Love of Learning 9
After William arrived home and prepared a pot of tea, he drank a cup as he went through his folders for the next school day. That was hardly necessary, as tomorrow was Saturday, but he went ahead and took care of it all the same. It was important that he stay on schedule, keep to his routine.
When he had finished and put the handouts and papers to return in their proper places, he ate a hard roll with his second cup of tea. He thought of opening the cupboard to prepare something else, but he found he didn´t have the appetite for anything more.
The sky was suddenly dark, it seemed, when he bothered to glance out the window. Night already, then. As wary he was of the weekend that stretched before him, empty of plans and full of opportunities for self–remonstrance as it was, at least the day was now at last coming to a close. He didn´t think he could experience another jarring emotional shift in the time before he could reasonably take himself to his bedroom. He wanted only to sit, quiet and untroubled, and let the hours that remained pass.
All the same, he found it impossible not to turn over the events of the last twenty four hours in his head, especially those since he´d awoken with Xander gone. In the early hours of the day, all he had wanted to do was explain to Xander how they must never do anything so grossly inappropriate again, how they were obligated to reestablish a clear demarcation between the two of them as teacher and student, not as lovers. It was for Xander´s sake, so that he might experience his youth as he ought, so that he could direct his attention to his studies, not be distracted or even fail his exams and papers because of some sort of tawdry liaison with his instructor.
And yet . . . that afternoon, watching Xander behave in a nonchalant way towards him during class time, and interact with other boys with that easy intimacy by contrast: all of that only made William want to get Xander alone so he could shake him by the shoulders and ask what the bloody hell was going on. If only Xander were here now! He pictured himself shoving the boy to get his attention, asking him what gave him the right to toy with William this way, to tempt him to jeopardize not only his career, but his entire life, demanding that he explain what was happening.
But William was supposed to be the one to decide what was happening . . . wasn´t he?
He dumped out the now–cold tea, boiled the water to make another pot. While it brewed, he did the washing up of his plate and knife, and rubbed away the traces of his small meal from the counter so that all was tidy once more.
"No reason to remain here," he said aloud when he caught himself staring at his own reflection in the glass of the window. He cleared his throat, and wandered back into the living room.
His apartment had never seemed so large or as empty as it was tonight. To think, only a few days ago, it was a space where he had quite enjoyed being alone while he graded quizzes or watched a film, spoke on the phone to Elizabeth when they both had time, or simply relished peace and quiet after the constant chatter of schoolboys.
After a while he switched on his stereo to the local classical station, not paying much attention to the music but just letting it fill the gaps and silences. He´d dimmed the lights and sat down to relax on his couch when he heard a sharp knock.
"Xander," he said flatly when he opened his door.
"Hey." Xander blinked at him, and then shook himself the way a dog might. Water flickered from him down onto his door mat.
"Raining outside?" William asked pointlessly. Xander´s damp hair was already curling, and his jean jacket and book bag were pilled with droplets.
"Raining like you wouldn´t believe, and totally out of nowhere," Xander confirmed. His cheeks were flushed, as though he had run through the downpour, a suspicion strengthened by his heavy breathing. "The bus didn´t come, and then I figured I´d just walk over, but who brings an umbrella when the sky´s totally clear?"
"Yes, about you coming here . . . " William paused with the door ajar, uncertain as to what he should say next. He watched as Xander bounced a bit on the balls of his feet, one hand clutching the strap of his bag, the other hand hidden behind his back. The hallway beyond was silent, and there could be no better moment with which to turn the boy away, to tell him he must never come to see William like this again, that whatever it was that had happened between them was now finished.
"So," Xander said. His gaze dropped to the floor, and then he looked up at William. There were beads of water on his eyelashes. "Can I come in?"
"Er, yes. I´ll just . . ." William sighed and waved him on. He couldn´t very well leave the boy dripping and chilled on the threshold. No matter how the resolution between them was to be articulated, he was still Xander´s teacher, and so had a concern for him no matter what. "Come, get inside and take off that jacket. You´re soaked, and you may as well have some hot tea. I´ve a pot already made."
He hurried into the kitchen, directly over to the second pot he had prepared. After choosing and putting back two different cups, he realized it was only a device of delay. Yet he could only put off the inevitable for so long, so he recommenced fumbling over the cups before finally pouring the tea with a shaking hand.
"Hey, I just wanted to say . . . I´m sorry about today," Xander called out from the next room.
William paused as he was about to place the cup on a tray. Did Xander mean he was sorry for leaving the night before without telling him? Or was he apologizing for not getting in contact with him afterwards?
Or was it that Xander was sorry for the distant way he´d acted in class? William settled the cup with as little noise as possible. Not that he hadn´t appeared friendly on the surface, even charming; but based on his manner, he had acted casually, treating William as though he were merely ––
"Merely his teacher," William said in a whisper. "Nothing more." He straightened his shoulders, picked up the tray, and turned to approach the living room. He felt calmer somehow with this realization, that Xander instinctually acted as though they were back in their rightful roles. If Xander felt different about what had occurred than William had initially imagined . . . well, it would of course make things easier.
"Xander, I ––" he began as he re–entered the room.
Xander faced him, holding in his hand half a dozen red roses. "I know it´s kind of cheesy," he apologized. "I didn´t know what, you know, but I figured –– something . . ." His voice trailed off, and he bit his lower lip.
Now that William knew it was raining, he could hear the distant plonk–plonk of the downpour on the small roof outside his kitchen, against the windows on the easterly walls.
"Oh." William set the tray down before he dropped it. "Those are –– you got them for me?"
"Because I didn´t even leave a note, I didn´t even think of it until I was halfway back to the dorm, and then this pickup truck almost side–swiped me while I was walking, and I got all splashed with mud," Xander explained. "I had to climb in through the window at the back entrance, and then go back and wipe off the dirt. I was just so freaked about sneaking back in before curfew, you know, so no one would ask any questions."
"And did they?" he heard himself inquire. "Ask any questions."
"Nah." Xander gave him a small grin. "I got in fine the back way; no one saw me or anything. But when I was late today, I thought . . ."
"What?" William asked.
"It was weird, playing it off like nothing had happened, when something sort of major did." Xander shrugged, but his shoulders tensed. "I just didn´t want to mess this up, you know?"
"Ah." William didn´t trust himself to say more.
Xander kept his eyes on the flowers he held, and twisted the ribbon that held them together with his free hand. "But it wasn´t just because of that, forgetting a note, that I brought you these. It was –– yesterday, that we –– what it felt like." He met William´s gaze, his eyes dark and wide. "Being inside of you."
"Oh god," William said almost inaudibly.
"I couldn´t stop thinking about it, all day long," Xander continued on in a soft voice, almost as though he were crooning. "The sounds you made, how good you felt. The way your throat looked when you threw your head back, how you tasted. It was amazing, the most amazing . . ." He stopped, shaking his head.
William closed his eyes. The sound of Xander´s voice brought the images of those moments to play through his mind, as vividly as if he were watching them on a movie screen. "I haven´t been able to think of anything else either," he admitted.
When he opened his eyes, Xander stood very close to him. "Please," he whispered.
They kissed, frantic and clumsy, stumbling at first for no reason, then working their way towards the bedroom. Somehow they made it, somehow William´s shirt was gone and he was tearing Xander´s t–shirt off, his breathing harsh and sharp until he could touch Xander´s skin.
With shared breathless laughter, they fell together on the mattress, kicking off his trousers and Xander´s jeans moments later.
This time there was no finesse, just the two of them juddering forward and back, Xander on top of him gasping, William cupping Xander´s arse hard to keep the pressure of it all mounting. When Xander´s lips met his, they traded panting breaths, holding on to one another through the tremors.
WIP
