elrhiarhodan | Because I am a Dork...and a Geek

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Because I am a Dork...and a Geek

Was surfing through the new Mac App store this evening, and an app called Comic Life caught my eye. I was going to buy it for shits and giggles, but remembered that I may have already bought it. I did - it came with a software bundle I got a few years ago. So i finally tried it out, and played with some of the newly released pics.

Like I said - I am a dork and a geek.

Click for larger image

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Yeah...he's a baaaaaaaaaad boy (we know that because of the leather jacket).

Oh but he's so, so good. He's good and sweet and a pleaser and an A student and an artist and teacher's/Peter's pet and he helps grade papers after school and it's soon determined, despite Peter's best efforts to avoid finding this out, that Neal is, indeed, one exceptionally talented little cocksucker.

;-)

OMG - this is like such a plot bunny now...

YOU'RE KILLING ME!

I know! I'm sorry! LOL! Plot-laden fic is not my strong suit. But it's very enticing! Feel free to take off with it, should you so desire!

(I shouldn't be doing this, but...)

Peter hated that he'd been scheduled to teach Calculus on the last period of the school day. The kids were bright, but they were still kids and by 3 pm, they were were often tired and and stressed out and eager to get out of school for the day.

All except Neal Caffrey. He looked like a bad boy - with his leather jacket, touseled curls, his wicked blue eyes, body like a Greek god (not that Peter really wanted to notice these things, but he did). But just as you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, Peter learned that despite the devil-may-care image, Neal was every teacher's dream student.

In the dozen years he'd been teaching Calculus, he never had a student quite like Caffrey. The boy was a sponge, so eager and willing, it took Peter's breath away (and he didn't really want to think why).

Every afternoon, Neal would come into the classroom, a few minutes early, sit down in the first row, center desk and start to chat. He'd ask him about his political opinions, which he didn't like to take about with students - but Neal had no boundaries whatsoever. If current events weren't the topic, it was sometimes about art or music. Neal had eclectic tastes - far beyond what any 17 year old should have. They talked about the newly renovated exhibit of Tang Dynasty ceramics at the Met just as easily as they'd discuss Leibniz notation.

Peter knew he should put a stop to this - whatever "this" was - but Neal was like his own personal angel, bringing light into his otherwise dry and dusty world. Peter looked forward to those few minutes with young Mr. Caffrey way too much these days.

It wasn't until Neal started staying for a few minutes after class that the problem became serious. And career threatening.

It started shortly after Thanksgiving - the class was struggling with inverse functions and differentials. Even his star pupil, Neal, was having problems. But while the other kids scattered at the bell, Neal - his angel, his own personal demon - asked if he could get some extra help.

Edited 2011-01-11 15:53 (UTC)

PANTY KILLER!!! MORE. NOW.

OMG! Yes, yes, yes!!! THANK YOU! Moar? :-D

I'm over there reading your super-angsty 14k piece right now, too, btw!

The fifteen minutes quickly became a half hour, and the half-hour somehow expanded to an hour.

Soon Neal was staying late almost every day.

"Doesn't you mother get worried? It's nearly 5 o'clock."

For the first time since the school-year started, Peter saw something unpleasant in Neal's eyes.

"My mother - she couldn't care less. She's too busy with her own life to care if I'm home."

An evil thought occured to Peter. "Neal - doesn't your mother have ... a problem?" He tried to be delicate - kids didn't like when adults pried too hard.

"A problem? Oh, you mean drugs or booze, right?" Neal laughed. "No - my mother's only addiction is to her job. She's a big-shot lawyer - and it's always about the clients and the cases. The housekeeper's cool - she makes dinner and leaves it for me to reheat."

"What about your father?" Peter knew that despite the wealth that supported this exclusive private school, there were still kids that lacked the traditional 2-parent home.

"My father - you've got to be kidding me. Mom got herself knocked up at a sperm bank when she was 30 - she wanted a kid, but didn't want the hassle of a husband."

Peter tried not to feel sorry for Neal - but damn, this must be why the boy was clinging to him like a limpet. He wanted a father figure. That's all. Those wide eyed looks were meaningless - or they didn't mean what Peter's twisted and dirty imagination thought they meant when he dozed off at night, in his empty bed in his lonely house.

"You married, Mr. Burke?" The question was innocent enough.

"Not any more."

"Your wife left?" Neal was blinking at him - those ridiculous eyelashes fluttering like semaphores. Peter nodded. "Why?"

"Mr. Caffrey - I don't think that's really any of your business." He said repressively. It wasn't - not that he thought Neal would tell the other kids, but his wife left him because he didn't have a vagina and she didn't have a cock, and they were both tired of the lies. They were good friend.

Neal looked down - a little hurt, a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right - but there are just some things that teachers and students shouldn't talk about together."

Neal changed the subject - asking him if he ever applied calculus to the patterns on Moorish tiles. It seemed that Neal had been to an exhibit at the Cooper Hewitt last weekend, and was fascinated by the spirals and repeating patterns.

They talked about math and art until someone poked their head in the door. It was the principal, Hughes. "Burke - haven't you looked out the window? There's a blizzard on it's way. You need to clear out." The old man then noticed Neal sitting there. "Young man - you've missed the last bus. Is someone going to come and pick you up?"

"Yeah - I've got a car coming for me at 5."

Hughes took the boy's words at face value, but Peter knew that Neal was lying. He was far too glib.

"Okay - you can wait at the front entrance. Burke - we're going to close tomorrow. Get home safely."

Reese Hughes was a good administrator, and despite his gruff attitude, cared about his teachers and his students. When Peter told him about his divorce and the reasons why - Hughes didn't make any dirty-minded assuptions, and just suggested that if he found himself in a permanent relationship, he shouldn't keep it in the closet.

The old man left, and Peter looked at Neal, who was packing up his textbooks.

"You don't have a ride, do you?"

Neal shrugged. "I can walk, it's not that far."

Peter looked out the window - it was getting bad, and there was no way he was going to let Neal walk home.

"Come on, I'll give you a lift."

The boy smiled at him and Peter kept telling himself, just a father figure, just a father figure.

His car, a sturdy black Ford Taurus was already buried in 6 inches of snow. Neal helped him clean it off, and when he lobbed a snowball in his general vicinity, Peter reminded himself that Neal was still a kid, and he threw one back.

It could have descended into a full-fledged snowball fight except that the school's snowplow arrived and the driver called out - "Follow me to the road."

He got in, made sure that Neal was buckled up and hit the road.

Edited 2011-01-11 17:10 (UTC)

Guh. Holy crap. Student/Teacher is one of my favorite kinks. *fans self* Loving this. :D

Neal gave him directions, and Peter couldn't believe that the boy thought he could walk home. It was at least eight miles through some pretty undeveloped areas. He concentrated on his driving, trying not to think about the jailbait stretched out next to him.

"Mr. Burke?" The kid interrupted the impending trainwreck of his thoughts.

"Yeah, Neal."

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"If you tell it to me, it won't be a secret any longer."

"Why do adults always have to split hairs like that?"

Peter didn't say anything, and he kept his eyes on the road. He wasn't sure he wanted to be the keeper of this young man's secrets.

After a moment or two, Neal asked again. "So can I tell you?" His voice was quiet and unsure of itself.

Peter again reminded himself, father figure, you're a father figure.

"Yes, Neal. You can tell me."

"You won't tell anyone else, right?"

This must be important. "No, I won't."

"Promise?"

"Yes, Neal - I promise."

Neal was quiet for a few seconds, and he took a deep breath. "I'm gay."

Peter didn't say anything. He tapped lightly on the break pedal to avoid skidding as they came to a red light. He looked over at Neal, so damned young, so vulnerable. So beautiful.

He wasn't going to ask Neal if he was sure. Peter knew all too well what a devastating question that could be.

"You're practicing safe sex?"

The kid didn't answer.

"You're using condoms, right?" He hoped he didn't sound too much like a PSA.

Neal mumbled something.

"I didn't get that. What did you say?"

"I haven't had sex yet!" The young man shouted. Peter was startled - by both the shout and Neal's revalation, and he braked to a hard stop, nearly skidding into a tree.

"Sorry." Neal's apology was quiet.

"What have you got to be sorry about?" Peter thought he was about to have a heart attack.

"Dunno... Yelling. Dumping this on you. Being a gay virgin."

Peter backed out onto the road, kept the car in low gear. "There's nothing to be ashamed about."

Neal wisely let him concentrate on his driving - the snow was falling even more rapidly, visibility was practically zero. Thankfully, they made it to Neal's house - or at least halfway up the driveway without any further problems.

Then disaster struck. Neal's house was at the top of a long, curving driveway, which was completely unplowed. Peter's car, dependable as it was, couldn't hold the traction on the uphill climb, and spun out, hitting the brick retaining wall.

"You okay?" Peter's first thought was for his passenger.

Neal nodded. "I'm fine. You all right?"

“Yeah.” Peter wondered if he’d be able to get a tow truck out here in this weather.

Neal blazed a path through the heavy snow and Peter couldn’t help but shake his head at the exuberance of youth.

To say that the Caffrey house was big was the understatement of the year. It was an honest-to-god mansion, probably built in the 1920s. “You and your mom live here alone?”

Neal dumped his coat on the banister of the grand curving staircase, and put Peter’s on top of it.

“Yeah. It was my grandparent’s house. They’re dead – so it’s just my mom and me. And the housekeeper. But she doesn’t live in anymore.”

The thought made Peter’s blood chill. “So you’re all alone when your mom works late.”

Neal wrinkled his nose. “Would I be in trouble if I told you that Mom lives in the city Mondays to Fridays. She hates to waste time commuting.”

Peter couldn’t help but think what a miracle this boy was. He’d practically raised himself. But it was wrong. “I don’t know what to tell you Neal – your mother needs to be a mother first.”

Neal shrugged. “She’s not going to change. She’ll just stick me in boarding school for the rest of the year.”

Peter didn’t want that – but something needed to be done. If just to make sure that Neal didn’t do something stupid.

“Ummm, Mr. Burke. Do you want to have dinner.”

Peter sighed. “I need to call a tow truck.” He flipped opened his cell phone. Damn, no signal.

“You probably won’t get a signal out here – it always goes to zero in bad weather. There’s a phone in the kitchen that you can use.”

Edited 2011-01-11 20:48 (UTC)

Peter followed the boy and found himself in a large airy kitchen – probably recently renovated. The glow from the snow outside lit the marble countertops and the blonde wood.

“There’s the phone.” Neal pointed to a handset and went to make himself dinner. Peter dialed Triple-A, and watched the frightfully self-sufficient young man put together a meal. It would be about two hours for a tow truck, and he gave the dispatcher Neal’s phone number as a call back.

When he heard how long the wait would be, Neal looked back at Peter and smiled. Peter was once again struck by his beauty; it was like an arrow through his heart.

“Hope you like Fettuccini Carbonara…’though I leave out the peas.” Neal sniffed and Peter smiled. It helped remind him that he was a seventeen year old boy.

Peter set the table, and he was disconcerted at how comfortable he was in this little domestic scene.

“I think there’s wine, if you want.”

“No thank you – water will be fine.”

Neal flung a strand of pasta against the wall. At Peter’s snort of startled laughter, the kid explained that that’s how they did it in Italy. Peter doubted that, but he had heard of the trick. He expertly tossed the pasta in the sauce and presented two perfectly plated dishes.

The boy shrugged when Peter thanked him. “I like to cook and I like to watch Food TV – it’s like the chefs are talking to me.”

They ate with little conversation. Neal seemed suddenly very shy.

“Mr. Burke?”

“Yes, Neal.”

“Ummm, you won’t tell anyone what I told you. Right?”

“Neal – I gave you my word.”

“I suppose you think its funny that I haven’t had sex.”

Peter chose his words with great care. “Sex should be about more than satisfying hormonal urges.”

“You mean, it should be about love?” Neal snorted. He was seventeen year old boy, and that concept must be so alien.

Peter shook his head. “Neal – I don’t want to sound like a hypocrite, but yeah. The first time, at least – it should have some meaning.”

“When you fucked a girl for the first time, were you in love.”

Dangerous waters… “Mr. Caffrey, watch your mouth.”

The boy mumbled an apology.

Peter relented. “No, Neal. The first time I had sex, it wasn’t about love. It was messy and unpleasant and I ended up hating myself afterwards.” He was careful not to lie. The first time he had sex was with the varsity baseball coach and he felt dirty about it for weeks. It was worse when he had sex with a girl for the first time.

Peter watched as Neal toyed with his food, his silverware. And despite his own best intentions, Peter did feel like a hypocrite. But to tell Neal – who was struggling with his own sexuality, that he himself was gay – that seemed both wrong and an act of compassion.

They were both startled out of their silence by the shrill ring of the telephone. Neal picked it up, listened, and then handed it to him.

It was the tow truck dispatcher. They hoped he had a way to get home, because the roads were closed and no one was going anywhere.

Neal must have been watching him closely – because he got a worried look on his face. As soon as he disconnected, Neal pounced.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Burke?”

“No tow truck.” He picked up the phone, with the half-hearted idea about calling a cab. Spending the night under the same roof with the boy was going to be disastrous.

Neal was all smiles. “That’s great – well, not that your car’s been crushed – but that you can stay over. It’ll be fun.”

Jeez – the kid was treating this like an impromptu sleepover. “Neal – I can probably get a cab.”

“Mr. Burke – if tow trucks can’t come – cabs won’t either.”

Peter glared at his student. “Who taught you to think so logically?”

“You did, sir.” If Neal’s smile was any brighter, Peter would need to wear sunglasses or go blind.

Peter wished Neal hadn’t called him “sir.” He shifted in his seat.

“Okay…but I’ll need to go back out to my car. I have to get my briefcase and my gym bag.”

“Cool – I can watch you work.”

Peter had a metal facepalm moment.

“Can I leave you with the dishes while I go out to my car.”

“Sure – the alarm hasn’t been set on the door – and it won’t lock unless you set the deadbolt.”

It took Peter a good ten minutes to get from the house to his car and back. It looked like the snow was falling at more than an inch an hour, and by the time he made it back inside, he was soaked to the knees. Neal was waiting for him with a cup of hot chocolate.

Peter was grateful until he took a sip – it was so sweet that he nearly gagged. But it was hot and Neal’s smile was … well. Not something he wanted to damage.

He handed the kid back the mug and took his coat off. His shoes were soaked through, as were his socks, and despite the hot drink, he was starting to shiver.

“Mr. Burke – if you want to change, we’ve got plenty of guest rooms.”

“Thank you, Neal.”

He kept his shoes on, not caring that he was tracking snow and grit on the polished marble stairs. Neal showed him into a large bedroom.

Neal snapped on a light. “This was my grandfather’s room – but Mom had it redone after I was born. I think she wanted to make it an office, but I don’t think she ever used it.”

There was an empty desk in the outer half of the room, a couch and fireplace in the middle, and a king sized bed dominated the rest. There was also a small en-suite bathroom.

Neal smiled – and it seemed that that was all he was doing – smiling at Peter like Peter was his only friend in the world. “My room’s just down the hall, Mr. Burke. But we can meet downstairs. There’s a library with a fireplace and a huge TV.”

Peter wanted to get away from the combination of Neal and large beds. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes.”

True enough, buy the time Peter had changed into his dry sweatpants and socks and went back downstairs, Neal was waiting for him. Like an eager puppy.

“I took your brief case into the library. I hope that’s okay.”

“Thank you, Neal - but I could have carried it.” He followed Neal into the library. It had, as promised, a huge TV, a fireplace, several comfortable-looking couches and an enormous desk with a computer - a large Apple iMac that Peter figured was the newest top of the line model.

The boy licked his lips. “Mr. Burke, sir...”

Peter groaned mentally. Again with the “sir”

“Yes, Neal?”

“You can share my desk - it’s a ‘partner desk’ - it belonged to my grandfather.” Neal beamed with pride.

It was, in fact, a two person desk, equipped with a double desk lamp that Peter was certain was Tiffany.

The boy stood there, eager and anxious.

“Thank you, Neal. You’re very generous.” Peter was rewarded with another blinding smile. He tried to subdue his body’s reactions when Neal pulled a chair over and sat him down.

They worked in companionable silence for a while. Peter marked the tests he had given to his three pre-Calculus classes, reviewed the lesson plans for the Calculus classes and estimated that there were only going to be a dozen students who would be prepared for the AP exam. Though this was Clarkridge, and all of the kids would take the test in June.

Neal seemed involved with his homework - flipping between old fashioned textbooks, the school mandated iPad and his computer. As Peter packed away his own materials, Neal pushed himself away from the desk and announced that he was done.

It was only eight o’clock.

“Would you like to watch a movie, Mr. Burke?” Neal bounced from one foot to the other - beautiful and adorable and Peter wondered if it would be safer to just go up to bed.

“Sure - anything you’d like.” Peter watched as Neal picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels, stopping at a channel that played foreign and independent films. Something in black and white, with German dialogue was playing.

“Ever see Wings of Desire, Mr. Burke?”

He had - and it was one of his favorite movies. “It’s a good film - you’ve seen it?”

“Yeah - it was playing at the Angelika a few months ago.” Neal named the famous Greenwich Village art house cinema. That troubled Peter a bit.

“You go down to the city by yourself a lot?”

Neal shrugged. “Yeah - a lot of times Mom doesn’t make it home on Fridays, so I take the train down and meet her for breakfast on Saturdays, spend the day in the city and we come back together.”

The picture of Neal’s home life just got a little grimmer - for some reason, he figured that Neal spent most of the day on his own.

Neal turned the volume down and looked at Peter. “Can I ask you something, sir?”

“Yes, Neal. You can ask me anything.”

Neal ducked his head.

“When you said before...that my first time should be with someone I care about, did you really mean that - or were you just telling me that so I wouldn’t have sex? I mean - adults are always telling us not to do things that they do all the time. You’re not bullshitting me, right?”

Peter wished he were anywhere else right now. This was a moment of truth. The kid was way too smart to be fobbed off with some textbook line that paraphrased the 11th grade health class. Neal would undoubtedly see right through it, think he was the same as every other adult, and then go out and do something stupid. Or he could tell him the truth - or at least the truth according to the life of Peter Burke.

“Neal…”

The boy interrupted him. “I’ve been thinking that if I keep making a big deal out of it, I’ll never do anything. I mean - I’ve watched movies and stuff - even some of the really gross stuff on the internet, but - if I just go to one of the dance clubs and get together with a guy there, how bad can that be?”

Peter’s temper just about exploded. “Neal - that is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard. I am appalled that a smart young man like you to even think of doing something so criminally, criminally stupid.” Peter didn’t want to think about the rage he felt at the thought of someone else touching Neal, kissing him, holding him.

Neal turned white and looked like he was about to burst into tears.

He forced himself to calm down. “Come here and sit down.” Neal didn’t move. “Neal, come here.” Peter patted the couch, and the kid reluctantly sat.

“Remember when you asked me to keep your secret?”

Neal nodded.

“I’m going to ask you for the same favor.”

Neal blinked. “You’re going to tell me a secret?”

Peter nodded, then shook his head. “It’s not something that no one else knows, but it’s definitely not common knowledge, and it’s not something that any of your fellow students need to know.”

“I won’t tell anyone else, Mr. Burke.” Neal stared at him, his eyes were huge unblinking pools of blue.

Peter looked at his hands and then back at Neal. This was a conversation that needed to be held eye-to-eye.

“Neal, you aren’t the only homosexual in this room. I’m gay too.”

Neal didn’t move - he seemed frozen by the news. Peter watched the expressions cross his student’s face. He was incredulous at first, then Peter thought he saw a spark of happiness, then his face settled into lines of anger.

Neal got up off the couch and paced the room, glaring back at Peter. “You were laughing at me when I told you, weren’t you.”

“No - Neal - absolutely not. Why would I laugh at you?”

“Because I’m a silly kid, coming out like it’s some great big deal.”

“Neal, Neal…” Peter didn’t get a chance to finish his thoughts before Neal bolted from the room, tears streaming down his face.

The kid was quick, but Peter was faster. He grabbed Neal’s arm and hauled him back to the couch. “Sit and listen.”

“First of all - I would never dream of laughing at you. I am honored that you trusted me enough to tell me. I know how hard it must have been.”

Neal’s face was set - he wasn’t giving Peter an inch.

“I knew I was gay when I was thirteen - and if you think it’s difficult now, it was impossible back then. Do you have any idea what it was like in 1977? To be queer? A faggot? A freak? And it wasn’t just getting called names. You were a target - and no one would come and help you if you got your face kicked in.”

Neal finally looked at him. “Is that what happened to you?”

“No, I never told anyone. But kids knew.”

Neal nodded.

“Is that what happened at Westover?”

He nodded again.

“I dated, I played sports, I did everything a normal kid was supposed to do.” Peter stopped, the memories still had the power to make him retch.

“But?”

“There was a guy at school - the basketball coach. I was good and he told me that with a little extra practice I could make the varsity team.”

“What did he do to you?” Neal sat next to him, hunched over and looking terrified.

Peter considered all the answers he could give that wouldn’t traumatize the young man, and then decided that the truth as the best answer.

Peter considered all the answers he could give that wouldn’t traumatize the young man, but then decided that the truth as the best and only answer.

“I think that he saw me for what I was, or maybe I was just another eager, vulnerable kid to him. I did a few weeks of after school practice with him, and he kept telling me I was going to make the team. The week before tryouts, he kept me for an extra hour and when I was in the locker room changing he came in. There was no one else there - all the other kids had left. He told me that he wanted me - that he knew what I was and that he understood.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Yeah - but not deliberately. It wasn’t like he forced me. It was just...ugly.” Peter clenched and unclenched his fists. “I didn’t like him - I mean, I didn’t dislike him. But I was curious and I wanted someone to touch me the way I wanted to be touched. But doing it in a cold, smelly locker room - with someone who really didn’t care about me made it all wrong.”

Neal didn’t say anything.

“I don’t want that for you. You are smart - the smartest person I’ve ever met.” Peter was careful not to call Neal a kid - because this was not a discussion for kids. “You have so much promise, so much potential. You do something like you’re thinking about - it could ruin you. Do you understand that?”

“I … I guess so.” Neal shrugged, clearly uncomfortable that Peter had brought the discussion back to him.

“Neal - you go to the city and hook up with an older guy. What do you think is going to happen? Is he going to take the time to make you want it as much as he does? Or are you thinking about going into the men’s room at letting the guy put his dick in your mouth - on your knees in a room that stinks of piss and semen, surrounded by a dozen other guys doing the same thing.”

Neal flushed beet red, uncomfortable with Peter’s frankness.

“Neal - that’s not you and it’s not for you. You deserve better than that.”

“But there’s no one here. I hate the guys at school - they’re all idiots and jocks and there’s no one to talk to who understands me ... except you.” Neal’s speech was breathless and all of a sudden, Peter could see the wheels and gears in the young man’s head locking into place.

Between one moment and the next, Neal lauched himself at Peter, burrowing close, his hands everywhere, his mouth everywhere, a bundle of hot temptation.

“Neal, Neal - stop. Stop it.”

“No - Peter - don’t you see. It’s perfect. You understand - you know what it’s like. You can teach me, you can show me. You won’t hurt me. I know that. Please, please, please.”

Neal was clinging to him, climbing on him - offering himself in ways that Peter would never even let himself even dream about. It would have been so damn easy. He could make it right for Neal, he could show him, teach him - bring him happiness and pleasure.

But it would be wrong. Wrong beyond imagination.

He grabbed hold of Neal’s wrists and tried to push him away. “Neal - no. You have to stop. Please.”

They grappled - Neal trying to climb on top of him, rubbing against him, and Peter doing everything he could to keep away. It shouldn’t have been that difficult, Peter had the advantage of height and weight and strength, but Neal was like an eel. Finally, Neal slid off the couch and crouched at Peter’s knees, eyes wide, mouth opened, hands on Peter’s spread thighs. He closed his eyes at the provocative picture the young man made.

“Neal - listen to me. You have to stop this, now.”

“Why - why. Don’t you like me? Peter?” Neal used his first name again, the way he said it sent chills down his neck.

“Neal - I like you. Of course I do - you are my student, someone I am very proud to know. But what you are asking for is wrong.”

The petulant expression on Neal’s face made him look about thirteen, which helped Peter regain some control of himself. Then shame seemed to flow over Neal like a tide. He got up and stepped back.

“I - I’m sorry. I should have realized.” Neal gaped and blinked and the tears that threatened earlier burned tracks down his cheeks.

Peter knew he was going to damn himself by asking. “Realize what, Neal?”

“That you are with someone - that you’ve got a boyfriend.”

Oh, god - what an easy way out of this. For a very brief moment, he thought about letting Neal believe that. But a lie is a lie - and something that could so very easily be found out.

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend or a partner. And I am not saying ‘no‘ because of that - it’s ‘no’ because it would be wrong.”

“Because I’m too young for you?” Neal sat down again, not at his feet, thank god, but next to him. Almost close enough to touch.

Peter took a deep breath and tried to find his sanity. “Neal - your age is a big reason why I’m telling you ‘no’.”

“I’ll be eighteen in two weeks.” He pulled out his wallet and his driver’s license and handed it to Peter. “I’ll be legal then - you won’t have to worry about statutory rape or anything.”

Peter looked at Neal’s license - and his birthday was in fact in two weeks. But that didn’t matter. “How the hell do you know about statutory rape laws?” Peter was very concerned why Neal would want to know something like that.

“Wikipedia.” Neal grinned, and then got shy. “There was a guy I liked at Wendover - he was nice to me. A senior - and he said we couldn’t do anything because he could go to jail, so I looked it up.”

Peter could see Neal doing that - but it surprised him that one of his classmates would know about age of consent. “How old were you at the time?”

Neal looked at everything except Peter.

“Neal?” He drew out that syllable.

“Fourteen. I was in ninth grade.”

Peter hand Neal back his driver’s license and resisted the urge to interrogate him on what he did with the older boy.

“Neal - age aside - even when your eighteen - you can’t have a relationship with me. I’m your teacher. It would be morally wrong.”

“No one has to know.” Neal reached out and Peter actually backed away. “If I say yes - if I ask you - why is it wrong?”

“Neal - there is a relationship of trust between us - as teacher and as student. To be intimate like you want us to be would break that trust. No matter how much you say you want this - you can’t consent. As long as you are a student and as long I am your teacher - it could never happen.”

Peter damned himself then - he knew that there were two holes in his argument. Each big enough to drive a train through. And Neal was too smart, too clever not to see them. And just as Neal was about to jump into one of them, Peter did his best to close it.

“And don’t you dare think of dropping Calculus or dropping out of school - because if you did, I’d have nothing to do with you - understand?” That took care of one, but the other…

Neal was quiet for a few moments - thinking so hard that Peter could almost read what was going through his brain.

“Peter …”

He didn’t have the strength to demand that Neal go back to calling him “Mr. Burke.” Too many boundaries had been crossed this night, some things could go back to the way they were.

“You’re not really saying ‘no’ are you.”

Peter didn’t answer.

“You’re saying ‘not yet,” right?”

It was Peter’s turn to get up, to move away - to try and find some distance. Because Neal was absolutely right. To be with Neal now was wrong - but later, when law and responsibility and his own moral code were no longer factors - yes. Yes he wanted Neal - and he thought that he’d want him until he died.

“Peter?”

He stopped pacing and paused at the fireplace - the hearth was cold, but there were logs and tinder and matches and in a matter of minutes, it could be blazing hot. Neal came and stood by him.

Peter looked at Neal. In the flickering light from the television (the angel had just taken his plunge to the mortal realm and finds his armor) he could see a new maturity and a hint of the man he would become.

Maybe, just maybe... “I was hoping you’d miss that.”

Neal grinned - but the illusion of maturity didn’t fade. Maybe it wasn’t an illusion. “No - I heard every word you said, and a lot of stuff you didn’t say.”

“But you understand why?” Peter hated the touch of pleading in his voice.

“Yeah - I do. You could lose your job.”

“Yes - I could. But it’s more than that.”

“I’m not a dumb kid.”

“No, Neal - you’re not dumb, and at seventeen, not really a kid either. But you are very young, and you’ve still got your whole world in front of you. Less than a year from now - you’ll be in college, with young men that are your own age - you’ll forget about this. Forget about me.”

Neal touched the back of his hand. “I don’t think so.”

“Neal, come on. Fifteen minutes ago I was Mr. Burke – your calculus teacher, not an object of desire.”

“That’s not true.”

Peter looked at Neal, startled.

“I’ve been thinking about you. Lots. I – I... dream about you.” Neal blushed bright, bright red. “I think about us...as if we were real friends.”

Peter groaned inside, but he had to make a stand. “Neal – I am your friend. Your ‘real’ friend.”

“No – I mean that we are boyfriends. We date and stuff.” Neal’s hand slipped up Peter’s wrist, hot and enticing.

He didn’t know what to say – or at least how to say it without crushing Neal’s dreams – embarrasing him – making him feel unwanted. Or making himself feel like an idiot, an old fool, a destroyer of innocence. So he stood there, frozen like a deer in headlights, just waiting for disaster to strike.

“I think about us a lot. Most times, when I go into the city, I pretend you’re with me – we go to the museums, concerts. We go out to dinner, and then...”

Peter didn’t say anything, his heart ached. He hadn’t realized how far Neal’s attachment had gone. So much for telling himself that he was a father figure to Neal.

Neal must have read something in his silence. “I’m pathetic. Aren’t I?” He pulled his hand away and shoved him in his pockets.

“No, no – you’re certainly not. I am honored.” And honestly...very frightened. Peter wanted to touch Neal, but refused to let himself.

“That’s why I asked you if you were married. I thought maybe ... maybe if you weren’t, you’d want to be friends.” Neal bit his lip. “It wouldn’t have mattered that you weren’t like me...”

“Like you?” Peter was a little confused – or maybe his brain wasn’t functioning at all – except for imagining himself and Neal – together. Not as a sweet teenager and a disgusting older man – but as friends enjoying themselves.

“Yeah – gay. I didn’t know you were...but I liked too imagine us together. Doing stuff...fooling around. You know...” Neal’s voice faded out with embarrassment.

Peter understood those fantasies all too well – it was easy, safe to think about people you’d never have a chance with, people who wouldn’t turn you down because you could never give them a chance to.

He struggled to get himself under control. “Neal, that changes nothing. I don’t want to tell you what you should and should not feel, what you should and should not think about ... but you’re at a turning point in your life. You need to explore who you are, not tie yourself – even for a little while – to a dry and used-up middle aged man.”

“You’re not like that! You’re nice and your funny and your smart and I ... I think you’re sexy. I can’t talk with anyone else – you get me. You understand me.”

You understand me… If you say something three times, that means it’s true

“Neal – you are going to go to college in a few months. To a school that’s know for its liberal thinking and acceptance of all kinds. You’ll find smart – brilliant – people there. Young men from all over the world that are your own age. You need to do that. You need to explore and enjoy yourself.”

“But I thought you said I should be in love for my first time?”

“Neal – I did, and I do believe that. And I really believe that you need to find a relationship with someone your own age – someone who’ll ...” Peter shut himself up. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

You don't understand. This hits HOME. HARD. I love it. Very, very much.

More, Master.

Please.

Part X just posted!

“Someone who’ll what?”

“Neal – I can’t tell you I don’t want you. And I won’t lie to you when I tell you that I don’t want to take what you’re offering. But I can’t – I can’t and then live with myself.”

They stood there, Peter wishing he could just disappear.

Neal broke the silence. “What if I said I’d wait?”

“Wait?”

“Yeah – if I said that I’d wait for you. Wait until I graduated. Would you still be interested in me?”

“Neal...”

“You say that you want me too – but I’m too young. I’m a student. But when I wasn’t – would you still want me?”

This is what it means to be damned, Burke. “Yes, Neal –I would.”

Neal smiled - it was like the sunrise after a long storm. “You won’t be sorry.”

“Neal, Neal - I’m not the one sacrificing anything. And I think you really need to consider what you are promising.”

“I’m know what I’m promising - I am going to wait until I graduate. And then we can be together, right?”

“No - not quite. I want you to have a chance to experience life. I don’t want you to give up something that you shouldn’t be promising me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neal - if you are serious about what you want…”

“I am!”

“Let me finish...if you are serious...I want you to graduate and finish your first semester. You are free to do what ever you want - well not free to go to clubs and hook up with strangers - and if you still think you want to be with me, you can come see me when you come home for winter break.”

“But that’s almost a year! That’s not fair.”

“Neal - those are my terms. You finish high school, you start college. You live the life you were meant to have. And then...” Peter hoped he sounded implacable.

"Live the life I'm meant to live? Who are you, Dr. Phil?"

Neal pouted and it was all Peter could do not to laugh, or smack Neal on the side of his head. Or kiss him.

“Dr. Phil may be an idiot - but I’m not. I know first hand what it’s like - and I don’t want you to ever feel guilty or disgusted or sad at what you’ve done. And I don’t want to ever feel that way either.” Ever again.

Peter watched as Neal’s lower lip trembled, and his eyelids dropped. He wanted to gather him close, hold him, tell him everything would be all right, that it gets better. He wanted to make it better. His body went where his mind refused to go - and he took just a single step closer.

Neal’s eyes snapped opened, and he gave him a small, tiny smile.

“If you want me to do this - to go and have a life...you’ve got to give me something.”

“What?” And Peter thought, here be dragons.

“Kiss me - just a kiss.” Neal looked at Peter, blue eyes shining up from those ridiculously long eyelashes. “Give me something to hold on to - just a kiss.”

Peter knew he shouldn’t - that any sort of contact, no matter how gentle, how innocently intended - could blow up in his face.

Neal reached out, his fingertips brushing against his cheekbones.

“Neal, don’t. Please.”

“Just a kiss. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Peter couldn’t resist any longer. “A kiss - that’s all.”

Neal nodded, eyes huge and grave.

Peter stepped in close and cupped the back of Neal’s head, threading his fingers through those silky, dark locks, tilting him back.

Neal’s eyes fluttered closed, but his lips opened, and Peter imagined they’d be soft and sweet.

Peter leaned down, intending to give him a gentle salute - warm and loving, nothing more than affection and a promise. His resolve held until he tasted Neal, and until Neal tasted him.