.

“I want to hear it. Tell me.”

Richard takes in a shuddering breath, considers what to do, what to say. He knows this is fucked. It doesn’t matter anymore, trying to build his relationship with Schneider. Why should he hold his punches if Schneider is laying himself out for receival?

“How fake you are makes me angry,” Richard says plainly, his face burning with a mixture of anger, fear, embarrassment, the unwanted building of repressed tears in his eyes. He hates how this happens. Whenever he bottles up his anger, it comes out through his eyes. He continues shakily, his voice lowered and eyes trained on Schneider’s, hands in fists against his biceps, “Somewhere inside of you, you know this isn’t impossible. You kissed me back. And you’re hiding behind the label of your authority. Acting like I’m only a burden. I’m sick of it. So, yeah, I’m stepping away and reducing myself only to your student¸ because obviously, that’s all I’ll ever amount to.”

He takes a breath, continues, eyes falling to stare at Schneider’s hands on the desk.

“I’m pissed, because I try to distance myself from you to get over it like you fucking told me¸ but instead I’m punished. I try to switch teachers, I’m refused. I get beat by my father, scolded for potentially ruining my academic career, or whatever.”

Maybe that was a little bit of a lie. Being manhandled and struck once doesn’t count as beating but it sure as hell felt like it. Maybe it’ll soften Schneider up a bit, make him act like a decent human being. Richard isn’t asking for much.

Schneider looks at him silently, his eyes searching, his brow knit, lips in a frown. He looks concerned, and a little uncertain. Richard lets out a shaky breath, reaches a hand up to rake his loose bangs behind an ear.

“Do you still feel that way?” Schneider asks quietly, earning a meek glance from watery green eyes. Schneider is gazing at him unwaveringly, his posture tense, his expression stony. Richard swallows down the rock in his throat, tilts his head slightly.

“I—what do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Do you still have those feelings?”

Richard’s heart is pounding, his skin hot, cheeks burning. He’s sure he looks like a mess. He tries to take a few breaths, regain his composure. He clenches his jaw, presses his lips together. He nods. There’s no way this obsession could fade away so soon. Looking at him now, Richard is strangled with his adoration.

Silence hangs for a moment. Schneider reclines back in his chair, runs his hands down over his face, and then gestures with one as he asks flatly, “What do you want from me, Richard? What do you want me to do?”

Probably a rhetorical question, but Richard takes it.

“I want you to be honest with me,” he snaps, earning a hard glance from blue eyes. Richard then steps around the desk, approaches Schneider, who watches him warily. He stands in front of him, unfolding his arms to gesture with open palms.

“What are you feeling? I know you’re not okay with this. I know you’re probably disgusted. But what else? You didn’t shove me away, like you could have, in the car. So, there’s something else. What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Schneider stammers, his wary expression becoming open and afraid, “I don’t know. I’m sorry, but whatever it is, I can’t act on it.”

“There’s something,” Richard insists, his voice cracking, and he feels embarrassment because of it. He steps even closer, between Schneider’s knees. Schneider looks up at him with weakened gaze, his lips pressed together, eyes vulnerable. Richard doesn’t want to take advantage of him, he just wants it to be reciprocated. And obviously, there is something there that does reciprocate it.

“I want you to touch me,” Richard goes on, voice firm and wobbly. He reaches up to roughly, angrily wipe the tear off his face when it drips down from his eyelashes. He lets out a breath, meets Schneider’s uncertain eyes with his own, “I want you to kiss me. It doesn’t have to be inherently sexual. I just want you to acknowledge me. I want you to make me feel wanted. Like… Like how much I want you.”

An elongated moment passes. The clamor of students outside the classroom has lessened enough for Richard to relax, enough that he doesn’t feel like running anymore. No one has even tried the handle to the door. They feel totally alone. Richard’s pounding heart is so loud to him, he wonders if Schneider can hear it.

Startling Richard, Schneider lifts his hands. He holds them out, his face expressionless. Richard is frozen, unsure of what he’s trying to convey.

“Now or never,” Schneider says.

Richard swallows hard, nods. He reaches out with timid hands to slowly, cautiously curl his fingers around Schneider’s wrists, over the cuffs of his button-up shirt. He watches himself ease his hands closer to himself, to his body. With his elbows cocked back, shoulder blades tense, Richard flattens his broad hands around his sides, over the soft cotton of his band t-shirt. The heat of his touch is intense, even through the layer of fabric. Richard is already trembling. Schneider doesn’t say or do anything. Richard glances up, sees him staring down at the connection of his hands to his body.

With his slender hands resting across Schneider’s, Richard slowly, gradually runs their hands up over his sides, across his chest, disheveling his shirt. Schneider’s icy blue eyes are unmoving, trained only on his hands as Richard slides them up across his front, over tense muscle felt through the fabric. Heart pounding, face burning, Richard watches Schneider’s face through lidded eyes, seeing the way his cheeks begin to flush. His gaze is noticeably shaky when it flicks up to meet Richard’s.

The moment is heavy with tension as Richard traverses their hands up across his collarbone. Up over his neck, across flexing tendons and muscle when he swallows thickly. His hands are big, hot, and a little calloused. Richard feels like he’s melting. He’s hard in his jeans already. Schneider lets out a shuddering breath, as if he intends to speak, but he doesn’t say anything. Richard raises his hands to his cheeks. He turns his face into his palms, cupping his manicured fingers around his teacher’s, keeping them in place against his skin.

Eyes closing, Richard nuzzles into his hands, his heart clenching with desire and giddiness. Schneider’s fingers twitch, as if resisting the urge to move. Richard wants him to. He kisses his palm, and pecks his fingers. Boldly, he then lowers his hands from Schneider’s, lets his arms rest by his sides, eyes opening to meet his gaze. Schneider’s hands remain suspended, cupping his face. He looks conflicted—now the responsibility of action is on his shoulders. Schneider’s fingers move slightly; they weave through Richard’s unruly silver locks.

Richard sucks in a breath when he strokes his thumbs over his jaw. He closes his eyes. Schneider’s fingers curl down from his hair, his fingertips caressing the shell of his ears—Richard shudders, his hands clenching and relaxing. When Schneider thumbs at his earrings, Richard feels like he might melt, his knees weakening.

“I do think you are beautiful,” Schneider says, quietly, “Your eyes.”

Richard doesn’t open them. He feels his thumbs run underneath his eyes, across his eyelashes.

“Your sharp cheekbones.”

A slow brush across his cheeks.

“Your lips.”

An intimate run of a thumb across his bottom lip. Richard’s mouth falls open, his breath caught. He opens his eyes, searches Schneider’s handsome face—he’s blushing. He can see the tint in his skin, which reaches up to his ears. Schneider’s eyes are meek, but not fearful anymore. They remain trained up on him. Richard wants more.

He reaches up to take Schneider’s hands in his own. Schneider lets him. Richard kisses both on the knuckles and then lets them go. Schneider watches, wide-eyed with his hands raised, suspended, waiting for guidance, as Richard moves to straddle his thighs in the not-quite-big-enough chair. Schneider huffs when Richard fits himself on his lap despite the lack of room. At least he’s not protesting entirely.

Richard clutches his hands before they could retreat. Schneider watches him, uncertain and shy again, as Richard lowers them to rest around his sides. They’re so close now. His body is so warm, under his own like this. He smells wonderful, and his eyes are even more beautiful this up close. Richard’s heart is singing. He smiles a little, searching the older man’s face fondly. Schneider squeezes his hands around his sides.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he mutters, momentarily breaking the moment. He shakes his head with a slightly sour smile, which has Richard’s disappearing. He opens his mouth to regain his consent, but then Schneider is leaning in and kissing him softly. Richard produces a weak, surprised noise that sounds embarrassingly similar to a squeak. Schneider’s hands slide up over his sides—Richard violently shudders, and it has Schneider humming a quiet laugh into his lips. Richard’s innerworkings become jammed due to everything that’s happening now; the gears get stuck, the wires crossed, thoughts reduced to static. He’s dazed as he weakly kisses him back.

His lips are soft and thin against his own. It’s not reluctant like the last kiss they shared. He kisses him firmly, a slow, deep pursing of his lips that Richard reciprocates. It makes for a passionate moving of their mouths, a back-and-forth overlapping that has Richard moaning softly against his lips. Schneider’s hands squeeze around his sides again. His beard rubs against Richard’s chin as they kiss heavily—the sounds of doing so fills the classroom, joined by Richard’s occasional noise and breathless gasp. The air is seemingly heavier now, the atmosphere intensifying. Something electrifying is shooting between them, and it feels like it’s only going to strengthen as this continues.

Richard feels utterly content. He could just sit here and kiss him forever. He brings his hands up to curl them around the back of Schneider’s neck. His fingers sweep up into his buzzed hair, roaming across hungrily. He’s absolutely soaking up as much contact as possible. He wants to touch him as much as he can, before this ends.

“Okay,” Schneider murmurs against his lips, half-muffled behind a kiss. Richard refuses to stop; he continues mashing his lips against Schneider’s, until Schneider is gently pushing a hand against his chest, pursing his mouth against Richard’s with finality. Then Richard relents and draws back to meet his gaze, panting. Schneider’s lips are red and wet with saliva. His glasses are slightly askew; the older man reaches up to fix them. Richard bites his bottom lip, grinning a little. He continues cradling the back of his head with both hands, fingers among buzzed hair.

“Are you satisfied now?” Schneider asks quietly, hands settling on Richard’s hips. Richard lets out a breath, searching his handsome, aged face with an amorous gaze. Schneider is blushing still, his eyes shy. Richard licks his lips and smiles.

“I never could be, with you.”

“I’m not going to sit in this chair and kiss you forever.”

“So let me suck you off.”

Schneider’s head recoils back into Richard’s hands at that, his eyes widening behind his glasses. Richard’s smile becomes a bashful grin. He strokes his thumbs over Schneider’s cute earlobes as the other man recovers from that, gathering his rebuttal.

“I—What. Are you serious?”

“Yes. I want to. Please, let me. Please.”


“Yes!” Richard hisses with a hopeful grin, his eyes wide and mischievous as he curls closer to the other man, leaning in to kiss him on the brow before pressing their foreheads together. He shudders then, feeling Schneider’s broad, hot hands slide up from his hips, across his back. It turns him on, unbelievably so. He gasps, rolls his hips down, effectively grinding his clothed erection against Schneider’s thigh. Even through the stiff material of his jeans, that feels amazing. Richard lets out a slight breathless moan.

He really can’t believe this is happening. He’s currently grinding against Herr Schneider’s thigh, clutching at him like a desperate bitch in heat. He has never acted like this before for another man. He rolls his hips again, rubbing the length of his hard cock against his thigh, grunting. His cock throbs in appreciation, the warm, electrifying pleasure shooting up into his gut and settling like a burn.

“Please,” he breathlessly whispers, “I want to taste you. I want to make you feel good. I want to look up and see your eyes on me while I get you off.”

“Jesus, Richard, really?” Schneider growls, “You mean that. You want to do this.”

“Yes,” Richard moans, getting so very tired of the waiting. He kisses Schneider on the forehead, the temple, down to his mouth again. He kisses him with a firm pursing of his lips, and the older man returns it with an angling of his head to deepen it. Richard hums into the kiss, curls impossibly closer to him as he licks into his mouth. Schneider catches his tongue between his teeth, a silent protest. Richard relents and leans back, searching his face with a furrowed brow and red cheeks.

“I need to stand,” Schneider mutters, not quite meeting his gaze, “My knees are stiff. And then—You…”

“Yeah,” Richard murmurs breathlessly, running his hands down over Schneider’s neck, across his chest, and then back up again, “Yeah, we can do that.”

He then moves to get up off of his lap. Schneider waits for him to step aside before rising himself—his knees pop, and Richard has to bite his lip from making a comment about him being an old man. Well, he’s about to have this old man’s dick in his mouth, so may as well be nice to him. Schneider turns to lean against the desk, letting out a breath. His gaze pans up across Richard to meet his eyes again.

“Hurry up before I change my mind,” he says, quietly. Richard all too happily moves closer to him. He presses his body against Schneider’s, running his hands up along his sides, across the wrinkled fabric of his button-up. He’s warm. Richard smiles, peeking up at him. Schneider looks at him with lidded eyes, his face pink and lips in a line. He’s so handsome.

Richard arches up onto his toes to kiss him fleetingly, and then moves to kneel, dragging his hands down along Schneider’s form as he goes. Then they end up at his belt. He gets it undone with a clicking of metal against metal, as well as the button and zipper to his jeans. He’s wearing navy blue briefs. Somehow, that’s cute. He’s perfect. This is perfect. Richard slides his hand in to rub his palm along his length through the fabric—he’s not hard at all. Richard tries to not let it get to him. He’s just at an age where it doesn’t come as easy.

Peering up at Schneider past his silver locks, Richard gives him a coy smile as he continues rubbing his cock through his briefs. His other hand is curled around the back of his thigh, squeezing. Schneider looks less uncertain now. His mouth is slightly open, his lidded blue eyes trained right on Richard’s. His hands are clutching around the edge of the desk, keeping himself balanced.

Richard raises a hand to hook his thumb under Schneider’s button-up, as well as the undershirt, hiking them up enough to reveal his soft stomach. Surprising him, he doesn’t even have any belly hair. Just smooth, pale skin. His stomach has a slight pouch, developed from a lack of working out and age. It’s… It’s really hot. Richard is already sweating, his face and insides swimming with heat. He leans in to kiss him tenderly over the stomach, against the soft layer there. He’s wanted to do that for so long. Schneider shudders.

Kissing him twice more there, Richard then sweeps his tongue into his belly button while squeezing his cock firmly in his hand. Schneider shifts slightly. Richard finally feels some stiffness. Leaning back, Richard alternates his staring between Schneider’s flushed, open expression and his manicured hand currently groping at him through his clinging briefs; he can see the outline of his hardening cock now. Richard licks his lips.

He doesn’t want to make either of them wait anymore. He brings his other hand in to hook his fingers into the waistband of his briefs. He eases it down slowly, revealing graying hair and more skin. Richard spots a couple birthmarks. Cute.

Biting his lip, he watches with hungry eyes as he hooks the waistband under his balls, his fingers gently cupping underneath them. Schneider is silent and tense. Richard peeks up at him past his disheveled silver locks and smiles. Schneider’s jaw is clenched, his eyes still uncertain. He meets Richard’s gaze. Richard maintains the eye contact as he leans in to kiss him once over his lower belly, and then over his cute graying hair. Schneider’s face pinches with what seems to be shame.

“You’re perfect,” Richard murmurs, a rumbling sound in his throat, his eyes glinting with appreciation as he pans his gaze down to his half-hard cock, “I love everything about you.”

Schneider says nothing, just takes in a breath. Richard admires. His cock is already impressive in length, even when not fully erect, and elegantly slender. He’s uncut. Richard’s own hard-on aches in his pants. Schneider has such a hot body.

Gripping the base, Richard leans in to dip his tongue into the narrow opening of his foreskin, peeking up at him past his bangs. He continues cradling his balls with his other hand, thumb pressing against the sensitive skin. Schneider shudders, his eyes weakly closing, mouth opening slightly. Richard can barely neglect how turned on his body is; he desperately wants to touch himself while doing this. But he doesn’t want to disrupt the process, so he doesn’t.

Richard keeps his wide eyes trained up on Schneider’s flushed face as he licks at the tip, tasting the saltiness of him. He smells strong and musky, like any man would, and it turns Richard on, incredibly so.
Leaning back, he watches himself slowly draw back his foreskin with a pull of his hand, revealing the pink head that is just asking for it. Richard is excited to play with it.

Again, he leans in to roll his tongue across the head, earning a slight jerk of Schneider’s hips and a choked noise. He squeezes his manicured fingers around Schneider’s balls as he rubs the flat width of his tongue against the frenulum of his cock, against the bundle of nerves that has Schneider’s hands tightening on the edge of the desk, another weak, restrained moan coming from the man. Richard hums with pleasure. He’s now fully hard in his hand, straining and flushing a delicate pink. He’s big, for common standards.

When he’s this aroused, Richard doesn’t possess patience or the will to tease. He sucks the head into his mouth, cheeks hollowing and eyes closing. He moves his mouth, maintaining suction with his tongue rolling—he tastes just right and Richard impatiently wants more. Schneider grunts.

Throughout his eleventh and twelfth years, Richard has been with enough men (all his age, sadly) to know how to do this. He doesn’t hesitate to suck more into his mouth with a gradual dipping of his head, his brow furrowing slightly. Schneider lets out a ragged, sharp exhale from above. Richard loves how responsive he is. He begins to bob his head in a gradual back and forth, his cheeks sucked in and hand continuing to grip his balls.

The vulgar sounds of his wet mouth repeatedly sucking him back in unashamedly fills the classroom, occasionally interrupted by Schneider’s gasping moans and the background noise of a school which is not yet completely empty. When breathless, Richard slowly withdraws, until the slick, pink head pops out from his lips. And then he’s looking up at Schneider with a coy smile, his cheeks painted a deep rouge, eyes lustful and searching the older man’s vulnerable expression. He begins stroking at his wet length as he says quietly with his smile becoming a grin, “Can you hold my hair while I blow you, Schneider? I want you to touch me.”

Schneider’s tongue drifts between his bitten lips, his eyes lidded and weak behind his glasses. His cheeks are a blotchy pink, his ears red. He’s so cute. He nods.

Once given confirmation, Richard leans back in. Though rather than suck him right back into his mouth like Schneider expected, Richard angles his dick up and drags his tongue up over his balls, along the slick shaft, to the pink head. Schneider shudders when he grinds his tongue into the sensitive frenulum again, eager emerald eyes trained up on his pleasure-stricken face. Richard purrs like a cat when Schneider’s brain catches up with his body—he jerks a hand out to rake his fingers through his silver locks. He tightens his grip, holds a handful of his hair. Richard loves it.

He then sucks him back into his mouth, deep enough that the head strokes against the back of his throat—Richard’s back curls slightly, though he manages to repress his gagging. Schneider moans, breathlessly and softly, so Richard does it again.

Brow knit and face burning, Richard forcefully restrains the protests of his body. The urge to gag isn’t pleasant, but the feeling of his nose pressing into graying hair and a soft belly makes it absolutely worth it—an indication that he is taking his cock as deep as possible into his throat, which only serves to turn him on further. Schneider’s fingers release the handful of his hair, sprawl out into his locks to curl around his scalp, gripping his head in his hand. He groans under his breath, pumping his hips just slightly—he’s obviously trying to repress the urge. Richard moans around him, an encouragement. Schneider realizes this and begins to slowly, carefully roll his hips, sliding his cock in and out of his mouth, deep enough every time it has Richard’s face pressing into his belly. Shit. This is too much.

Hands shaking, Richard jerks them down to his lap and begins desperately undoing his jeans. He reaches in to grope himself firmly through his briefs. Richard loses focus due to this, but Schneider compensates for it. He continues gently fucking his mouth with slow rocks of his hips, his hand sliding further down over Richard’s scalp, raking fingers through long locks, to grip the back of his neck. Richard groans around him, a wet, gurgling sound that is more embarrassing than anything. Schneider hums lowly in return. Richard takes his wet, dripping hard-on out of his underwear and begins to pump himself with a fist. His pre-come is plentiful and sticky, clinging to his fingers and making a goddamn mess.

A gradual thrust that was firmer and deeper than the others has Richard’s throat convulsing as he gags, his eyes clenching shut and back curling. Spit drips down in a thick line from his lips to sully his jeans. That was humiliating. Schneider grasps a fistful of his hair, as gently as possible, and carefully pulls him off. Richard obeys, leaning back as he sucks in sharp, stuttering breaths. He opens his eyes and looks up at Schneider, his chin dripping with saliva, eyes watery. Schneider is red-faced and breathing heavily, his jaw clenched and eyes fiery.

“I have—” Richard begins breathlessly, voice thick, and then swallows before continuing, “I have lube and a condom on me. If I bent myself over your desk, would you fuck me?”

Schneider’s hungry gaze becomes shocked, and then reluctant. He blinks away the lust in his eyes and takes in a breath before saying lowly, “I shouldn’t.”

“But you want to,” Richard says firmly, looking up unwaveringly into his hesitant blue eyes, “And you will. I want you to fuck me.”

A moment of contemplation passes. Schneider licks his lips and glances up towards the clock above the whiteboard. He then sighs and meets Richard’s gaze again. He nods.

“Okay. Quickly.”

He offers a hand. Richard takes it, lets the other man pull him to his feet. Richard immediately retrieves the shameless packet of lube and the condom from his pocket and sets them on the desk. Schneider is obviously disturbed by the fact he just carries those around, if his expression is any indication. He silently watches Richard step out of his shoes and then both his briefs and jeans, leaving him naked save for his shirt.

Schneider hesitates. Richard turns to him, grabs a fistful of his shirt and tugs him closer. Schneider steps forward unsteadily, watching the younger man with a furrowed brow as he begins working down his button-up, getting it undone and then open with a yank of both hands.

“You said quickly,” Richard says, noticing his uncertain expression. Schneider nods, letting out a breath. He brushes Richard’s hands away and silently slips off his button-up, followed by his undershirt that he pulls off himself with a raise of his arms. Richard hungrily eats up the sight of his naked torso. He’s soft, pale. Reaching out, Richard runs his hands down over his front, admiring. Schneider just stands there, hands in loose fists by his sides. He then reaches up to grasp his wrists. Richard pauses, looks up to meet his hardened gaze.

“Place your hands on the desk.”

“But you’re not done undressing,” Richard protests, frowning. Schneider presses his lips together.

“I’m not getting naked in my classroom. That would be weird.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but fucking me on your desk is weird. I’m not getting fucked by a guy whose belt is going to be making a damn racket the entire time. It’ll be more inconspicuous that way.”

“I could just remove the belt.”

“Come on, I’m letting you fuck this sweet ass. Do what I want.”

“All of this is because of what you want, you do realize.”

Richard squints at him. He twists his wrists out of Schneider’s grasp, reaches down to grab onto his jeans and briefs, begins pulling them down. Schneider sighs, but lets him. He grabs onto Richard’s shoulders, pushes him back to give himself some damn room, and then steps out of his shoes before doing the same with his jeans. Then he opens his arms slightly, palms facing outwards in a gesture of “there, I did what you want, now shut up”. Richard does, happily so. He tugs off his band t-shirt, drops it to the floor, and then steps closer to the older man.

“God, I love your body,” Richard breathes, pressing up against him, their lower halves aligning—his hard, dripping cock slides up against Schneider’s, leaving a streak of pre-cum against his hip. He cups his manicured hands around Schneider’s sides, tilts his head back to meet his gaze as he runs his touch up along the planes of his broad back. Schneider looks down at him with lidded eyes and a slightly open mouth. He brings a hand up to hold Richard’s face, thumb resting on his pink, swollen lips. Richard searches his handsome face with adoring eyes.

“You are so young,” Schneider mutters, searching his youthful features with a furrowing brow. He strokes his thumb down over Richard’s chin. Richard hums, rakes his nails gently down Schneider’s back. He’s so warm. He loves being connected to him like this.

“Will you finger me,” Richard begins softly, smiling, “Or should I handle it?”

“I will,” Schneider answers, no hesitation. Richard bites his lip, excited. He was hoping for that.

“Like I said,” Schneider continues, glancing down to Richard’s lips, “Hands on the table.”

“Yes, sir,” Richard shakily says, hoping he’ll kiss him. Schneider doesn’t disappoint; he leans in to kiss him with a firm pursing of his lips, which Richard eagerly returns. Their mouths overlap together a few times, Richard’s heated panting and pleased noises accompanying the sound of their moving lips. Then Schneider curls a broad hand around his throat, pushes him away. Richard obediently turns to face the table. Schneider reaches past him to grab the folder resting there, as well as a textbook, and sets them into the chair before pushing it away. Richard sets his hands flatly on the desk.

Watching past his shoulder with lidded eyes, Richard sees him grab the lube packet and tear it open. He squeezes a dollop onto his fingers, steps closer to Richard’s side. Richard watches, wide-eyed with a sucked in breath, as he reaches down to boldly rub his fingers between his asscheeks, down over his hole and taint. Richard shudders violently, his eyes closing. A shot of arousal rings through his belly.

He’s only been fucked once before. He wishes Schneider could’ve been his first time.

After recoating his fingers, Schneider sets aside the lube, shifts closer to Richard. His dry hand curls around his side, his stiff dick pressing against his hip purely due to their close proximity. Richard bites his lip, hangs his head. Schneider’s broad fingertips rubbing over his sensitive hole has him grunting under his breath. He sets his feet further apart, his back curling deeply from the position. He feels Schneider’s hand stroke up over his side as he eases a finger into him.

Richard bites his lip. His stomach is twisting with arousal, pleasure sitting patiently inside of him like a bubbling heat, waiting for more. As Schneider moves that finger back and forth, soon to be joined by a second, it becomes clear Richard can’t hold himself up. He collapses forward onto his elbows, lets out a shaky breath. Having Schneider’s fingers inside of him is something else entirely. Schneider’s free hand runs up over the slope of his spine, a hot, comforting touch. Richard lets out a slight noise, overwhelmed.

“How is it?” the older man asks quietly, careful and concerned as always. Richard takes in a slow breath, regaining his composure to say shakily, “Good. It’s good. Your fingers are big.”

“But it doesn’t hurt?”

“No. I’m—I like it.”

Schneider doesn’t say anything more. Richard peeks back at him, sees a flustered look on his face, shown through his pressed lips and downcast eyes, his furrowed brow and red cheeks. Richard is getting impatient. Schneider moving his fingers deeply inside of him, down to the base of his knuckles every time, is a fucking great experience, but he wants to get fucked by him already. His cock is still angrily hard, dripping pre-cum onto the floor.

Pale blue eyes flick up to meet his. Richard bites his lip, giving him the greatest pleading expression he can manage. Schneider seems to grasp what he wants; grabbing the packet of lube from the desk, he squeezes another dollop onto his fingers currently inside of him and then begins easing in a third. Richard actually clenches his teeth at that. He wasn’t lying when he said his fingers were big. Three is a different level entirely.

It stings, but it doesn’t hurt. Richard presses his forehead into his arm, letting out a shuddering breath. Schneider slowly forces his fingers back and forth inside of him. Richard moans when Schneider’s other hand gropes his ass, squeezes it in his strong fingers before spreading him open to gain a better visual.

The plea for him to spank his ass while fingering him sits on Richard’s tongue, but he knows that would be a foolish thing to ask for; the sound of doing so would only attract attention. So instead he bites his tongue, waits patiently for this to progress. And it does—after sliding his three wet fingers back and forth inside of him for another minute, Schneider deems it sufficient and removes them. Richard lifts his head, looks over to watch him tear open the condom and slip it on. Damn, that’s hot; watching him put it on. Now, they’re getting closer to the best part.

Richard watches with a barely concealed grin as the older man steps up behind him, letting his stiff cock rest between the swell of his asscheeks as he squeezes the last of the lube into his palm. Richard gasps, pushes his hips back against him to trap his length between them. Schneider’s cock is burning hot against him.

“Be patient,” Schneider scolds, grasping a handful of his ass again. He pushes him forward against the desk—Richard relents, leaning forward into his elbows. He watches over his shoulder as Schneider grips himself and strokes the lube over his cock. Then he sweeps it down to rub the slick head up over his taint and across his wet hole. Richard jerks forward into the desk, gasping a shocked moan. That was really sensitive. Schneider glances up at him, notices the look of surprise on his flushed face. He hooks his hand around his hip, fingers pressing into his thigh to keep him still. He does it again—he slowly slides the head up against his hole, and then down again in a long sweep that has Richard’s lower half trembling.

“Oh, God, please,” Richard pants, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow, “Fuck me already.”

Saying nothing, Schneider repeats the motion; pressing his thumb down against it to keep it in place, he lets his wet shaft slide up between his asscheeks, running the length across his clenching hole. Richard moans softly into his elbow. His insides are swimming with an incredible heat, coiling in the base of his stomach. His cock is throbbing. Richard squeezes his thighs together, shaky and sensitive. Schneider hums and rubs the head of his cock up against him one more time before tightening his grip and angling himself properly. Then he begins to sink in gradually, slowly, carefully. He watches Richard’s pink hole open up and accept him, letting him slide into his body. Richard lifts his head, gasping.

“Oh!” Richard gasps, shakily setting his legs far apart again, welcoming it. Schneider keeps a grip around the base as he sinks in, before curling both hands around Richard’s perfectly slender hips. Richard moans, shuddering, his mouth fallen open and eyes closed. Schneider pushes in entirely, his pelvis meeting Richard’s ass—Richard grunts. Schneider takes in a slow breath, strokes both hands up over Richard’s tense sides.

It doesn’t hurt, it just feels like intense pressure inside of him, a heat that burns deeply. Richard loves having him inside him like this—mostly because it’s Schneider. Schneider is choosing to fuck him, to touch him. Richard loves it.

When Schneider leans in to kiss him on the shoulder, Richard shudders. His beard tickles his skin. The gesture is sweet and has warmth blooming in Richard’s core. Bearing his weight on one elbow, he twists his torso enough to face him, raising a hand to cup it around the back of his head, keeping him close. He cranes his neck to kiss him on the temple. Schneider squeezes his hands around him, fingertips digging into his soft skin.

Schneider angles his head to kiss him on the nose, and then the lips in a fleeting purse of his mouth. Richard returns it as best he can before the older man is leaning away, straightening up behind him again. Then he slowly begins to withdraw—Richard gasps, moans, drops his other elbow back down onto the desk to sag forward again. Schneider has to force his way back in with a firm push of his hips; Richard’s body isn’t making it easy. Richard lets out a slight whimper, his lips pressed together, toes curling against the cool floor of the classroom. The back and forth pull feels amazing. Little sparks of pleasure shoot in his belly. Richard is already gasping.

Meanwhile, Schneider is only breathing quietly behind him, his exhales occasionally hitching—but it’s not enough. Richard wants to hear him. He raises up onto a hand, turns to look back at him, reaches out with his other hand to stroke it up over his chest, gropes him there. Schneider’s eyes flick up to meet his. Richard bites his lip bashfully, and then speaks softly, asking, “Does it feel good, Schneider?”

Reaching up, Schneider clutches Richard’s hand in his own. He leans in to kiss over his fingers and his knuckles with closed eyes, tenderly and slowly. Richard smiles. Grasping his wrist, he nips the side of his hand between his teeth, then lets it go. The thin smile appearing on his face, joined by his softer gaze, has Richard swooning. He strokes his hand down over Schneider’s soft stomach and then retracts his touch.

“Get on your back on the desk,” Schneider says, pulling out suddenly. Richard makes a slight noise of acknowledgment and then turns to face the other man. He sets his hands on the desk, hoists himself up. Schneider doesn’t wait; he hooks his hands under Richard’s knees when the younger man scoots back on the desk, pulls up so he falls on his back. Richard laughs, looks up at him with wide eyes and a grin, his silver locks flipped up over his head. Schneider steps closer, keeping his broad hands around Richard’s thighs as he gets situated, and then he lets them drape around his hips. Richard immediately wraps them around him, crossing his ankles with a smile on his boyish face.

“This is good,” Richard comments quietly. When Schneider leans in over him, planting a hand on the desk, Richard reaches out with both hands to touch at his chest again. Schneider just snorts, amused at his unimaginative comment, and then glances down to watch himself grip his cock and angle it. Richard moans lowly, head tipping back into the desk when he pushes in smoothly.

“Oh, yes,” Richard gasps, one hand running down Schneider’s arm while the other lowers to grip himself. He lifts his head to watch him as he begins rocking his hips, driving his shaft into him again. Richard is amazed by how beautiful he is, moving like that. His body rolls with the motion, his stomach clenching, his biceps flexing slightly, supporting his weight as he leans into the desk. Schneider’s eyes are lidded, trained down on him, watching his face—Richard realizes this when he drops his head back down and looks up at him.

Schneider leans in to kiss him with an angling of his head. Richard closes his eyes, hums into it. The intensity of Schneider’s thrusts increase—he snaps his hips against him with a force that has Richard moaning against his mouth. It jostles the desk slightly, sending a pen rolling off the surface. Richard’s body is jerked with every connection of their lower halves. His toes clench, his body coiled with tension, his legs flexing around his waist.

Their kiss becomes sloppy, uncoordinated. Richard huffs and pants into it, his eyes clenched, brow knit, cheeks hot. He mashes his mouth against Schneider’s, enjoying the sensation of his beard rubbing against his face. Schneider’s glasses are pressing into his nose. He kisses him with restraint, unlike Richard. Nips at his bottom lip, catching it between his teeth and earning him another gasp.

“I’m so close,” Richard groans, spoken partially muffled against Schneider’s lips that continue exploring his own. He lets out an appreciative hum as the older man mouths his way down his jaw, over his throat. Richard continues tugging at his angry red cock, his pre-cum drizzling down onto his clenched belly and over his fingers. Schneider’s thrusting lessens from the hard fucking to a deep, gradual back and forth. The slow drag out and firm push in feels amazing, a wonderful contrast to the pounding Richard took a moment before. He groans softly, head tipped back, silver locks clinging to his open mouth with saliva.

“Coming,” he grits out, his entire body shuddering violently, his breathing shaky and face twisting. Schneider hums lowly and murmurs, “Good boy. Come.”

Then he begins to thrust with more force, a firm snapping of his hips that doesn’t increase in speed. A slow pull out, a hard drive back in with his broad hands squeezing tight around Richard’s sides. It feels amazing and tips him over the edge, easily. Richard moans shakily, his mouth falling open and eyes screwing shut. He squeezes his muscular legs tightly around Schneider, heels digging into his ass. Schneider’s hands are big and warm, stroking up over his sides, up to his chest, squeezing at his pecs, thumbs rubbing over his hard nipples. Richard gasps sharply, his hand wringing out the ropes of cum from his straining cock, shooting out from the swollen head to land in stripes across his abs. His entire body locks up with tension—it has him squeezing around Schneider, drawing a grunt from the man. Richard shudders uncontrollably, his hand slowing on his twitching length.

A confident hand nudges his away, replaces his grip. Richard dazedly lifts his head, opens his eyes to watch him begin languidly pulling at his pulsating cock. Richard grabs onto his wrist, eyes widening. He looks up at him, speechless. Schneider’s blue eye are intense, trained on him, his lips in a line, his cheeks flushed. He looks so beautiful like this.

Richard drops his head back down onto the desk, moaning weakly. Schneider continues gently stroking at his aching cock as he thrusts into him slowly. Richard whines. He’s so damn sensitive, but it feels good. He doesn’t want it to stop, but he wants a reprieve. He begins to shake with greater intensity. He lifts his head to look at him again, sees how his eyes are closed now, his mouth open, brow knit. Schneider is trembling, too, he realizes.

“Are you coming?” Richard breathes, watching with wide eyes. Schneider doesn’t say anything. His hand stops moving, squeezes around Richard’s softening cock, holds it in his grasp as he shakily snaps his hips against him a dozen more times. Then he opens his eyes and glances down—watches himself fuck him. His body is flushed nearly everywhere, his chest heaving, his soft stomach clenching. Amazed, Richard watches his face tighten with pleasure. One, two, three, four more deep thrusts that has Richard moaning softly, and then he’s pulling out, slowly.

Richard bites his lip. He wishes they fucked without a condom. He wants to feel his semen drip out of his ass.

Weakly, Richard rises up onto his elbows to watch the older man peel off the condom—he sees that it is, indeed, full with his cum. He stares, watching him tie it. Schneider then tosses it into the small garbage bin by his desk—Richard knows he plans to fish it out later. Like hell he’s going to leave that in there.

“Alright, get off my desk,” Schneider says, surprising Richard when he reaches out to curl an arm under his shoulders. Richard lets him help him up with a creak of the wood. His legs are like jelly; he stumbles into Schneider, but Schneider easily catches him, balances his weight against him. Richard blushes. He presses his forehead into Schneider’s shoulder.

“Don’t push me away yet,” Richard murmurs. He draws his arms around Schneider, enjoying the warmth and feeling of his body against his own. Schneider lets out a sigh above him, but doesn’t protest. He returns the embrace. His hand ends up in Richard’s hair, fingers threading through silver locks.

“This won’t happen again,” Schneider says quietly. Silent and tense, Richard tightens his arms around him, strokes one hand up over the slope of his spine. He loves holding him. He loves touching him. He never wants them to separate.

Richard is unsure of what to say, to make this last.

“If… If you ever need to feel wanted,” Schneider murmurs, nearly a whisper, before Richard could gather his thoughts properly, “I’ll be there for you. But I won’t engage in this sort of thing again. I can hold you. But nothing more.”

Richard is relieved. He was afraid there would never be anything remotely intimate again. He doesn’t necessarily need his sex. He knows he’s married, he has a wife he loves. Richard has other people he can screw. He just wants his love, in whatever form it may come.

“Okay,” Richard says, squeezes him a little tighter, “I can settle with that.”