High School Never Ends

"I want to fuck him." Frank stated, walking to biology. Bob flicked blonde bangs away from his eyes and sighed.
"He's like thirty, and you say this about every teacher." Frank grinned at Bob, pulling the headphones out of his ears as they entered the classroom.
"Twenty-eight actually, more experienced, y'know?" One eyebrow raised, disappearing under his veil of black hair. Bob just shook his head.
"Whore." He sighed, dropping his bag on the black bench.
"That's enough of that, Mr. Bryar." Came the strong, English accent from the supply cupboard before Mr Oliver Sykes appeared in the doorway in all his glory, frowning slightly at Bob who nodded, ducking his head. Mr Sykes pulled his fingers through his chestnut hair, brushing it away from his forehead and stared intently at his desk. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up loosely to his elbows, exposing the patchwork of colours and patterns covering his forearms. Tattoos weren't exactly regulation in the school but Armstrong had let it slide simply because he liked the guy, plus he was a good teacher.
Frank liked the tattoos. A lot. Never mind the soft locks of hair that framed his face so perfectly or those wide, doe eyes or the ghosts of old piercings below his lip. It was those tattoos covering so much of his pale skin that really got Frank going.
Sykes took the register and sat back on his desk, legs slightly apart.
"Right, so we're supposed to be dissecting...something. Rats or frogs or worms or whatever. But I don't like the idea of killing frogs so we can cut them up so instead we're going to dissect a potato!" He rolled his eyes at the simultaneous groans emitted from most of the class.
"Come on! You can pretend it's a rat or an owl if you want!" He let his head drop onto his chest when the protests continued, hair shielding his face from the kids. "Know what? Fine! You all dismember animal corpses if you wish!" He stalked back into the cupboard, raiding the fridge for the box of frogs and managing to locate the knifes. He slammed them down on the front desk.
"Help yourself! I'll be in the corner being a decent human being!" With that he stormed into the corner and faced the wall, arms crossed across his perfect chest. No one really knew how to correctly dissect a frog so just began slicing them up haphazardly. Frank, also refusing to psartake i8n this despicable practise, saw this as his chance to connect with the beautiful teacher and meandered towards him.
"Sir?"
"Yes, murderer?" Sykes hissed, half turning towards Frank with a glare painted on his forehead.
"I uh...I don't wanna cut up frogs. I'm a vegetarian." At hearing that, Mr Sykes' eyes lit up and he grabbed a hold of Frank's shoulder.
"Come, lad. We shall go discuss PETA and the like." He pulled Frank towards the store cupboard where there was a large variation of bottles and jars of substances Frank neither knew nor was interested in knowing the contents of.
"Hey, do you have any more tattoos?" Frank asked, twisting a strand of hair around his fingertip, uninterested in PETA at that moment. Oli hiked himself up onto the surface of a low down freezer.
"Yeah." He grinned in that thick accent that Frank adored, "a lot actually." Frank made in interested 'ooh' noise, leaning towards the teacher a little.
"Could I uh...see any?" Mr Sykes raised an eyebrow and shrugged.
"Sure, I guess." He pulled the knot of his striped tie down to his stomach and began undoing the top buttons of his shirt, completely naive to Frank's ulterior motives. Frank however, had this giddy feeling that suggested he'd sort of died and gone to heaven or some other cliche about awesome happenings.
Sykes pulled open his shirt to just above his ribcage, letting it hang open so that Frank could see how the patterns extended from his back, curling up his chest and tracing over the tops of his ribs.
"Wow." Frank enthused, "those are, like, awesome."
"Uh than-" Sykes' words halted when Frank placed the palms of his hand on the older man's chest, sweeping round and holding onto his sides before stepping in so that he was standing between Mr Sykes' parted legs, mouths only a centimetre apart. "What're you do-" His words were cut off again, this time by Frank's lips, pressing against his and moving slowly before Frank's tongue sweeped into his parted lips, paralyzed by this strange alarm going off in his head that seemed to scream'what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck'.
then of course, his palms were pressed to Frank's chest, pushing him away and pulling up to his mouth to smear at his lips with the back of his hand.
"What the f- hell do you think you're doing, Iero?" He began redoing the buttons on his shirt frantically, not trying to agitate the situation.
"You were the one who took your shirt off. Don't tell me you weren't flaunting your nipples!"
"I was not! It doesn't matter that I have extremely pretty nipples, I am your teacher! You get back to your seat and never let me catch you pulling something like this again." Frank sighed and slumped out the door, leaving Sykes staring at his exceptionally attractive nipples and sporting a bit of a boner in all honesty. The kid was cute, not his fault that his body reacted, he thought staring at his crotch and willing it to deflate.

Frank sulked for the rest of the class before slumping out with Bob when the bell went.
"You tried to fuck him, didn't you?" Bob sighed and Frank shrugged.
"He showed me his nipples! He wanted it..." Bob shook his head and wordlessly walked away to music, he really couldn't deal with his BFF's sluttiness at that moment, plus he wanted to get to class.
Toro was plucking on the strings of his guitar when Bob sped in, first to arrive.
"'Sup Bob." He greeted, stretching those wide lips into a smile, Bob blushed and stammered a 'hey' at the attractive teacher.
"You work on your chords last night?"
"Yeah but I need some help." Bob’s voice was still small so that Ray had to tuck his wild hair behind his ears so that he could hear. Other students started filing into the classroom and he quickly nodded.
“I’ll get to you in a minute, okay?” Bob just nodded, cheeks still rosy and messes about finding a guitar and one of the many picks strewn everywhere around the classroom; on desks, on the floor, hidden in books, in Toro’s hair. There was never a shortage so Bob managed to find one relatively quickly and sat down in a quiet corner to strum some amateur chords. Bob wasn’t particularly good at guitar, nor did it interest him all that much, he just enjoyed Toro’s teaching methods. Sure, he gave Frank shit for perving on a teacher but he wasn’t quite so vocal about his infatuation with the music teacher. Besides, Ray Toro was beautiful.
He was halfway through something when two long, thick arms looped around his shoulders from behind, gripping the neck of the guitar, fingers moulded around the strings expertly.
“Strum.” Came that voice that was kind of high and womanly but totally hot. Bob did what he was told as the fingers stretched and moved along the fret board. All Bob could really manage to concentrate on was the simple movement of his wrist and fingers to keep the sound coming. Besides that, he was completely frozen by the soft, even breath on the back of his neck and the springy curls tickling his cheek, the chest pressed against his back.
“Just follow the finger pattern, simple.” Toro grinned and patted Bob’s shoulder before disappearing, leaving Bob ready to dissolve into a pile of emo and cry at the lack of his presence.
Instead, he just resolved to sit and sadly practice the chords while staring at the teacher.
“PICKS ARE EVERYWHERE!” Corey the Janitor screamed, picking up one and jabbing it into a kid’s forehead before throwing his mop to the floor and crawling out, muttering about guitar picks.

Bob picked up his bag when the bell went and moved to leave.
“Hey, Bob?” Ray asked, still working at the guitar cradled in his lap, he never let anybody touch it though. In fact, if anyone’s fingertips came near it, he let out this high pitched screeching noise and growled at the offender until they backed away.
“Yeah, sir?” Ray looked up at Bob intermittently between watching his hands intently.
“If you wanted,” He started, interrupting himself with a complicated chord progression so that Bob stared at those long fingers, mouth open as he considered what those fingers could do. “You could come after school...or at lunch times and we could work on the chords?”
“Yeah, sure, definitely.”
“See you tomorrow?” Bob nodded and flicked hair away from his eyes before sprinting home to jerk off thinking about those fingers.