The Teacher Isn't Always Right [Aember + Mei]

[Mei]

• [[Rofl, I just used the old title. XD]]
  
  Damn, what a shame that John was just so damn unwilling. After all, Quinn could be anywhere from sweet and nice when it came to sex, or completely and utterly rough and cruel - like a rapist. Which was probably how Quinn saw him right now - a rapist, even if the teen was trying his damn hardest to not come off like that. But if John would just go along with it, then this whole forceful thing simply wasn't necessary. But nope! John just had to resist all the way, didn't he? Well, except at the beginning when Quinn had given him a blowjob.
  
  Of course the older man didn't object then. I mean, who would object to getting a good blowjob, right? Unless they were forced to give one (but Quinn didn't really care about that, really).
  
  But now, the frustrated teen kept John on the wooden desk, making sure that he would actually stay, standing between his legs (between, he made sure of that. Wouldn't want to give the teacher a chance to knee him in the crotch, right?), and pursed his lips briefly, studying his English teacher. So, he objected to everything he did, hm? "Would you still say no if we were at a hosue, in a bed? Would you still hate having sex then?" He stared at John for a few seconds, then sighed and dropped his head on the other man's shoulder.
  
  "You're so stubborn when it comes to sex and intimacy. . ."
  
  And it probably wasn't helping that he was already speaking to his teacher as if they were already lovers. The older man probably wouldn't appreciate that at all. But maybe Quinn was a little crazy, was a little delusional. But the teen didn't care,a fter all. He wanted a relationship with the older man, even if it was going to wind up as one of those love-hate sorts that he saw on TV when his girlfriend made him watch those silly teen girl dramas. Only this one probably wouldn't have a happy ending, like those shows. Besides, what was life without a few fights and unhappy endings?
  
  "I'll force it, you know. But I don't want to. And I'll keep on trying, John, so you might as well just give in now," Quinn muttered quietly against the other's shoulder, digging his nails painfully into the other man's waist. No, he didn't want to force John. He'd love if it John could just relax and enjoy the actual sex, after all. Sex was good, and pleasureable and Quinn couldn't understand why John didn't understand it.
  
  "Besides, you enjoyed the blowjob I gave you earlier, didn't you? And you liked giving me one, too. .." Quinn slowly began to grind against his teacher once more, turning his head to one side to bite at the other man's neck, trying not to just climb into the other man's lap and give him a lapdance. Although that wouldn't be too bad of an idea, come to that. . .
  
  [[Was this utter crap? Why, yes. 8D;]][/list:u]

 

[Aember]

[Shut up. It wasn't utter crap. xD]

Though John had made himself believe that he despised sex, just as an anorexic believes that they despise food, he still held pre-concieved notions about how to loose your virginity-- or even something simple as your first kiss, which Quinn had taken away from him as well. Where was it? Across a desk in this very classroom. With a student. How romantic. Not really. The way he'd imagined it, as a teenager, was with a boy taller than him-- maybe a year older-- who was handsome and slightly rugged, who would kiss him during a movie, or while walking down the street, hand-in-hand. The loss of his virginity was imagined with the same boy, when he was ready and in love, and it would take place in the other's bed. . .with the lights down and the boy above him, looking into his eyes. . .

Of course, as he grew up, John turned that want for perfection into an utter hatred for everything in his life that wasn't happening. Kissing and sex mainly, and then everything that had to do with kissing and sex-- which developed into his loathing for uncleanliness. He also developed a loathing for his childishness, which made him into the stern, straight-laced man that existed at that very moment. The man who protested at the mere thought of Quinn touching him.

But touch him Quinn did, and it made feel as disgusting and dirty as ever. He was too weak to push Quinn off, too slow to get away, too desperate to give up the touch.

Honestly, the answer to Quinn's question was yes. . .with a few more variables. If they were in a house, in a bed-- if Quinn wasn't his student, wasn't underage-- if John wasn't scarred, wasn't afraid-- then he would be open to having sex. Open to let himself go, become vulnerable, loosen up. And in some sense, Quinn was right. He was stubborn, and if he was forced, he would only become more stubborn.

Because then he'd have another reason to hate sex, to hate intimacy, to hate himself.

When Quinn dug his nails painfully into John's hips, the lithe teacher tried to wiggle back with a yipe. He kicked his legs and tried to bring his knees forward to kick at Quinn's stomach and chest, to kick him backward, to escape.

"I didn't like giving one to you!" John cried, horrified at the notion. It had tasted disgusting. The act was vile. A whimper escaped his throat when the bite was placed on his neck, and finally he stopped struggling. His body sort of went limp, as if something inside him shut off, and he curled his hands against the wood of his desk. His face took on a reserved quality.

Though John wouldn't say it, he was resigning himself to what was going to happen. The sudden decision was triggered by the combination of the bite and the fingernails in his hips, both which were sure to bruise since he was such a fragile man. It wasn't a concious, "I'm going to let myself get raped," but more of a, "I don't want the pain."

A last whimper passed his lips, and his eyes closed, his head tilting back. He was done begging.

 

[Mei]

• [[Sorry I didn't reply yesterday. Drama, drama, drama.]]
  
  Losing your virginity was always weird. Especially in a situation that seemed like rape. The first time Quinn lost his own virginity wasn't particularly pleasant. He was rather forced into it (it was borderline rape, really, with a bit more consent than the current situation). And he didn't quite enjoy it at first. Granted, his relationship was a bit rocky with his then boyfriend, so there might've been some resentment involved. But it was always afterwards, that he had started to slowly relax and enjoy it. Briefly, Quinn had to wonder if he was doing the same thing with his teacher, replacing the role of his ex-boyfriend, and forcing John through his own experiences. . . . Okay, maybe that was a little too deep for the current situation, and he couldn't quite wrap his head around it at the moment (too much damn psychology).
  
  And maybe Quinn was too much of a damn bleeding heart, because now he just didn't think he could go through with forcing John through it.
  
  Quinn sighed, and stopped digging his nails into John, faint red crescents visible on the older man's pale skin. "No, suppose you didn't," he muttered quietly. And damn, there was that sudden guilt again. The conscience that everyone had, but one that Quinn just didn't have much use for. After all, he had forced John into every intimate act so far - and he knew that John hated him quite a bit for it, as well. Giving a frustrated huff, having completely ignored the light pushes he had gotten from John, and noticing how the other man had gone completely slack. . .
  
  Dammit, he just couldn't do it anymore.
  
  "I guess I'm a fucking liar, then," he said, hands sliding around to John's back, tracing the faint vertebrae, the hard ridges through the skin. And still, the teen laid his head there on the older man's shoulder, feeling a bit at a loss. There was the guilt there, yes, there was the frustration that he couldn't bring himself to do it, and there were some other unidentifiable emotions somewhere in there. This was just ridiculous, of course. Because after this, he would simply go back to being a student in the older man's class, and there would always be the hate from John because of yesterday. He had intentionally humiliated the other man, of course, so the teacher did have every right to hate him.
  
  Stupid boy.
  
  And now he would never get what he had wanted, and now he just felt stupid and frustrated at everything, but mostly himself of course. "I'm still sorry," he whispered ruefully. "Not that you believe me, of course." His words sounded somewhat muffled, because he was trying to choke back unwanted emotion. And he now had the ludicrous idea just to stay in the classroom and cuddle, of all things, though he knew that John would most likely just push him away now, gather himself, and then leave, and things would simply go back to normal. Not at all what Quinn wanted.
  
  He was such a dolt, just like Pinnochio. Much better to be a wooden doll than a real boy. Much better to pretend that things were normal, than to wish for what he couldn't have and have it blow up in his face. But still, he pressed himself tighter against his teacher.[/list:u]

 

[Aember]

"No, suppose you didn't."

Those words brought a shuddery breath from John's lungs, though he still didn't speak, or take fighting back up. He waited, spread out on the desk, his head slightly hung, for Quinn to move, to start pressing into him, to do anything! The teacher's breath was almost held for the inevitable, and as Quinn fought his inner demons, trying to decide whether or not to take John, the older man was near trembling from his fear of the act when it finally was to come-- and his complete aversion to what was going to happen.

At least the pain had faded, though, and Quinn's fingernails were out of his hips. Though he didn't want to know what the fingers were going to do next. . .

"I guess I'm a fucking liar, then."

Well, what the hell did that mean? John was a bloody English teacher and in his state of fright he couldn't, for the life of him, understand the simple meaning that those words conveyed. Hell, he barely caught the tone. The hands sliding around to hisback to trace his spine made him take a breath, and his shaking stopped slightly, especially when the boy laid his head on his shoulder. That sort of. . .intimate touch was reassuring and much less unnerving than Quinn's blatant sexual touches. Could those words mean what John was thinking? Was Quinn stopping? Oh, God. . .

"I'm still sorry, not that you believe me, of course."

A sigh of relief passed his lips, and in his relief he pressed his nose against the juncture of Quinn's neck and shoulder. His body untensed and he stopped shaking completely. There was a quick series of short breaths that expressed his gratitude and then John out-right nuzzled Quinn's shoulder, even though he was still naked on the desk and pretty much exposed.

"T--thank you," he gasped out, his voice relieved and almost choked up with tearful emotion. It was amazing how much the urge to cry at what was about to happen hit him now, instead of while he was still in danger, but he tried to hold it back the best he could. His arms went up to wrap around Quinn's neck and shoulders as the teen pressed their bodies together, and he gave a shuddering sigh and repeated, "Thank you. . ."

Maybe it was a bit messed up, that he was so grateful to Quinn for sparing him the rape and letting him go. Actually, it was quite messed up. John acted as though Quinn was the one who saved him from a rapist, rather than the truth: the fact that he was the rapist. He wanted to cling to Quinn because the show of compassion made the intimacy comfortable for John. It made him feel alright with the fact that he was naked, only because Quinn didn't seem intent on humiliating him with that fact anymore.

"I--I thought you. . .you actually. . ." John began, then shuddered. A bit of moisture from John's eyes no doubt reached Quinn's shoulder. "Would. . ." He bit back a sob and then drew in a breath, nuzzling Quinn's shoulder all the while, lavishing in the compassionate touch.

 

[Mei]

• 
  He could be manipulative if he wanted to, could so easily take advantage of the fact that John we beneath him, pressed against him completely and utterly naked. Really, it could be. . . just, so damn easy for him to do that. Quinn could be easily raping the man right now if he wanted to. And the manipulative side of him was actually considerably tempted to. . . But where would that leave him? It really wouldn't do him much good, even though the side of him that demandd satisfaction immediately wanted for him to have sex with John immediately. But he wasn't, right? Right? Right. He wasn't going to rape John, because that would end everything. And that loss wasn't something he could, or would, accept.
  
  Obsessive teen.
  
  "Mm. . . " And the show of affection from John - simply for agreeing to not rape and humiliate him? Not that Quinn was willingly humiliating him, after all. Although, of course, there was a ocnsiderable amount of force, and perhaps he had humiliated his teacher. But hey - what was done, was done. And that, of course, was the end of that, although John would no doubt still hate Quinn for. . . for the early humiliations.
  
  And the teen didn't mind whatsoever that John was still naked. And one twisted side of Quinn was still pleased that there was a show of dominance in John being naked, and Quinn completely clothed. And that, perhaps unintentionally, he had changed the situation where John was being affectionate towards him and was pressing himself against him.
  
  But, oh, on the other hand. . . He didn't mind that John had wrapped his arms around his neck, was nuzzing his shoulder, was thanking him in such an earnest way.
  
  "Don't press your luck," Quinn said under his breath darkly. After all, there was one side of him that still wanted to, and quite badly at that. But he was smply being human right now, and relishing in the cuddling. But even as he said those words, he pressed his palms against John's back, pressing him even closer, sighing softly. "Do you still hate me?" Quinn would, if the roles were reversed. And he hated himself right now as well, for wanting to spin this situation into something that would fit his own needs.
  
  [[Shooort. D; I fail.]][/list:u]

 

[Aember]

"Don't press your luck."

At those words, John froze. His muscles tensed, his mouth opened slightly, and his hold on Quinn's shoulders slacked completely. Those words were so dark that they sent chills down John's spine, and all at once he knew that he shouldn't be thanking Quinn what so ever. There was no compassion in the way that the young man stopped his actions just short of rape! John didn't know the reasoning behind Quinn stopping, but it wasn't out of compassion.

Feeling angry that he'd given praise to a completely selfish human being, John raised his head, turning it to the side to hide his red eyes and slightly stained cheeks. He reached out and pushed Quinn back, hard, truly angered. It was at that time that he slipped off the desk and moved out from between Quinn's body and the desk, stumbling around the room to find his clothes.

He didn't bother to answer Quinn's inquiry. He figured that the answer was obvious enough.

Still angry, his face flushed, John began to pull up his boxers and slip on his pants, pulling them up his slim hips. His shirt went on next, and thin fingers buttoned it up quickly before he tucked the end into his pants and zipped his pants up. His belt was clasped, and he used the back of his hand to whipe his eyes.

Finally dressed, John turned back to Quinn, glaring with all his soul-- all his hatred.

"Get out of my room, now," he growled.

 

[Mei]

• Of course Quinn was a selfish person - he had always based his actions off of what would benefit him the most. But, as with most people, he did usually let them know that he was a selfish person, and if he every helped them in anyway, it'd be for his own purposes and benefits. But perhaps he had gone a little bit too far with John. Oh, well. The older man was bound to have figured that out anyway. And anyhow, weren't most humans purely selfish beings? If people did things simply because of compassion, humans wouldn't be alive anymore. Compassion - what a silly concept. And besides, his reasoning was a convoluted mixture of compassion and own personal motivations. A psychologist would have a field day picking apart Quinn's brain to figure out what made him tick.
  
  And it didn't matter anyway, no matter how hard John tried to hide the red eyes and streaked cheeks - Quinn saw them anyway. Saw them, and made no move to rectify his mistake. It was, after all, a fair warning to John for the future. And regardless of what warning he gave to his teacher, Quinn would continue to pursue whatever it was he wanted.
  
  And yes, he was an asshole.
  
  Moving backwards, moving with the hard shove, the teen let his teacher move out from between him and the desk, and watched him move around the room. The hate and anger emnating off of John was enough to make Quinn regret what he had said, but not really. He never regreted things.
  
  So he stood there, watching, as John got dressed, watched as each article of clothing was slipped back on over his body, watched as John continued to simmer over what seemed to be a lack of compassion on Quinn's part, and watched as the other man finally turned around and ordered him out. Stood there silently for a few seconds, unable to sort out his own thoughts and feelings, shirt slightly rumpled, hair messy in it's own way, before a small smirk lifted the corners of his lips. "What, no kiss goodbye?" Then it slid off his face, and he was passive again. "I said that I would do it, but I didn't. Are you going to hate me for that?"[/list:u]

 

[Aember]

"What, no kiss goodbye?"

A feral growl was ripped from the usually timid teacher's throat. He glared at Quinn, and bristled even after the student seemed to pacify again, and look for-- acceptance? What? John didn't understand what Quinn wanted. He had no compassion, it could be said that he had no heart. And he was looking for verification? Looking for a nod, a signal, that John didn't hate him?

"What. . .what the hell does it matter, anyway!?" John yelled. He stalked toward Quinn, his fists by his sides. His body was quivering in anger and he wanted so badly to just reach out and punch Quinn. To beat him to the ground, to kick him when he's down, to make sure he was hurting, bleeding, and just as damn confused and conflicted as John was.

"You! You're selfish, and completely disgusting," he spat, raising a hand to point an accusing finger at Quinn. He jabbed at the boy's chest, mainly because it was a good substitution to just out-right punching him, or pushing him again, or clawing at his chest and neck and face in his rabid anger. "Will I hate you for that? Yes, I will, Quinn," he growled, and shook his head, "You almost raped me, and you have no heart!"

John drew back and turned on his heel. As he walked past the desk, upon which he lay prone just minutes ago, he punched the hard wood viciously and then spun back around to glare at Quinn.

"I don't know why you stopped, I don't know why you care if I hate you, and I don't know why I haven't punched you by now, but I do know that you better get the fuck out of this room in the next two minutes, or I swear to God, Quinn. . .I swear to God I'll try my best to make sure you could never have children even if you wanted to," John vented. When he stopped, he glared. Through that, it could be seen that he was on the verge of another breakdown into tears.

But he wasn't going to let Quinn have the satisfaction of seeing him cry, if that would satisfy him.

 

[Mei]

• Trying to understand Quinn would be the equivalent to finding a definative answer to Schroedinger's Cat. It just doesn't work that way, so dont' bother trying. And Quinn was looking for nothing - initially, this was simply an escape from the monotonous teenage relationships. Being with Kelsey was too much for him to deal with, and he had no doubt that she was out sleeping with other guys as well. So he looked to an adult - perhaps he was seeking some sort of stability in a relationship, perhaps he was looking for some sort of adult figure in his life since his own parent's had none. Hell, who knew? Point being, Quinn's mind was far too convoluted for even him to unravel, let alone comprehend.
  
  What the hell does it matter?
  
  Because it all matters. It all matters to him - every response, every word, every movement. Everything. So he let John advance, let him shout in his face, let his teacher shove his finger into his chest even though Quinn could've easily grabbed his wrist, hurt him, raped him as he initially was going to. And he knew how badly John wanted to hurt him. But that was never going to happen.
  
  Or maybe he would've. Quinn was just far too into the violence of sex.
  
  "Selfish? Fine. Disgusting? Fine - but sex is something everyone does. I have no heart? Fine, I'll take that to, but I almost did. Almost. That's what matters, isn't it? Not the process - argue that if you want - but the final outcome." His voice was monotonous, taking every insult, every jab without a flinch. It was far too similar to the fights he had with his mother, father, sister. The same insults, only without a few like 'pathological liar', 'spawn of Satan' (from his overly theological sister), and a 'disgrace to human race' (why, thank you, Father-dearest. I appreciate that, I really do).
  
  Tears wouldn't help, tears wouldn't do anything - tears did nothing. Quinn didn't know what he wanted, and still didn't, but he knew that tears certainly wasn't it. But now there was the overwhelming urge for him to scream, and shout, and to be violent once more. And maybe, in a sense, that would be satisfying. And still, he didn't want to leave. Not yet, anyway.[/list:u]

 

[Aember]

"Selfish? Fine. Disgusting? Fine - but sex is something everyone does. I have no heart? Fine, I'll take that to, but I almost did. Almost. That's what matters, isn't it? Not the process - argue that if you want - but the final outcome."

The final outcome? The final outcome! Once more, John pounded his fist against the table, though this time it was weaker and more sorrowful. The tone that Quinn's words were said in pacified him, because he couldn't fathom how Quinn could be so monotone when addressing such a situation. Or did he lack that much care? John's temper, which rarely showed itself, flared up in his chest once more.

"Yeah, you almost did. You stopped just short," John accused, once more going around his desk to get in Quinn's face. This time, he landed a mild punch to the other's chest. "So when will you, huh? You didn't stop because you care about how much pain i'd be in. You didn't stop because you care about my mental sanity. You didn't stop because you care, period. So when the hell are you going to finish the job?" Another punch was landed on Quinn's shoulder. Harder this time.

Once more, the man turned on his heel and walked away. Anger shook his body after some steps, and soon he turned around and fisted his hands by his thighs.

"I thought I told you to get the hell out of here?" John grit his teeth. Oh, he would rue this day in retrospect, but now he wasn't trying to curb his mannerisms or quell his anger. Instead, he was letting it all fly. All his anger, frustration, and hurt that had built up over the past twenty-seven years was being let loose. It wasn't much, but it was more emotion then he had ever shown one person in his lifetime.

"Get OUT! Now, Quinn. Unless you're waiting around to finish the job?" The blonde growled and pushed his glasses up his nose. "GET OUT!" He yelled, flinging his pointed finger in the direction of the door.

 

[Mei]

• Quinn quietly bore the verbal assault, standing there, feeling fairly relaxed. If any, perhaps, he seemed almost amused by the display of emotion the normally taciturn man was displaying. And while he normally would've cringed from the yelling, the insults, the accusations. . . this time, he just withstood it, riding it out with a calm look on his face. He even took th epunches, not really feeling them. If he wanted too, he could've grabbed the other's arms, and completely changed the position. Changed it so that he was in charge again, changed it so that John was pushed up against the wall once more, could've changed it so that the yesterday's events could've been repeated.
  
  Hell, the yelling could've just been catharsis for the other man. John didn't seem like the type to really go about and wear his heart on his sleeve. Not that it mattered to Quinn, of course. . .
  
  Oh, but that acucsation of him not caring. Green eyes flared slightly with a cold anger, and the teen advanced on the blonde, ignoring the shouts to get out, and placed his hands on the English teacher's shoulders, pushing him backwards so he was back agianst the wall, enough force in Quinn's shove for his head to knock kbackwards and collide against the classroom wall. His pale hands traveled from shoulder to neck, wrapping his fingers around the neck of the other man.
  
  "Is this what you prefer me to do? Do you want me to be violent? Do you want me to not care?" Quinn tightened his grip slightly. "If that's what you want, I could always change my mind and rape you. You know that - and you know I can do it." He stared at John, pressing his thumbs into the man's windpipe - at best, there'd be some slight bruising; at worst, he'd crush it completely. His face was twisted into a dark scowl, but he was strangely comfortable with this act of violence.
  
  "Don't ever assume that I don't care. Don't ever assume you know what my motives are. Don't ever assume that I don't care about you." Because he did care, even if his face didn't show it, if his actions didn't. Quinn's own anger, as opposed to John's, didn't manifest itself as yelling, and loudness. It manifested itself in cold, violent actions - and if anything, that made the current situation worse.[/list:u]

 

[Aember]

As he was pushed back, John's eyes widened and his anger waned, taken too much by surprise. His head hit the wall with a solid thump followed by a yelp of pain, but what monopolized John's attention, really, were the fingers aroun his throat. His hands shot up, grabbing each one of Quinn's wrists and digging his fingernails into them, trying to pry his neck free. John could still breathe, but his mouth hung open to take in harsh pants, and he could feel the blood rushing to his face-- or maybe out of it. He didn't know.

When the grip tightened, John made a noise of extreme discomfort and his eyes widened even more. A croak left his throat and his nails went from simply digging into Quinn's wrists to clawing at them.

"No. . .no. . .Quinn," the teacher rhasped, his eyes begging, pleading the other to stop. The pressure in his face felt extrodinary, and he felt like his head was going to explode. It didn't feel like he couldn't breathe-- it felt like he was going to die from his head exploding from the pressure.

"Quinn. . .please," he tried to beg, but it came out husky, and more like croaks than words. "Please," he tried again, followed by, "Don't. . ." All of a sudden, a wave of desperateness washed over him and he lifted a leg, kicking out at Quinn as he struggled to get free of the hands. He wanted to yell some more, to scream, to understand why Quinn would ever claim that he cared when it was quite obvious that he didn't. If he cared, would he force John into foreplay? If he cared, would he force John into sex? If he cared, would he be choking John at this moment?

Once more, John tried desperately to kick and thrash and claw his way out of the hold, hoping to find purchase first, and then get answers for Quinn's odd behavior.

Or should he even bother?

He could barely think. . .His face was a bright red, and his breaths were laboured.

 

[Mei]

• Quinn stared at John for a few seconds, uncomprehending, unblinking, not understanding what he was seeing - oh, there was an immense rush of power, and superiority, but then he was human again, and he was horrified at how he had his fingers wrapped around the older man's throat. He was suddenly, horrifically aware of the blonde's fingers wrapping around his wrists, plucking at his fingers, the frantic clawing of his hands, his wrists, his arms, and the desperate kick. The teacher's cries, how the face paled furiously. . . His grip relaxed slightly, as he realized what was happened to the other man, and then, finally, the fingers dropped away from his neck, back down ot his shoulders.
  
  The alread pale teen became ghost white as he realized what the hell he had just been doing to John. Choking him! Strangling the other man. And how much danger. . . John could've blacked out, and suffered cardiac arrest, and the most Quinn would've thought of it was, "Oh, he passed out, he'll wake up".
  
  Stupid, stupid, stupid.
  
  "John. . ."
  
  Keeping the other man steady with one arm - it wouldn't do for him to fall to the floor from the sudden intake of air and crack his head - Quinn tentatively pulled John against him. He shouldn't be violent - he should be able to control his temper. Josh and Reed both warned him, but he didn't listen, did he?
  
  "I'm sorry. . ." Again. But this time he did sound tearful, did sound sorry. Pushing the other man back slightly, he brushed the back of one hand against John's neck, tlting his head back slightly to see the damange tha he had cauesd. He could see the faint marks of his fingers against the other's skin. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. . ." There would be bruises, that much he could already tell.
  
  Please John, don't hate me. . .
  
  "I'm so very sorry. . ." Poor Quinn seemed nearly hysterical, and he certainly wasn't going to let John go now, as he had pressed himself against the older man, keeping the two of them close, with his face pressed into the other's shoulder.
  
  "I didn't mean to hurt you. . ."[/list:u]

 

[Aember]

In his struggle, John didn't notice how Quinn seemed to change-- no, he was too intent on escaping to really bother with pondering over the student's odd mood swings. They were a little more than odd. They were getting down-right frightening. John didn't know if he could handle any more of this.

When the fingers loosened, the colour rushed out of John's face and he gasped for air, his knees buckling underneath him. It was good that there were arms on his shoulders. But wait, why were they there? Who did they belong to? In his state of confusion, John looked around wildly and realized that they were Quinn's arms supporting him, and that was surprising. Even more surprising was when John was pulled into Quinn's arms.

Oddly enough, it felt safe. And it wasn't like John was in any condition to pull back. His knees felt like jello and his neck stung. Without even seeing his neck, he was sure that the flesh was going to bruise. That would be hell to cover up. But maybe he had enough evidence, now, to get Quinn out of his class-- or even arrested. Sent to a mental hospital. Lord, it seemed like he needed it!

But, for shame, John knew he couldn't ever turn Quinn in. What was he to say? A student ten years his junior came onto him, almost raped him and choked him, and John wans't enough of a man to pry him off? Pathetic. No, John could never turn Quinn in.

John's eyes lifted at the apology. There were tears of fright and relief in his eyes, and the begging apologies only made things worse. His body quivered in Quinn's arms and he pressed his face into Quinn's shoulder, his hands clutching at his shirt furiously and yet needily.

This was a roller coaster ride. John didn't know what to feel. On one hand, Quinn had tried to rape him, but then he apologized-- but then he tried to choke him! and he apologized for that, too, sounding so sincere. On the other hand, Quinn seemed to be bipolar, or something. . .and that wouldn't bode well for anything.

But now, John simply clung to Quinn and bit back sobs. He was too mixed-up to think.

 

[Mei]

• He himself wasn't quite sure as to why he was so bipolar - and why even bother findng out? He was normal enough at school, and at home. It was only in private, or in situations like these that he. . . That he was no longer. . . Quinn gave a small shudder, hand sliding up John's back to tangle itself in the blonde hair. And it felt so good to have John lean into his arms, and not pull away like he normally would've.
  
  Althogh, honestly, seeing the tears in John's eyes were, honestly, the worst.
  
  Like he said, he didn't mean to upset John. Didn't mean to hurt him at all. . . Didn't mean to even force him into rape. But that was what it nearly turned into, didn't it? All his fault, all his fault. . .
  
  But Quinn wasn't complaining about John pressing his face into his shoulder, and that the older man was clinging to his shirt in a desperate manner. If only he hadn't needed to go through much hassle for just this small moment. . . Quinn absentmindedly stroked the other man's blonde hair briefly, before giving a small sigh.
  
  "Are you okay? Are you able to breathe?" Quinn murmured, still running his hand through the other's hair. He wanted to be far more affectionate towards John, but what else could he fucking do? "Does your neck hurt?"
  
  God, Quinn worried about how much strain he was putting on John's mental state. How much more could be put the older man through? At what point would the English teacher snap? He shook his head briefly, and tried not to think of that, instead preferring to hold the blonde and enjoy the moment in a somewhat normal sort of way. Hopefully John didn't hate him still. After all, he did mean what he said. He meant it when he said he was sorry. He did, he really did! Even if John would most likely not believe him.[/list:u]

 

[Aember]

John's body quivered in fear as Quinn's hand came up to tangle in his hair. He feared more pain, or that the hand in such a place would force him to do something he wouldn't normally do. It was a legitimate fear, seeing as Quinn was known to John to use force and other such means. John didn't really seem to protest, either, though whether it was because he knew he couldn't lift a finger to go against Quinn's will or because he really didn't have the energy anymore really wasn't known.

Instead, he was happy to note that the hand just stroked through his hair in a comforting manner, making John sigh and his body quit quivering. A sudden rush of calmness ran through him and even as he clung to Quinn he became less tense, breathing in the other's scent and enjoying this side of the boy. Because hell, who knew how much longer John would see this nice side of Quinn before the violent, raging side of him was released again?

And Quinn's arms were just so. . .comfortable. John didn't want that raging side to come out again, not only because he feared for his safety but because this other side of the teen was so amazing. John could melt.

"Are you okay? Are you able to breathe? Does your neck hurt?"

John pulled his head away from Quinn's neck to look at the boy momentarily, his eyes red and puffy again, but no tears were falling anymore, and he gave a quivering smile at the worry in those words. Though John's best interest was probably to run, he didn't. Instead, murmured, "Yeah, I'm fine." His neck was killing him, but he didn't say anything to that.

With a sigh, John burried his face in Quinn's neck again and sniffled slightly, then loosened his hands from the other's shirt to wrap them around his waist. It felt nice.

He might get addicted.

 

[Mei]

• Quinn could tell that John was afraid when he wound his fingers in his hair - what did he expect? For Quinn to yank his head back harshly, for the teen to suddenly force John back down on his knees to repeat yesterday's foreplay? No, no. . . Not now, Quinn wasn't that cruel right now. But, man. . .
  
  Having John stop shaking in his arms, having the blonde man press himself against the teen, his breathing no longer as ragged or quick. . . Knowing the fact that the English teacher was comfortable in his arms was a pleasant feeling. That, well, perhaps John wasn't quite so afraid of him anymore. And besides, it was rare that Quinn actually got violent. It was simply because the older man had the misfortune to say some things that simply. . . That simply pissed Quinn off. How John had assumed that he didn't care about him, didn't keep his word. . .
  
  Quinn shuddered briefly.
  
  He blinkd as he saw John's eyes. Shit. How much did this really hurt John? But at least he wasn't crying. . . At least he wasn't crying. "If you say so," he murmured quietly, gently stroking his hair. Quinn was surprised, however, when John buried his face into his neck, and clung to his waist. But it was definately a good surprise, a pleasant surprise. Wouldn't mind spending the rest of the day like this. . .
  
  "John?" Quinn whispered, gently nudging his hip against the other man. "Are you able to get home? Or do you just want to stay like this for a little bit longer?"
  
  The latter would be preferred, of course.
  
  Worst comes to worst, Quinn would simply take John home, to wherever he lived (secretive man, John was!), and then head home and fend off questions and other suspicians from his family. Althouhg he would probably wind up taking John home anyway, not trusting the current state that the teacher was in. He seemed too shaky. Physically, and mentally.[/list:u]

 

[Aember]

A soft, contented sigh passed John's lips as that hand stroked through his hair. He could definitely get used to this petting-- if only Quinn hadn't done what he had over the past few days. If only he hadn't forced John into the foreplay, and if only he'd gone about trying to win over John in this way-- with simple petting, and affection. The english teacher still would have been hesitant, but he was beginning to really like this contact.

As long as it didn't go past this simple contact, that was. He could only take so much at once. Baby steps, baby steps.

"I. . .yeah, I can get home," John mumbled, lifting his head slightly off of Quinn's shoulder, though he was loathe to do so. Still, he had needed to reply. "But. . .Can. . .I stay like this a bit longer?" He flushed slightly at having to ask such a thing and pressed his body against Quinn more. It wasn't in a sexual manner at all, but in a manner that clearly said he needed a bit more of the touch, more than he needed to go home.

His hands reached up more, wrapping around Quinn's neck as John rested his head against the student's chest. Like this, and quiet, he could imagine that he wasn't in the same situation-- that he wasn't hugging a minor, and a student, but that he was hugging a lover. Such a touch, such a fantasy, had been something that John needed for so very long.

Who knew? Maybe the old suggestion, that a crabby teacher just needed to get laid-- or in John's case, loved-- was actually true.

 

[Mei]

• The soft sigh was a good sign for Quinn - a really good sign. John wasn't quite afraid of him as he initially was, and was comfortable enough to even let himself be held this way. And while the English teacher might've wished that Quinn hadn't forced him to give him a blowjob, while he might've wished that he wasn't almost raped. . . It happened nonetheless. Too bad, right? But it was good that John was enjoying this. . . And really, all Quinn had to do was stop himself from being manipulative and taking advantage of John.
  
  Nope.
  
  That'd be really bad. A total one step forward, two steps back sort of thing. And besides, with what he had done to John. . . Perhaps it'd be best if Quinn took it slow. Cuddling, petting. Small kisses.
  
  "Mm. . . Maybe it'd be best if I drove you home. . ." Quinn murmured. He gave a small smile when he saw how John turned a slight red as he asked if they could cuddle for a little longer. "Of course," he said, nodding slightly, and rested his chin on the top of John's head as the teacher pressed against him once more. It was a little surprising, at how this situation had every potential to be very awkward, but it wasn't.
  
  Quinn flinched slightly as he felt John's hands reach up and wrap around his neck, a little surprised at the action. But he relaxed after a few seconds, and closed hsi eyes, his own hands sliding down to rest on John's waist. It was the same touch, the same action that Quinn used when he was with a boyfriend or a girlfriend, and he was serious about them.
  
  Although, of course, with the fondness that John was showing him right now. . . There was always the question of how John would react to the fact that no, Quinn wasn't single. He had a girlfriend currently, even though he didn't particularly care about her. Ah well. He didn't care about Kelsey. . . But breaking up with her after two days. . . Uusally, he gave a guy or a girl a week before he broke up with them.
  [/list:u]

 

[Aember]

Even though he had been forced to give someone oral sex, and even though he had almost been raped, John could get over things like that. The good thing was he wasn't raped, or hurt in any way-- except for the bruises around his neck. And right now, Quinn was being a perfect gentleman, even quite sweet. If the other didn't let his anger manifest in such a way again, John could look past that, too.

And the relationship could go forward if Quinn took things slow, with small touches, cuddling, and kisses. John could imagine himself being quite comforted in Quinn's arms. And hell, the boy was almost legal-- he had to be. And he was almost out of John's class. Oh, yes, in that comfortable embrace John even let himself dream about John and him possibly having a relationship outside of school. That would be nice. . .

But it was just a fantasy.

"Maybe. . .Maybe not, Quinn," John murmured against the boy's neck, "I can drive myself, i'll be fine." He nuzzled the flesh and let his eyes flutter closed, a soft sigh passing through his lips. Yes, it was amazing how not awkward things were. It was really nice, actually. John never thought he could feel this comfortable with someone else. . .Then again, he had never let himself either.

Though, John did tense up when Quinn's hand moved down to rest on his waist, but once he noted that the hands weren't going any further down, the teacher's muscles relaxed once more and he again melded into Quinn's body. He was so comfortable that questions like. . .Was Quinn single? didn't pop into his brain. Instead, it was gloriously blank.

After some time, John pulled back slightly. "I should get going, Quinn," he said in a soft voice.

 

[Mei]

• Saying that Quinn was a gentleman was the equivalent of saying that Hannibal Lecter was normal. It just didn't work, didn't happen. Nope. Because Quinn could convince people that he was normal, could convince them that he was a gentleman and nice and whatnot. . . But really, he just wasn't. No, not really. The teen was simply too bipolar for his own good. But whatever. He would let John continue on thinking about how he was normal and gentlemanly, just with the slightly violent tendencies as some extra hardware.
  
  Almost legal, John. Almost. There were still a couple of months before Quinn finally turned eighteen, and left John's class. And he wouldn't mind having a relationship with John - it would be interesting dating a guy much older than him, who wouldn't be in charge of the relationship. Not to mention to Quinn's strange mind, it was a kinky idea too.
  
  ". . . Fine," Quinn sighed, letting himself be nuzzled. Mm, that did feel nice.
  
  "Mm, alright. . ." He gave a small pout as John pulled back from him. Dammit. Time sure did pass by quickly didn't it. "Alright then. . . See you at school tomorrow, right?" He gave a small smirk (still the asshole teen he usually was. . .), and leaned forward slightly, hesitating slightly, but gave him a small kiss on the lips nonetheless. He wished he could do more - he wanted to do more, but he couldn't, and left it at that. Turning around, Quinn headed back to his desk, and scopped up his backpack before leaving the classroom.
  
  Certainly an interesting change of events - from rape to cuddling in a classroom. Who knew?[/list:u]

 

[Aember]

Oh, in no way did John think that Quinn was, by any means, normal. Quinn wasn't. Anyone who could go from being in a murderous rage to being so sweet couldn't be concidered normal by any society's standards. John was maybe thinking about referring Quinn to the school nurse, or a counselor or something, to try and get him help-- because otherwise, John knew that there was no way to stay around Quinn. Eventually, even if John treaded lightly, something in the boy might snap again and he knew he could end up dead.

But for now, John would have to tip-toe around Quinn, and keep the other happy-- at least to the best of his ability, and as far as his own personal morals would allow. Which was why John was nuzzling up against Quinn, giving him some of the contact that the boy seemed to desire without pushing things too far. Plus, John was in need of some comfort-- more comfort than his little Yorkie could give.

"Yeah, see you. . .tomorrow," John replied in a soft voice, smiling slightly at Quinn. He tried not to move his head back completely as Quinn leaned forward, not wanting to anger him, even though John knew what was coming. The kiss was surprisingly simple and John was glad for that. He stayed still as Quinn left the room, and once the boy was gone John moved to his chair and collapsed in it.

Leaning over his desk he put his head in his hands and rubbed at his eyes. Fuck. Such a strange, messed-up boy. But. . .John felt the need to fulfill his duty as a teacher and help him. So it was decided. He'd put in a request for the school therapist to see Quinn, and he hoped that would work and not just make the boy angrier.

On the way out of the school he dropped the request into the therapist's box, and hoped it would be answered the next day.

 

[Mei]

• A normal night at home - do homework, avoid the parental units and siblings, do some more homework, listen to music then eat dinner and head to bed. Although, just like the night before, sleep didn't really come easily again. It was only afterwards, when everything was said and done, and when he was alone did he really realize what he did to John. Rape attempt. Strangling the man. He shuddered, and pulled the covers over his head, then rolled onto his stomach, becoming tangled in the sheets.
  
  Shit.
  
  Even if they did . . . kind of, sort of, make up afterwards, what the hell was John going to do now? Actually make sure that he got transferred out? Recommend a counselor or therapist or some sort of shrink to his parents? Oh, God, that'd be awkward to explain. 'Why did your teacher want you to see a therapist?' his parents would ask, and he wouldn't know how to answer. The truth was certainly out of the question. 'Oh, you know, because I nearly raped him and strangled him after he said something rude.'
  
  Yeah. That definately wasn't happening.
  
  Shuddering slightly in his blankets, the teen squeezeed his eyes shut, eventually falling into a fitful sleep out of necessity.
  
  --
  
  Quinn dropped into his seat wearily for first period, completely exhausted. He had snapped at his mother this morning, and had earned himself a derisive sniff and a glare, before being shooed out of the house by the housekeeper. Fine. If is his mom didn't want to talk to him, fine. Didn't matter to him, nope.
  
  "You look like shit, man," Josh commented, eyeing his friend.
  
  Grunt.
  
  "Kelsey's looking for you."
  
  Groan.
  
  "Can't ignore her forever, you know."
  
  "Yes I can, shut up."
  
  "Quinn? Quinn? Hey, pay attention! I got a note for you from the office, to the counselor it says!" The teacher shooted in front of him, meter stick in hand and looked like she was ready to whack it on his desk to get him to pay attention. "Now get out before I start to bore you with my lecture on the Third World and tangents and I get yelled at and replaced like the old carpet by the principal."
  
  . . .Crazy teacher and her tangents and lectures. At least she was an interesting teacher.
  
  With a small groan, Quinn pulled himself out of his seat. Man, he could've just slept through first period, and. . . not have to go to the freaking counselors. So what the hell was this, anyway? Was he getting a schedule change? Or was he being sent to the therapist?
  
  John wouldn't really tell anyone about what he did, right? Right?
  
  But anyway, with a disgruntled sigh, Quinn waited outside of the counselor, and folded his arms across his chest, waiting for a signal to let him know that he could enter the office.[/list:u]

 

[Aember]

John, like Quinn, didn't seem to be able to get much sleep. He had gone home feeling mentally heavy, but he still treated his night as if it was any other night. He gave his Yorkie, Maxie, a bath and then cuddled up on the couch for some much-needed snuggling. It was cute, because Maxie even licked his face, as if trying to comfort him.

And she was as big of a prude when it came to kisses as John was.

The teacher smiled a thin smile, but even though cuddling with his favourite girl he wasn't able to forget about what happened that day. He'd come so close to being hurt. . .twice. Disgustingly enough, John remembered how ready he was to just let Quinn. . .take him. A shudder ran through John, and he immediately felt like he was going to puke.

It was going to be better, though. Wasn't it? Yes. . .It would all be better once Quinn got the help that he needed. Everything would go back to normal. . .

With thoughts such as those on his mind-- thoughts of the future-- it was no wonder he couldn't fall asleep.

---

The school psychiatrist was a small woman with long features and glasses pearched on her nose. She really was nothing when it came to her stature, but she held herself like she was a seven foot tall body builder. Her cool confidence made her someone that not even the bravest boy would want to mess with, and her charming smile made her someone that the bravest boy would rather swoon over. She was still good-looking, after all.

Miss Josephine Dale. That was her name. It was also the name that the secretary in the office called when Quinn showed up to answer his summons.

Miss Dale stood up, brushed her skirt into place, and then opened the door, swinging it wide and smiling. "Come in, Quinn," she said warmly. As the boy followed inwards, she closed the door and returned to her seat.

 

[Mei]

• Quinn didn't particularly care for the school counselor - she was simply another woman, or adult who tried to get inside his mind, even if it wasn't in the same way as the silly little teenage girls. Granted, both of them did try to figure out what made him tick - not that it worked, of course. Offering a little weak smile at her when she invited him into his office, Quinn stood up and brushed his jeans off briefly before hesitating her inside.
  
  Definately not looking forward to this session. The only tim ehe had ever been in a counselors office was to discuss schedules for the next year, or schedule changes. And he honestly doubted that this little visit involved any schedule changes.
  
  Sitting down in the seat in front of her desk, Quinn leaned back, and crossed his legs at the ankle, watching Miss Dale carefully. It looked like any other school counselors office - the encouraging posters, the little bowl of various candies on her desk for the people who were sugar-inclined, and the giant filing cabinet behind her that housed student records and transcripts.
  
  The organization and the stupid posters made him feel oh-so-very awkward.
  
  "If you don't mind me asking, Miss Dale, why have I been called here?" He asked politely - it was always the way he acted when he was around adults, besides his parents or. . . John, when the two of them were alone, which only included the past two nights. . .[/list:u]