by Dan Wingreen
With that happy thought in his head, Spencer pulled back for his first thrust.
Then paused.
There was…less dick than he’d been imagining.
“Are you sure I’m big enough?” he asked, wringing his hands together. “Because if I’m not, I can just get one of my dildos and—”
“Oh my God,” Tim groaned. “Stop talking and fuck me.”
Spencer nodded quickly. “Yeah, okay.”
Then he moved his hands back to Tim’s hips and started to thrust.
Fucking Tim was…different. Not really a better adjective than cool, but different was the only word that came to mind. Tim was tight, and his ass gripped Spencer’s cock more forcefully than he ever thought possible. He liked it though. Not necessarily the feeling on his dick, though that was pretty fucking awesome, but the way it felt emotionally. He was the one giving this pleasure. Every time Tim moaned, Spencer’s heart skipped a beat. With every thrust backward onto Spencer’s cock, Tim did more for his self-confidence than a hundred heartfelt compliments. Lying with words was easy; it was a lot harder to lie with bodies.
“Fuck…Spenc—ah! This…God, you feel so good.”
That’s not to say the words were unappreciated.
Eventually, Spencer decided to be a bit daring. He let go of Tim’s hips and began to explore the soft, sweat-slicked skin of his back. Tim’s lean muscles clenched under his hands, and Spencer groaned out loud. He loved being in Tim’s position; he knew what it was like, what he was feeling, what Spencer was making him feel. Lust took over, and any thoughts he might have had about keeping Tim hard enough to have a go at him later disappeared. Tim was going to come. He was going to make Tim come.
Spencer grabbed Tim’s hard, leaking cock and started to stroke.
It took a bit to get the technique down, his rhythm stopping and starting as he got the hang of managing these new sensations and desires. Spencer was surprised at how good he was at this, at least if Tim’s now-incoherent moan-groan-pleas were any indication. It was a sexual rush, one he’d never experienced, and when Tim’s hole clenched hard around him as his cock spilled all over the bedspread, he knew this was something he’d want again and again.
Spencer started coming almost at the same time Tim did, and when they were done they both collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion, Spencer on top of Tim, his slowly softening cock still inside.
Insideinsideinside. I came inside. Holy shiiiiiit.
“That,” Spencer said breathlessly into Tim’s back, “was fun.”
Tim hummed in contentment. “So, does that mean you want to do it again?”
“Hell yeah. Imma hit this—” He yawned, then gave the general area around Tim’s ass a lazy slap. “All the time.”
Tim let out a breathy laugh. “One time screwing me, and you turned into a top. I feel like I should be proud.”
“What the hell are you going on about?” Spencer thought about sitting up and crossing his arms so Tim could get the full effect of all the ‘bitch please’ he was throwing at him right now, but he was way too comfortable to bother. “Spencer Kent is no top.”
“Good to know.”
“Actually, I’m such a bottom that you need to even out my bottom ratio by fucking me twice every time I fuck you.”
“Do I?”
“Yep.”
“What if I’m too tired?”
“Sorry, I don’t make the rules. You’ve gotta—” Oh shit, he moved, I’m falling. He slid off Tim’s sweat-slicked back, his half-soft cock pulling out with a soft thwup. “Urg. You’ve gotta—”
In a move smoother than anything Spencer would have been capable of minutes after getting the fucking of a lifetime, Tim quickly turned onto his side and pulled him into a cuddle. Their rapidly cooling, damp, cummy groins squished together. It was perfect.
“You’re so adorable,” Tim said, his face half buried in Spencer’s hair. “I love you.”
Spencer closed his eyes and went limp. Yeah. That’s what you gotta do.
“I love you too.”
Tim’s arms tightened around him.
Spencer blissfully fell asleep in the wet spot.
Chapter Eighteen
The bell rang, loud and shrill as only school bells can be, signaling the end of Spencer’s last class of the day.
“Okay everyone, before you leave, I’m gonna remind you again about how amazingly generous I’ve been by telling you what your Christmas break assignment is going to be a whole week early. If you procrastinate and don’t touch it until break begins in just five short days, you’ll only have yourselves to blame for ruining your time off with evil, evil schoolwork.” He took a quick look at his students, making a note of which ones didn’t seem to be listening. Those would be the ones who, despite being very clear all year about his rule of obviously rushed assignments not being accepted, would probably wait until the day before break ended to start their homework. He was torn between hoping they proved him wrong or hoping they didn’t so he could keep his near-perfect Lazy Student Pick Rate intact.
“That’s it,” he said, waving his hand magnanimously. “You may leave.”
It was the end of the day, so even the biggest lit nerds in his class wasted little time in getting out of the room. Which meant, in no time at all, every single distraction Spencer had been holding on to all day long was gone, and everything he’d been trying to avoid thinking about came roaring back. He sat down behind his desk, dropped his head on his day planner, and sighed.
The bullying hadn’t stopped.
In fact, in a twist of dramatic irony Spencer might have appreciated if he’d been reading it in a book, it turned out Connor had been right all along; getting the Henderson kids in trouble only made them come after Connor ever harder. The one saving grace was they hadn’t touched his son again. There had been no more blood to clean up and no more bruises that needed to heal, but a small part of Spencer almost would have preferred that to coming home to Connor sobbing in his room or on the couch almost every day since Dean and Julie got off suspension. At least if he had some blood on his face Corbin might have done something about it instead of shrugging his fat fucking shoulders and saying, “There’s only so much I can do, Spencer. It’s your son’s word against theirs,” like the fucking coward he was. But no, all they did was corner Connor in the bathroom or some other out-of-the-way place and tear into him with words instead of fists. Spencer knew what that felt like. He knew how much damage teenagers could do with words. He’d spent almost every day of his middle and high school years fighting back tears and desperately hoping he could get through the day without attracting anyone’s attention, and his stomach roiled when he thought about his kid going through the same shit. The worst part was he couldn’t do anything about it. He had no power to suspend students outside the grade he taught, and Corbin had already warned him about going after the little shits with the few punishments he was allowed to hand out. Which was all kinds of bullshit. People like Steph McConnell couldn’t get fired, but he was getting warned not to drag a couple of teenage sociopaths in for lunch detention so his kid could have forty-five minutes of peace? How was that fair?
Spencer’s forehead started to throb where it was pressed against the day planner, so he crossed his arms and rested his head on them instead. Hell, even if he did pull the Hendersons in for lunch, the problem wouldn’t be solved; it would probably only make things worse. He felt like he was climbing a glacier, and every time he thought he might reach the top, his feet hit a slick spot and he went tumbling back down to the bottom. Nothing he tried helped.
Spencer groaned into his arms. The overly loud clock hanging above the door to his room was mocking him, tick tick ticking away the seconds until Christmas break. Spencer needed to have this shit solved by then. This was going to be their first Christmas together with Tim, something he and Connor both needed, in their own way. Spencer needed the sense of permanence and tradition Christmas always brought. No matter what had been going on in his life, he’d alw
ays spent Christmas with the people he loved the most, and he so desperately wanted Tim to be a part of that. Part of him still felt like he could lose Tim at any moment and spending the most important family holiday in Spencer’s year with his son and his boyfriend would go a long way to soothing those fears. Connor needed Christmas for much the same reasons; the holiday had always been a peaceful time for the kid, and the week or so leading up to it had always been filled with excitement and anticipation. But not this year. This year Connor was too busy scurrying through the halls and flinching at everyone who approached him. Even the promise of a whole ten days away from school for Christmas break wasn’t helping. Spencer had always been a natural pessimist, and Connor was too much his son not to obsess over what would happen when that break ended. And, to be honest, Spencer worried about the same thing. That fear and helplessness would be a giant fucking pall cast over Christmas. It would be impossible for them to enjoy the holiday, and Tim was too observant not to notice. Dean and Julie Henderson were about to ruin Christmas.
If Spencer had been a girl, his life would be a Hallmark movie.
The sound of his door opening during what was still technically school hours had his head shooting up as he tried to twist his face into an expression that didn’t radiate frustrated despair. When he saw Steph McConnell slip into his classroom, he scowled, annoyed that he’d put effort into making himself presentable for her.
“And here I thought my day couldn’t possibly get worse.”
“Well, that was rude,” Steph said as she closed the door behind her.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” Spencer said, not even trying to sound sincere.
“Spencer—”
“Oh God, my name sounds so wrong coming out of your mouth. It’s Mr. Kent to you. Wait, no, you probably make those poor kids call you ‘Ms. McConnell’ when you’re scarring them for life; I don’t want you calling me Mr. Kent either. Just don’t address me at—”
“Spencer, I—”
“And it’s just as gross as the first time. Seriously, please don’t do that again. If you say my name three times you might actually steal my soul.”
“Spencer!” She was glaring at him now.
“Oh, look at that,” Spencer said, grinning. “My soul’s still here. Crisis averted! Since we’re done here, the door’s that way. Don’t let it touch your ass on the way out; I don’t want to have to disinfect it.”
“Jesus Christ,” she said, staring at him in disbelief. “Why I thought I could talk to you like a normal human I have no idea.”
“I don’t know either. Have you been taking human lessons?” Spencer cocked his head. “Is that why you’re here? To practice?”
“I’m—”
“Because you should probably start with ‘not molesting kids’ before moving onto ‘conversing with words.’”
“You know not a single one of those accusations was ever proven.”
“She says with all the conviction of a bad actor on SVU.”
Hm. Apparently internal angst does wonders for my witty snark. Good to know.
Steph’s face twisted into a sneer, any pretense of civility she might have come in with sloughing away like rain off a windshield. “I just want you to know,” she said, enunciating every word, “that I absolutely loathe you.”
“The feeling is completely mutual.”
They both glared at each other in a frozen tableau of mutual disdain before Steph broke eye contact. Spencer’s childish glee at winning their stare-off was short-lived though. Steph took a moment to visibly collect herself before taking a deep breath and making eye contact once again.
“I came in here for a reason,” she said, her voice impressively even considering the two small spots of furious red still staining her cheeks. “Not to fight with you.”
“I literally could not possibly care less about whatever—”
“I heard all about what’s going on with your son.”
Never had Spencer been more grateful to be sitting down. He wasn’t exactly sure what would have happened if he’d been standing, but it was probably a toss-up between collapsing like some Victorian maiden with the vapors or leaping across the desk, fists flying. He’d mostly been trying to get a rise out of Steph before when he acted disgusted when she said his name, but hearing her talk about Connor actually made his stomach roil.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, gritting his teeth at the slight shakiness he could hear in his words
Steph put her hands on his desk, leaning over until Spencer had to tilt his head up to keep his eyes on her face. “The Henderson kids are giving him trouble, right?”
God, the way she said it, like it didn’t matter, like it was just another schoolyard thing that happened every day, made his whole body clench.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped. He’d lie down in traffic before he turned his son into gossip fodder for Steph McConnell. Part of him knew he wasn’t hiding even a small portion of how much this conversation bothered him, knew that this was most likely the exact reaction she came here to provoke, but he couldn’t play cool and unaffected. Not now. All he could do was endure until she got bored of needling him and left.
“Of course you do,” she said patiently. “It’s not that easy to keep a secret in this school, especially when Corbin’s office might as well be made out of rice paper for all the sound it blocks.”
“And why,” he said, “are you talking about my son at all?”
She studied him for a long moment, then moved back, getting just far enough out of his personal space he could almost relax.
“Look,” she said. “I know this might be hard for you to believe, but I actually came here today to help you.”
Spencer didn’t even try to hold back his scoff.
“I’m being serious,” Steph said. She left an obvious opening for him to respond, but he wasn’t going to play her game. If she had something to say, she could say it without getting whatever reaction she wanted from him.
“Bullshit,” he said, then grimaced.
Goddammit.
“Not at all.” She looked smug. She sounded smug. Spencer had never hated her more than he did right then.
“If you have a point, can you just get to it?”
To Spencer’s surprise, she did.
“I don’t know if you know this, but I coach the field hockey team along with being a full-time teacher,” she said with the air of someone expecting to impress. Spencer managed to keep from rolling his eyes, barely. Steph pouted at his lack of reaction. “Look, I’ve known the Hendersons for years. Julie Henderson has played for me every year since she’s been in this school. She’s good too. Good enough to keep playing in college. And I happen to know that she’s desperately hoping to get a scholarship.”
“So, she’s a talented jock bully,” Spencer said flatly. “Wow. That’s unique.”
Steph crossed her arms and let out an annoyed huff. “Fine. Forget subtlety. I can get Julie to leave your son alone by threatening to kick her off the team if she doesn’t. Her brother, while cute enough with those eyes and his little faux-gangsta getup, has always been a follower. If she stops, he’ll stop, and your boy will have a nice, bully-free time at school. All I want in return is for you to tell Corbin you’re no longer interested in room 210. Is that clear enough for you?”
Spencer could not believe what he was hearing. “Are you…” He glanced around and leaned toward her. “Are you on something right now?”
It was a serious question too. Not even Steph McConnell could seriously be thinking about threatening the entire future of a student she’d apparently mentored for years just because she wanted a better classroom. No one in their right mind would be that disgustingly unprofessional, or just plain disgusting, without some kind of substance fucking their head up.
Right?
Steph leaned in as well, her eyes hard as she stared directly at Spencer. “I want that room,” she said. “An
d I want to take it from you. There is nothing I’m not willing to do to get it.”
Spencer stared in complete disbelief. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You!”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You’re what’s wrong with me. You’ve always been what’s wrong with me.”
What the hell does that even mean? What the hell have I ever done to her? Well, besides…
“Is…” Spencer cleared his throat. “Is this because I wouldn’t fuck you?”
Those two splotches of color on her cheeks flared back to life. “It’s because I hate you!” she said, her face twisting into something ugly and bitter. Spencer had no idea how to respond. Sure, he’d never liked Steph and, their first meeting notwithstanding, Steph had obviously felt the same way, but he had no idea of the sheer level of loathing she’d been hiding. It didn’t matter how he felt about her, or that he’d never respected her opinion about anything; being on the receiving end of such intense, unshielded hatred made him feel small and lost.
“What did I ever do to you?” he asked, his voice weak.
“Everything!” The word exploded out of her, as if she’d been desperately waiting for just that question. “Ever since you started working here, you’ve treated me like I was something you stepped in. No civility. No professional courtesy. Not even the smallest attempt to hide your disgust. You walk around here as gay as you want, terrifying and threatening your students, and I’m the one everyone looks down on? And why? Because a few overprotective parents called the cops on me once or twice? I was never convicted of anything. I was never even formally arrested! And everyone just assumes I’m guilty? How is that fair?”
Spencer thought about bringing up OJ Simpson or Casey Anthony, but she barely left enough time between sentences to take a breath, let alone for him to go into how the justice system sometimes fails to lock up obviously guilty people.
“And then you aren’t even here three years and suddenly you have higher test scores than me, and everyone won’t shut up about how funny and nice you are and everyone just loves you even though you treat your students like crap.”
