very sorry yes

8

“This album really symbolized who I’ve become as a new artist, and as a new producer and songwriter, and everything that I feel about the past. I’m able to put aside and write about it like it’s a fond memory instead of who I actually am today. So really, Death of a Bachelor is talking about getting back to my roots, but being able to move forward in a new light, in a new era as a brand new person.”

Happy Birthday, Death of a Bachelor!

January 15, 2016

7

heres your 159 piece chicken tender order

aka,, my art blog turned 1 year old this may!  ✨✨✨

I’ve been drawing with the intent of improving for not quite two years now and I honestly wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for all my friends’ and your support and encouragement. I’ve been through a lot in the last year, both good and bad, and the one thing that’s always been my safe space is being able to draw my favorite boy. So thank you all for pushing me and keeping me afloat even when all I want to do is give up. 

And a huge thank you to Tendou, my muse, my prince, my inspiration, my everything, because without him I wouldn’t still be here in existence. 💜 I owe him sosososo much.

Thank you for sticking with me, and here’s to another year of Tendou!! 💜

4

that’s it, that’s the whole show

libraleijon  asked:

In attempting to cope from the events of the new episode, I had to ask: when you record scenes with action (the very end of the new episode), is it awkward or entertaining to just have the actors standing around microphones making screaming and frustrated sounds or are you totally used to that? The image of that is just really hilarious to me for some reason.

Episodes 39 & 40 were actually recorded very differently from our usual episodes. Normally we record sitting down in my bedroom, but for these final two episodes of the season, we went to The Invisible Studios, which meant we got to do a little bit of blocking and were standing the whole time. 

For the end of this episode, we were all eight of us in the room together, facing the mic from various distances. Because of how the mic picks up sound, you have to face it the whole time, which meant that Charlie was basically sneaking up on us on his entrance (and that was very creepy and effective, let me tell you). We all had to be very, very still and then when the physical bit came, Briggon actually marched over to Charlie and the two of them went through the basic motions of what happened. Cue complete chaos. 

Sometimes the things we have to do for recording get a bit silly, but this was honestly chilling to do. Because I couldn’t turn around and look at Briggon and Charlie, all I heard was the distressed sounds they were making. It was an incredibly tense scene to record after about 4 hours of intense recording for Episode 39 and I found myself calling cut sooner and sooner with each take because I just couldn’t listen to it anymore. 

I came here to pose for the camera and get blue-eyed curly to fall in love with me. And I just finished to pose.

Я пришел сюда, чтобы попозировать перед камерой и влюбить в себя голубоглазого кучеряшку. И я только что закончил позировать.

valentine’s dodie 💖

llamasrulethings  asked:

Hello! Have you any headcanons for Asexual!Enjolras?

(This has been sitting in my inbox for so long now and I’m very very sorry about that) But yes! (Or I tried my best anyway)

  • not realizing that “hot” and “sexy” mean something other than just aesthetically pleasing (one of the most embarrassing conversations he’s ever had with Courfeyrac)
  • telling himself all throughout high school that he would get over this, that he was just a “late-bloomer” and one day he’d be interested in sex like everyone else   
  • finally discovering the term “asexuality” and feeling less like there was something wrong with him
  • being hesitant to go out with R because he wasn’t sure how much would be expected of him
  • going out with him anyway and being really confused when nothing’s really happened after a month or so
  • finally asking him about it
  • R giving him a look and saying that he didn’t want to do anything Enjolras might be uncomfortable with and Enjolras being so, so relieved
  • feeling awkward when people say he’s way too uptight and needs to get laid
  • feeling awkward when people bring up his sex life in general (or rather, his lack of it)
  • perfecting The Glare™ for when people’s flirting gets…uncomfortably physical
  • whenever someone tells one of the Amis what they’re doing is pointless and they’re not going to get anywhere, blah blah blah, they jokingly say “don’t worry we’ve got an ace up our sleeve” (leaving the person very confused)
  • it’s become a thing (but they only say it if Enjolras isn’t around)
  • but one day this happens right before a protest when a bunch of the Amis are gathered together (”this isn’t going to achieve anything, you’re wasting your time”) 
  • and out of habit, Courf responds “lucky for us, we happen to have an ace up our sleeve” (all the Amis exchange glances and try to hide their smirks)
  • and Enjolras walks past them and says “yes, we do. it’s me”

anonymous asked:

42?

things you said when you asked me to marry you


He’s been thinking about asking for a while. A very long while. 

And that’s the trouble, John realises, far too late. He’s been thinking about it for so long that he’s built it up into something Too Much, and yes it is a big thing (of course it is, otherwise his palms wouldn’t be sweating) but oh God, he didn’t want his heart to be racing at quite this pace when he-

Sherlock pauses in pouring his wine, his eyes catching John’s. He smiles, but there’s a little frown behind it. “You alright?”

Why did he have to do it in a restaurant, all this sitting and waiting, and never quite knowing when to say it and his tongue refusing to co-operate and… John clears his throat and nods. 

But Sherlock is still looking at him, wine bottle suspended in the air with one hand. “Are you sure? You look a bit…” He considers, then says: “Peaky.” 

“I’m fine,” John lies. His voice is all croaky.

Sherlock’s frown deepens. “You’re nervous, why are you nervous? It’s only Angelos.” He starts looking around the restaurant accusingly, as if there’s a hidden culprit for John’s mood. 

“God, I love you.” It comes out of him naturally, without fear, just a truth, plainly stated.

But John still can’t stop from drumming his fingers on the table. It’s a tell, but he can’t help it.

Sherlock sets down the wine bottle, and his eyes flicker over John, before widening. He inhales quickly, holds it, then breathes out deliberately slowly.

“Let’s… let’s go home,” Sherlock says. Each word is hesitant, carefully placed.

John feels his panic rise. “I-no-Sher- but we haven’t even-”

“Angelo will be fine with it. Look, a cab’s just stopped outside, perfect.” Sherlock stands with decisiveness. He looks at John pointedly. “If I’m right, then… then this is… and if I’m wrong, well-” His hand waves dismissively, but John can see right through him. “No matter.”

John has to repeatedly remind himself not to cling onto the box in his pocket during the whole taxi ride. 

When they’re home, Sherlock takes his hand and gently pulls him up the stairs. He stops in front of the window, and turns around, and squeezes John’s hand.

“John. I…” He coughs. “If I’m wrong, then as I said, it’s… forget it. But.”

There’s a painful pause, and John truly thinks his heart is going to burst out of him in anxiety. “But what, Sherlock?”

Sherlock takes a deep breath. “I don’t need… the whole. Well. Wine and…and sitting. And. I’ve never needed- I just want. You. Always. And. Oh, John.” There’s the beginnings of a shaky, nervous smile on his lips. “You just need to ask.

John’s fingers find the box. “That’s… isn’t that too easy?”

Sherlock makes a frustrated half laugh, half groan. “Christ, John, for once in our lives can’t something be simple? Please.”

And John lets Sherlock’s words guide him. He can feel the courage building, his nerves fading. “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

He takes a moment to breathe. Sherlock’s lips are pressed tight, almost white.

“Are you okay?” John asks.

Sherlock nods, not very convincingly. “Yes. Sorry I- I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

And it’s just hearing that shaky uncertainty in Sherlock’s voice that gives John that one last little push. Get the hell on with it, Watson.

He pulls out the box and opens it to reveal the ring. He speaks over Sherlock’s gasp: “Sherlock, I love you, I love you so much. You’re… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and- and-”

Just ask.

“Sherlock. Will you marry me?”

An outburst of noise: a suppressed sob. “Yes!” 

John looks up, and it’s only then that he notices Sherlock’s had his hand over his mouth for the rest of the time he’s been talking. He’s laughing, and crying, and John rushes to him, can hardly put the ring on his finger because they’re both shaking so much.

“Yes,” Sherlock keeps on saying, “I will, I will, yes, John, it’s always been- it’s always you, yes, I will…”

And John kisses him, this wonder of a man who’s still crying, this brave soul who somehow knew exactly what John needed, all without daring himself to hope that he was right.

The whole time. He only needed to ask.


Doing johnlock (& now hoopkins too <3) prompts from this lovely list even though I’ve got loads of other prompts to fill lmao sorry but these are so lovely for more inspiration <3

Numbers filled (johnlock): 6; 31; 12; 11; 60; 8; 51; 34; 54; 60x2; 3; 14; 42

Numbers filled (hoopkins): 14; 25; 41

The Cheez Whiz Fic

Ryan was kneeling in the bathtub, a towel under his knees and another under his hands, his head turned as he craned his neck to watch Brendon working. The younger boy shook a few cans before tapping them against his knees and placing them on the counter. “You know it’ll cool down a little as they rest but is that good?” Brendon bent over next to the tub so Ryan could slowly press two fingers against a can, nodding once.

“It’s fine.”

Brendon nodded again, reaching out to stroke Ryan’s hair before standing back up and returning to the sink, where all of the equipment was spread out. The lids of the cans were already off, so all he had to do was pick it up. “Go ahead and take the plug out, baby.” His voice was soft, gentle. “And start with your fingers.”

It was the gentlest of their “darker” interludes. No name-calling or hair pulling or punishments for noises of pain. It hurt enough on it’s own, was degrading enough on it’s own, Brendon didn’t need to add anything to that.

Brendon felt a small tremor run through his body as he heard the soft moan coming from the bathtub, knew the other boy had just extracted the plug. He glanced up at the mirror, watching the boy set the glass plug on the edge of the tub next to the bottle of lubricant. Ryan picked up the bottle, desperate to fill himself as he opened it, dripping some of the lubricant onto his fingers and rubbing them. It was cold to the initial touch, but warmed up as his fingers moved.

“You’re so fucking hot like that, baby,” Brendon purred, from the sink where the cans were sitting. “Now, go ahead.”

Ryan flushed warm from the compliment, his wrist sliding down along his waist, hipbone, the curve of his ass. And then his fingers were poised, resting against his entrance before pressing in. He was already loose from the plug so it was an easy intrusion. He didn’t even bother with more lubricant before pressing a third finger in, moaning outright at the stretch. He started as he heard the click of metal being tapped against ceramic. “Already?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” the boy chided softly. “You can keep your fingers in for a second.” He almost added a soft 'slut’, but stopped himself. Brendon leaned down, reaching for the bottle of lubricant, letting himself hover over Ryan for a moment, his breath tickling the back of the boy’s neck. “Just think about everything I’ll do after,” he whispered before straightening back up and slicking the valve of the can. “Okay.”

Ryan whined, but slowly pulled his fingers out anyway. He wasn’t empty for longer than a few seconds, Brendon’s fingers immediately sliding over his opening before pressing in, then pulling out to press in the tip of the valve. “Breathe,” he murmured, fingers running down the boy’s spine. “I’m going to now, okay?”

“Wait,” Ryan choked out.

“I’m going to now,” Brendon repeated, voice a little harder this time. “You’re fine.” He kept his fingers running along the boy’s spine as he pressed against the valve.

Ryan bit his bottom lip, moaning as he felt the first rush of the warm cheese sliding into his body. The beginning of the enema was always like Brendon’s fingers were now, smooth and soft almost. The cramps would come soon enough, but Brendon’s fingers would still be the same.

When they started, one of Ryan’s hands flew up to his stomach and Brendon released the valve without a word, letting the other boy massage his abdomen to ease the pain. “Just tell me.”

“Okay,” Ryan whispered, his hand still on his stomach. Brendon pressed against the valve again and Ryan felt the warmth continuing to enter his body. He continued to try to massage away the dull ache of the cramps as he felt his stomach slowly begin to expand from the amount of cheese he’d taken. “Stop,” he choked out again. He wasn’t supposed to ask how much, but he was desperate to know. He’d felt like he’d taken half already, but he knew it was probably more like a quarter of the cans. “Bren?” he asked, voice close to cracking. “I-I … Brenny.” His voice was weak.

“You’re doing great, baby.” The boy leaned down, letting soft kisses feather along Ryan’s lower back. “So good.”

The tears were starting to build up. Ryan could feel them in his chest, waiting there, another ache in his body. “I don’t … I …” He let his head fall forward, trying to slow his breathing, trying to focus on Brendon’s fingers instead of the cheese inside him. “Okay,” he whispered,voice cracking as the first tears slid down his cheeks.

The flow continued and Brendon slowed the flow without a say so after five minutes or so. “You’re taking it so well, Ry,” he cooed. “You’ve got half.” He usually didn’t tell Ryan how much he’d taken, but it had been awhile since they’d done this and he didn’t want the boy to break before he managed to get all of the cans in.

“Half?” Ryan asked, voice timid, as if he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or disconcerted.

“Mhmmm.” Brendon leaned forward, letting his lips kiss the back of Ryan’s neck, then between the boy’s shoulder blades. “Are you ready for more?” When Ryan hesitated, Brendon squeezed his hip. “You can take it, baby. You’ve done this before.”

Ryan’s head nodded a fraction of an inch, his breathing already labored. He gave a small squeak as the cheese started slipping into his body again. “Please, please, I can’t.” He shook his head, the tears coming out for real now. Brendon removed his finger from the valve again. “I can’t, Bren, please. I … I need to … please.”

The younger boy reached his hand down to Ryan’s stomach, the curve of a belly that wasn’t there usually. “I know you can take this,” he said, voice low but not angry or disappointed. “I know you can, Ry.” He let their fingertips brush. “But I won’t make you,” he added. “It’s up to you.”

Ryan hated that. It would have been so much easier to go along with it if Brendon hadn’t give him the choice. Now it was up to him to decide if he wanted to be selfish and disappoint his boyfriend and not get rewarded or just go along with it and deal with the pain. “I’ll try,” he mumbled weakly, squeezing his eyes shit and biting his bottom lip between his teeth as he felt the flow again.

Brendon slipped his hand down Ryan’s stomach to wrap around his cock, gently stroking, trying to turn the whimpers that the older boy was now making into moans. “So good, baby,” he kept whispering over and over. “You’re taking it so good.”

“H-Hurts,” Ryan choked out. “Break?”

Brendon took the pressure off the valve again, letting Ryan rub at his stomach and try to catch his breath. “It’s almost all in,” he said gently, still stroking the other boy’s erection. “Just a little bit more. I know you can take it, Ry.”

“How much?”

The question hung heavy in the air for a moment. Ryan wasn’t supposed to ask and he knew it, but he also knew Brendon never spanked him or punished him during an enema, so the worst possibility was simply that the other boy wouldn’t tell him.

“Probably two cans,” Brendon answered finally. “I’m going to start it again, okay? You can take this all in one go.”

Ryan nodded, gritting his teeth and counting silently in his head, hoping it wouldn’t take longer than a minute to finish. He was only a few seconds over when the flow stopped and Brendon planted a kiss to the small of Ryan’s back. “I’m going to switch it out for the plug, okay? Keep it in.”

Ryan tightened his muscles, his toes curling as he did so. It hurt, tensing up along with the dull ache in his abdomen. Even with all his tightening, a little bit of the cheese escaped, sliding down the inside of his thigh. Then the plug was in and he could relax his muscles, but only somewhat. Brendon picked up a washcloth and wiped at the cheese that had slid down Ryan’s skin.

It wouldn’t be too long, Ryan knew, but it always seemed an eternity. Five minutes or ten minutes could feel like hours. Brendon’s fingers slid up Ryan’s back until they were twisted, gently, in his hair. “I can’t wait to get you on the bed,” he said thickly, voice low and gravely. “Gonna shove my tongue in you so deep, baby.”

Ryan moaned outright, despite the dull pain in his muscles and stomach. It was a low moan, soft, but a moan nonetheless, and Brendon smiled at the sound. “Is that what you want?” the younger boy continued in the same tone. “You want my tongue in you, want me fucking your ass with my mouth? You’re going to taste so fucking good, baby.” His fingers tightened slightly in Ryan’s hair. Not enough to cause any pain, just enough to make the boy gasp, then moan again. “Then I’ll fuck you. So hard, baby, so God damn hard. So deep inside you. And then you’ll take my come in your pretty mouth.”

Ryan was whimpering, his hips moving ever so slightly, squirming. “P-Please?” he choked out. “Please?” He was begging for release. He knew it hadn’t been long enough, but if Brendon kept it up, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it in.

“I think you can hold it for another couple of minutes.” But Brendon let go of Ryan’s hair and sat back slightly, just letting his hands run slowly up the boy’s sides. The older boy was quiet, just a few whimpers leaving his mouth, but still squirming. Brendon let his hands slip lower until he was firmly squeezing Ryan’s ass in both hands. “Almost, baby. Almost.”

There was another minute or so, Brendon’s fingers skimming over the curve of Ryan’s cheeks and the older boy trying not to lose anything, trying to keep his muscles tensedjust enough. “Okay.” Brendon stood up, slowly, kissing Ryan on the back of the neck before stepping out of the tub. “Slowly,” he warned the boy. “Don’t lose anything, okay?” He held his hands out, letting Ryan take them as he stood and gingerly climbed out of the tub.

Brendon lifted up the lid of the toilet seat and helped Ryan to sit. This was always when Ryan started to cry again. He hated it, hated how Brendon was there for the release. So humiliating, worse than threats of letting Spencer watch or having Pete fuck him that one time while Brendon took Polaroids. “Please, just … I can,” Ryan said. “I’m fine. I can.”

Brendon looked stern, frowning, shaking his head slightly. “Stop.”

Ryan cried harder, bringing his hands up to push at Brendon when the boy moved closer, but too submissive to actually to do it as the boy reached between his legs, fingers closing around the end of the plug. “Please,” Ryan whispered again. “Please, Bren.”

The boy ignored him. “Don’t let it go until I tell you to.” He let Ryan’s face fall into his shoulder. The boy was shaking from his choked sobs as Brendon slowly pulled the plug out. He set it on the counter next to the empty cheez whiz cans. One arm came up around Ryan. Despite his tears, the boy was still clenching, tighter than probably necessary. “Okay, go ahead.”

Ryan shook his head. “No.” He cried harder when Brendon pressed his lips against the boy’s temple. “Please.”

“Ryan. Now.”

The boy was still crying, clinging desperately to Brendon as the first drops of the cheese began to slip out. And then, like always, he realized he really had no choice and just let go, sobbing harder as he heard it falling into the toilet. For Brendon’s part, he just held the boy, fingers running down his back, cooing soft sentiments to him. “Good boy, good job, Ry.”

Finally the noises slowed and Brendon took a step back, letting Ryan wipe and flush the toilet. They both washed their hands in the sink and Ryan blew his nose. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, refusing to look at Brendon. “I … I didn’t mean to … I know you won’t hurt me.”

Brendon’s cool fingers, still slightly wet from the water, slid under Ryan’s chin, tilting the boy’s face up to meet his eyes. “Thank you,” he returned, leaning in and kissing him, soft at first, then harder, tongue slipping in. “Bed now,” he added, unable to contain his smile as he felt Ryan’s lips curve upward against his.

They walked out to the hotel bedroom area and Brendon nodded silently, indicating Ryan should assume the position on the bed. “Back or … or knees?" 

"Knees if they’re not too sore.”

Ryan would take a lot more than sore knees for a rimjob, as he’d clearly demonstrated, so Brendon nodded his approval as the boy got on all fours on the bed. Ryan kept his head facing forward, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder and watch Brendon. The younger boy loved that, how he didn’t have to order the boy do it. Ryan obeyed the unspoken command of his own accord.

The bed sunk down as Brendon knelt behind Ryan, hands squeezing the boy’s hips. Brendon leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Ryan’s entrance, smiling when he heard the moan. His mouth opened, tongue slipping out, licking in broad, even strokes, knowing it would do nothing but tease Ryan, torturing him. And, truthfully, it was all Ryan could do to keep from pressing his ass back on Brendon’s face while begging 'more more more’.

Brendon sat up and leaned forward, pressing two fingers to Ryan’s lips. The boy sucked them into his mouth without a word, his tongue sliding around the digits, trying not to get overeager, trying not to just beg Brendon to fuck him and start grinding his hips into the bed. When Brendon pulled his fingers from the boy’s mouth, he leaned in for the kiss, smiling as he swallowed the moan from the intrusion of his fingers entering Ryan’s hole while they were still kissing.

Then his mouth was gone and Ryan’s fingers twisted in the bed sheets knowing what was coming, the muscles in his body tensing in anticipation. Brendon’s fingers pulled slowly, evenly, opening Ryan up just enough to slip his tongue in, licking around the edge of Ryan’s entrance. He licked over his own fingers as he slowly added another digit from each hand, pulling Ryan more open, exposing him more. His tongue slipped in deeper and Ryan tried so hard not to push his ass back on Brendon’s face.

The younger boy’s tongue started dipping in and out, slow and first, then quicker. Ryan was moaning, head thrown back, hips barely rocking. Brendon pulled his tongue out and his fingers, letting his lips press against the hole that was still open to the air. He began to suck and Ryan let out a stream of expletives that Brendon had never heard before. He let up on the pressure, his tongue slipping back inside once more, teasing, pulling out to trace around the inside.

“Fuck me?” Ryan asked, voice high-pitched and uncertain.

Brendon pulled off almost immediately, but didn’t straighten up yet, pressing two fingers into Ryan abruptly, smirking at the boy’s gasp. He slowly twisted them. “You want me to fuck you?” he asked as if he hadn’t heard, voice casual.

“Please, Brenny,” the older boy returned desperately, pressing back against the fingers, his head falling into the pillows as he collapsed on his arms, support following to his elbows.

The fingers slipped out and Brendon helped turned Ryan to his back, kissing him softly on the mouth, enjoying Ryan’s tongue probing his mouth curiously, searching for the taste. He pulled away after a moment and the older boy gave an airy sort of sigh. Then he was between Ryan’s legs, bending them at the knee and separating them, settling between the thighs before he pushed in, no lubricant and no warning.

Ryan made a low noise in the back of his throat at the burn, the stretch. He’d been waiting for this. Brendon hadn’t fucked him for a week, not properly. Toys and fingers and a fist, but not this. So simple, just them. Nothing artificial. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s neck, leaning up to kiss his neck. They looked like any other couple just then, he mused. No one would have been able to look at this scene and guess that Ryan had just been given a two quart enema or that the other day he’d been made to stand in the corner for an hour after Brendon had spanked him fifty times with a hairbrush.

Brendon could tell Ryan was thinking and he angled his hips, shoving in roughly. When Ryan’s eyes popped open even wider and he let out the tiny squeak, he knew he’d found the spot. All semblance of thought seemed to evaporate from Ryan’s features as he just gave in and starting rocking against Brendon’s hips, moaning. He reached for his boyfriend’s hand, pressing the palm against his throat. “Please,” he whispered.

Brendon didn’t need to be told twice, squeezing down on Ryan’s neck, releasing after a moment to let him gasp for breath. Then his hand tightened again and they repeated the pattern until his boyfriend started shaking his head, not wanting to use the safe word, but wanting Brendon to know he’d had enough. His hand fisted in Ryan’s hair then, squeezing tight enough to hurt, but not hard enough to pull the hair out. “Touch yourself,” Brendon breathed.

Ryan obeyed immediately, one of his hands falling from Brendon’s neck to slip between them, wrapping around the base of his cock, stroking in a slow rhythm that contrasted with the thrusts. He didn’t want to come yet, but he knew he didn’t have a choice anyway. He’d come when Brendon told him. That was the rule.

“Faster,” Brendon growled, shifting his weight so he could press in deeper. “I want you close, Ry. Tell me when you’re close.”

The boy nodded, quickening the speed of wrist obediently, letting his eyes shut for a moment before he opened them back up. Brendon liked to watch him, said he could see Ryan melt through his eyes when they were in bed. He felt the hand tighten in his hair slightly and he stopped moving. “Close,” he choked out.

Brendon smiled, letting Ryan wonder if he was going to have to hold it, have to wait, have to worry if he could. But it was late and they had to be up in six hours. “When you feel me come, you can,” he said, nipping Ryan’s bottom lip between his teeth. The thrusts got impossibly harder after that, but only for a moment.

Brendon bit the inside of his cheek to keep from yelling as he felt himself explode and then Ryan’s wrist was flying as he moaned, low and whorish. Brendon could feel Ryan’s come hit his stomach as the older boy started swearing, his ass clenching down on Brendon’s cock as his orgasm tore through him, leaving him breathless and gasping for air. 

Ryan collapsed prematurely, still feeling his orgasm rocking through him, but unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to think. And then he felt Brendon pull out, leaving him empty and loose. He whimpered at the loss, turning and pressing his face into the boy’s chest as he laid down beside Ryan in the bed.

Brendon’s arms came up, feeling Ryan’s body trembling. “Baby, baby,” he murmured. “Shhh. It’s all right.” He kissed the boy’s temple, fingertips gently massaging feeling back into Ryan’s muscles. “We’re going to sleep now, okay? Early morning.”

Ryan whimpered, nodding, wondering if he’d be able to walk properly the next day. “Brenny?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Ry.” Brendon waited until he’d stopped shaking before he got up to turn out the lights and set the alarm on his phone. Then he crawled back into bed and held Ryan until he fall asleep before he got up to clean the bathroom and put the equipment back in their suitcase. He was only going to be running on two hours of sleep the next day, but it had been worth it.

@thingsareshapinguptobepretty-odd @jiaction

Fanfiction - The Teacher II

I had no choice, really. If you missed it, here is part I.

The Teacher II

Claire hesitated in front of the door, the incrusted bronze plate shining with the letters “Professor Fraser”, beckoning her to dare and knock. She breathed deeply and raised her fist to announce her presence.

“Yes?” A voice answered inside, in a lilt that made her stomach explode in a frenzy of millions of bubbles. She half-opened the door in order to peek inside, realizing that he was accompanied by a student, sitting in front of him in what could only be called “the hot seat”. “Ah, it’s ye Miss Beauchamp.”

“Sorry to disturb you, Professor Fraser.” She said in a respectful tone, watching as her colleague – another Health Management student - looked at her with a cry for help in his brown eyes – slightly hazed from too much weed -, his shoulders slumped in mortal shame. “I have some questions about the essay I still have to write for your class. I was wondering if I could go over them with you, sir.”

James Fraser gave her an uninterested look – which could clearly be interpreted as annoyance with her presence – and finally nodded.

“I’ll be with you presently, Miss Beauchamp.” He said dryly. ”As soon as Mister King here understands that copying a page from Wikipedia is not acceptable as an essay. You do realize I have access to the Internet, Mister King?” His eyebrows were raised above the rim of his black eyeglasses, enhancing his disappointment at his student poorly conducted machinations.

“Yes, Professor Fraser.” The boy furiously nodded, a sinner in repentance, his neck slowly disappearing between his shoulders as he tried to bury himself away, escaping those piercing blue eyes. “I am very sorry, sir.”

“I’m sure ye are.” The teacher gave him a lopsided smile, neatly pilling the sheets of paper crossed out in red ink and pushing them in his direction. “You have until tomorrow to deliver a corrected version of this paper, Mister King. I’ll have to grade it for a maximum “B” after this mischief, but it’s certainly better than the current “D” – from disaster.”

He pursed his lips and waited patiently as the student collected his belongings and made the walk of shame towards the door of his office. Claire could barely contain a smile as her colleague grimaced to her, rolling his eyes in despair, his back turned to the punishing master.

“Come in, Miss Beauchamp.” Professor Fraser urged her and, quickly patting Arthur King’s back in comfort, Claire moved inside the office and closed the door behind her. “How can I help ye?” He asked in a dark tone.

He looked serious and poised, his forearms resting on the mahogany table in front of him. His office was clean and discrete, fairly organized with stacks of paper and folders thoroughly aligned and labelled. He had a shelf filled with books behind him, silently complaining with copious overweight – Claire recognized titles from classic economy books but also lots of poetry and historical tomes. Over the years – both in nursing school and now as medical student –, she had been inside many teacher’s offices. There was a tendency for hoarding and to accumulate trinkets and photographs, as they spent so much time working inside them. However, Jamie’s office spoke of order and contention, only a photograph of himself with a dark haired woman – the same blue slanted eyes smiling to the photographer, betraying their kinship – and a small statue of a leaping stag.

“I was wondering if you could explain me again some concepts.” Claire said in strong voice, locking the door from the inside and slowly moving towards his desk. “I’m not sure I’m truly enlighten about them – in spite of our class yesterday.”

“Do ye now?” Jamie quirked a brow, his voice low and dangerous. “I thought I was fairly clear.” He rose from his chair and came around the desk, nearing her like a graceful predator.

“Some things benefit from repetition.” She licked her lips and, smiling widely, sat on his desk – her floral dress hiking up as she went, exposing her fair legs to his eyes, soft and creamy.

“Christ, Sassenach.” His mask of tight control fell – exposing his raw edges underneath it. He moaned and strode towards her in a heartbeat, placing himself between her parted thighs, his mouth punishing hers for the teasing, his hands grasping her curly hair. “I just had ye yesterday, but I want ye so much it hurts already.”

“I want you too.” She panted, as he touched her breast with his strong palm, her nipple already painfully aware of his proximity. “I couldn’t help myself – I had to come. I had to see you, to feel you.”

“When I saw ye standing at my door, I almost lost it.” He groaned, his hands brushing the soft skin inside her thighs, as he kissed and suckled her neck. “And ye – wearing this dress, ye wicked little vixen. I thought I’d throw ye into my desk and take ye, there and then, right in front of Mister King.”

“You’re a very good actor.” She laughed, her hands fumbling with the zipper of his pants. “I could swear you didn’t even like me – least of all wanted to shag me in your office.” Claire yelped as he kneeled in front of her and bit the sensitive skin, moist and heated from his attentions.

“This is madness.” He nuzzled her, his hands gripping her arse to bring her closer to him. “If we behave like uncontrolled teenagers someone will find out. We need to stop seeing each other here.”

A month before they had started seeing each other – meeting for dinner away from campus and taking long walks on secluded parks and on the coastline, where they could hold hands and kiss, languid and carefree. The underlying attraction had been there from the start, they were forced to admit – and their mutual feelings had bloomed into full spring, nurtured by hours of solitude and touches. At first the idea of sneaking around was fun and certainly arousing – but soon enough the burden of pretending indifference had become a permanent struggle and a source of unhappiness.

“You can stop.” Claire suggested teasingly, her lips tasting the hollow of his throat – skilfully undoing the first buttons of his shirt – the pulse of desire emanating from his skin. “I won’t force you, I promise.”

“I canna refuse ye.” He said in a hoarse voice, his accent made more evident by lust and strong emotion, as she struggled to free him from the constraining underwear. “Not today – nor ever, mo ghraidh.”

He played her like a violin – robbing her lips of moans and sobs that echoed in his heart like notes of the purest music, his eyes fixed on the way her beautiful face almost shattered, so close to be undone. Jamie touched her until his own body hurt – a desire so powerful it bordered on excruciating pain -, finally ready to take her. As he adjusted his body to hers, her head lulled back as she surrendered to the eminent joining, a knock on the door sounded – menacing and real, like a sudden tear on active muscle.

Their eyes locked in terror for a moment, their bodies almost fused together, their breathing ragged and superficial.

“Who is it?” Jamie questioned, struggling to compose his voice. He kissed her swollen lips one final – desperate – time and pulled her out of the desk, quickly helping her to adjust her clothes.

“Fraser?” The voice of Professor Raymond came from outside. “I need to discuss with you the program for the summit. May I come in?”

Mallaichte bas!” Jamie cursed, gritting his teeth. “Just a second!” He shouted through the door, composing his own clothes and brushing his hair with trembling fingers. Like two actors in a comical play, Claire launched herself into the chair, searching for her best concentrated and slightly bored look, as Jamie hurried to adjust the crumpled papers on his desk. When everything seemed to be in natural order, they nodded to each other and Jamie opened the door with a pleasant smile plastered on his lips.

“Ah.” The little man, with silver hair and dark all-knowing eyes, noticed Claire sitting like a student in best possible behaviour. “I hadn’t realize you were busy, James.”

“Miss Beauchamp and I were merely discussing her last paper.” Jamie explained, adjusting his glasses. “She had already started it before she transferred to your class.”

“No doubt.” Professor Raymond smiled, clearly amused. His eyes drifted through the room – in spite of their best efforts, Claire’s lips were clearly swollen and her hair even more unruly than usual. Jamie, although composed, had the look of a man battling a cramp in the belly – his eyes wild and fiery, his smile a bit too tense. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your…work.”

“That’s alright, Professor.” Claire raised from her chair and headed to the door, her neck still flushed. “I think I have everything I need for now. Thank you, Professor Fraser. I’ll be sure to deliver my complete work later.”

Both men stared as she waved and disappeared, closing the door behind her.

“Your fly is open, James.” Raymond warned him in an amiable tone and laughed like a content toad, to Jamie’s utter dismay.

****

“Have you asked for me, Professor Mackenzie?” Jamie announced himself, standing on the threshold of Colum MacKenzie’s - the dean of faculty - office.

“Ah, James – yes.” Colum’s calculative gaze turned to Jamie, as he invited him to sit with a brief hand gesture. He was silent for a while, studying Jamie’s cordial face, his hands entwined in thoughtfulness. “I asked ye here because a pressing matter has been brought to my attention.” He finally said, leaning back against his leather covered office chair.

“How may I help?” Jamie furrowed his copper brows.

“Ye can stop seeing Claire Beauchamp.” Colum said in a cutting voice, which froze Jamie’s insides – was he fishing for the truth, expecting him to confirm his suspicions; or did someone actually see him with Claire? He was certain Raymond knew after their encounter in his office, but was confident the man wouldn’t tell a soul due to their friendship.

“That is hardly possible.” Jamie smiled, trying to look relaxed and uncompromised. “She attends this school and I am a teacher here.”

“I was wondering if I had to remind ye of that exact fact.” Colum admonished, harshly. “Someone informed me that you have been involved in some kind of affair with the lass. I couldna believe it. That a teacher – my nephew, no less – would be sae foolish and careless.”

“Who told ye that?” Jamie gripped his fist, hidden bellow the desk, barely containing the anger in his voice.

“It doesna matter.” Colum shook his head, his eyes demanding and judgemental. “Will you deny it, Jamie?”

Jamie endured the assault of his eyes, his own stormy and strong. Eventually, he sighed and shrugged.

“No, I won’t deny it. I’m in love with Claire and I’m dating her.” He confessed, tilting his chin in defiance. Colum hissed like a harassed animal and pursed his lips in discontent. “I’m a professor here but she isna my student – we only got involved when she quit my class. Nothing happened before!” Jamie guaranteed, tapping his fingers on his leg.

“I had hope the girl was lying.” Colum brushed his thinning hair. “How could ye be sae stupid? How could ye overlook what screwing the lass would mean to this school?”

“What we have,” Jamie hissed, adamant. “Is much more than screwing, uncle. Claire is the woman I waited for all my life. I won’t forsake her – not even for yer precious reputation.”

“I see.” Colum breathed through his nose, like a resentful cat. His eyes searched Jamie’s, as they battle their unwavering wills. “In that case ye have a decision to make – let go of the lass or yer days of teaching are numbered.” And with a magnanimous nod of the head, he dismissed him. “Professor Fraser.”

4

Tom Hiddleston and Susannah Fielding at TIFF 2011