I'm going to heal. De'Angelo was thinking to himself, lying on Jake's bed, his head on the older man's chest. No matter what it takes, I'm going to get better. Someday, I'm going to be just like everyone else. I'm going to heal. And . . .

The black haired boy lifted his head up and looked his psychology teacher in the eyes, wondering. If he got better, he'd have to accept that this was wrong; he'd have to accept that being this close to a man this old, a man who was supposed to be nothing less than a teacher, nothing more than a mentor, was wrong. It was all wrong.

But . . . wasn't everything these days? Why was finding a little peace with the man who just so happened to be a teacher at the high school he attended so wrong in the eyes of the public? So he laid his head on the man's chest, laid in bed with him. Being this close chased the demons of the days past away. It make him feel safe.

Why did it have to be wrong?

"What's up, Angel?" Jake asked, his voice husky. He was tired; ready to go to sleep, but De wasn't ready, just yet, to get up and go to his own bed.

Was this helping him heal? Jake was helping him heal.

But was this the right way to do it?

De'Angelo shrugged, not speaking. He felt bad when Jake looked disappointed, but he didn't really know what to do. All the talking he'd done a couple of nights ago was out of character for him, and they both knew it. It took a lot of emotional energy to talk that much; he didn't want to do it. He wanted it to be okay for him not to talk, like it had been before, when that was all Jake knew of him.

The black haired boy almost regretting ever having opened his mouth – at least until he saw Jake smile at him.

"I know," the teacher said softly. "It's okay. Jon told me that I really shouldn't expect you to talk all the time."

Jake told the man that he'd talked? Why? What if he expected him to do it all the time; didn't think it was acceptable that he didn't?

De'Angelo took a deep breath. That wasn't it; it wasn't the case, and he knew it. Jake had just said that Jon told him he shouldn't expect a lot of jabbering. He meant it. It was okay. De took another deep breath. It was okay.

"Hey." Jake reached a hand down and rubbed his student's back, waiting until he felt De relax against him. "He understands. He's a doctor . . . for kids. A pediatrician, you know. This sort of thing . . . he says he's had to deal with things like this before."

De'Angelo felt the need to cry. How he'd gone from being helpless to having everything he needed, right there with him, he didn't know. He wasn't sure he could handle it, either. Too much; too soon; too fast. This was all happening too fast for him.

Was it okay to cry?

Jake rolled over on his side and wrapped his arms tight around the black-eyed boy. He kissed the fifteen-year-old's forehead, letting his lips linger for a few moments before pulling back. He wanted to kiss his lips; he really did. But he knew it was wrong; he'd known it was wrong this whole time. He just wasn't sure why he felt this way.

Maybe, just maybe . . . Maybe he'd felt this way about him for a reason. Would things have happened the same way if he'd not been attracted to De'Angelo? Would the boy be in his arms now, safe from harm? Or would be still be with Colin, thinking he was worthless and ugly, that no one would help him?

Jake couldn't stand the thought of De'Angelo with Colin. He couldn't stand the idea of him being hurt like that.

And yet he wanted to kiss the boys lips? What the hell was wrong with him?

De'Angelo made a strange noise and Jake looked down at him, confused. "What's wrong?" he asked, studying the confused look De gave him. Almost eighteen weeks with the boy and he still couldn't read his expressions very well. "Uh . . . What?"

De tried raising his eyebrows. Don't try to bait me into talking, please. It was like Jake was playing stupid. Either that, or he just didn't want to tell De'Angelo why he'd gone so rigid; why he'd looked so disgusted only a moment ago.

"I don't know what that look means, Angel," Jake said, practically sighing the whole statement.

Massina looked up at him with a near glare on his face. He wasn't talking. He didn't want to talk and there was no way in hell he was going to let Jake bait him into it. Jake must not have understood properly. De had told him it hurt to talk, when he'd first stopped, because of his throat. Now . . . Now, it was all emotional. It hurt him, not physically, but mentally, to talk. Not that he didn't want to; just took too much out of him.

The black-haired boy rolled over and sat up, heading for his own bed. It was the right thing to do, he told himself.

"Angel?" Jake's voice was huskier than ever. He reached a hand out, more in an intimate than a casual way, and placed it on De'Angelo's shoulder, stopping him from walking away. Waiting until the boy looked back at him, Jake prepared himself to apologize, but when he saw the look in De'Angelo's eyes . . . he did just what he'd vowed he'd never let himself do.

De's black eyes were glazed over, half lidded like he was ready for sleep, and his lips were parted just slightly. Jake wanted to think he was tired, tried to tell himself that the boy's eyes weren't half closed because he was looking at the older man's lips. He wasn't. He was just tired. Tired. And Jake needed to let go of his shoulder so he could get to his own bed.

Only he didn't.

Jake gripped Massina's shoulder tightly as he sat up on the bed, as if the boy would get away had he let go. Once up, he reached over and put his other hand on De's other shoulder. The grip was hard enough to hurt. He knew that. What he didn't know was why on earth he didn't just let go. He could be hurting the boy.

In more ways than one.

One hand drifted up to hold De'Angelo's chin in place while he leaned forward, slowly, and pressed his lips firmly against the black haired boy's lips. It wasn't the first time they'd kissed, but this time seemed sweeter, as a jolt of pure ecstasy coursed through Jake's body like wildfire. The hand on De's chin found its way to the back of his head.

The teacher was surprised when his student opened his mouth with barely a moment's hesitation, letting Jake in to explore. Another jolt passed through him when De'Angelo's tongue played with his, coaxing him. Do more, it said.

Jake moved his other hand, the one on De's shoulder, to his lower back. Pulled the boy to him. He moved him until he was on his lap, their hips practically grinding. It was too much.

Jake pushed him back onto the bed.

And that's when it all started going downhill.

He should have jumped off and pretended nothing happened when he heard the door open, but instead he froze, unable to move, unable to do anything but turn his head and gape at the door. He could practically taste the venom in the air, could have sworn Jon was going to kill him.

Jon honestly might have. He closed the door softly but swiftly and advanced through the room at a seemingly inhuman speed. Jake could feel his own heart racing as he watched the man approach. He didn't know why, but he didn't move. He merely chanced a glance at De'Angelo, who watched Jon approach, a little angry and a little confused. De'Angelo's heart was pounding, too.

A few weeks ago, De might not have understood Jon's anger.

But he knew it was wrong.

And now Jake was going to pay for it. Not him. Jake.

Jon tore Jake off the bed, away from De'Angelo, and practically tossed him aside with the same force one might see a child toss a rag doll. De'Angelo winced upon hearing the noise Jake made when he landed, having collided with the other bed. That was going to leave a mark.

"You son of a bitch," Jon hissed.

Jake made a move to get up, cringing at the pain in his ribs. Looking up into Jon's eyes, he decided he'd better not and sat back down on the floor. He didn't know what to say.

"Jon . . ." Shit. "You don't understand." It was a desperate attempt at something. Anything. He sounded desperate. He was.

"I don't understand," Jon repeated, his tone mocking. He sounded like a villain from a play or a movie. Hell, he even moved like one. "You were fucking kissing him, Jake. Kissing him." Jon looked to De. "Come here," he said in a heated tone.

With a hiss, De'Angelo flew off the bed and into Jake's arms, wrapping his own around the teacher in a none too light embrace. He glared at Jon from Jake's lap, his body pressed hard against the other's. Jon could go to hell; Jake was his friend and mentor. Jake hadn't hurt him.

This was gonna get ugly.

Confused, Jon sat on the bed. He didn't know what else to do at that moment. "You just attacked him," he said in a withdrawn voice. "You attacked him and he . . ."

"I didn't attack him," Jake said softly, defensively. He felt like he was going to cry.

"You can't do that, Jake. What the hell is wrong with you?" Jon just stared. "God, it doesn't even matter if you're in love with him. He's a minor. You can't. You can't. God, just think of what he's just been through. How in the hell is he supposed to figure out . . . How is he gonna heal . . . ?"

A few tears escaped from Jake's eyes. "I didn't mean to. I wasn't gonna . . ." A deep breath. "I'm not a pedophile, Jon, I swear to God I'm not. I think . . . Just confused. I mean. I'm attracted. Love him. But I . . ."

"Just kissed a fifteen-year-old boy who was sexually abused for only God knows how long. And you're defending it." Jon was livid. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"

De'Angelo put his hand in Jake's hair and stroked, trying to comfort him. A sob escaped the teacher's mouth. He buried his face in De'Angelo's neck. The boy just comforted him silently, his eyes drifting over to Jon, as if to say This is mine.

"De'Angelo," Jon started. An idea struck him. "You love Jake, right?" He didn't wait for conformation; practically ignored Massina's nod. "Then you can't let him do things like that. It's your world, right? What you're used to. But Jake's not well right now, just like you. Like Vinny. He's hurt by what happened to you, I think. Reminds him of his brother." Jon paused, wondering. "Did you know Jake just lost his parents?"

De shook his head.

"Or that he has an older sister and a younger brother?"

Another shake.

"Well, his sister has a family, but his brother is only about a year or so older than you are – about Vinny's age. Jake's sister offered to take him in after the folks died, and Jake, not being able to take the loss, left. He moved on to become the psychology teacher at your school. Problem is, his brother needed him. He knew it, but he left anyway.

"I think he didn't know what good he'd be. He wasn't strong enough to handle himself, he thought. Jake's brother was the one who really couldn't handle it. He tried to kill himself."

"Right before I took the job," Jake muttered into De's neck. "And I didn't go back," he sobbed.

De petted his hair some more. Made some loving noises.

Jon didn't know whether or not to smile at that. This was all way too fucked up for his tastes.

"I think he was attracted to you because you were hurt. That he tried to save you because you reminded him of his brother in that you were hurting and you didn't seem to have anyone. I'd have done the same." Jon paused. "But why on earth would you kiss him, Jake? If you love him so much, wait until he's eighteen. At least. He needs help right now. That's not help."

"I know." Jake shivered. "I just don't know what to do. How in the hell do you think I felt when I realized I was attracted to him; that I couldn't stop thinking about him? And I don't want him to hate me. He's gonna hate me. God."

Now Jon just felt bad. "What the hell do you want me to do about it?"

Jake looked up. "Help me."

"I'm not a fucking shrink, Jake." He sounded outraged. "We left him with you because we thought he'd be safe. Now what am I supposed to do?"

"Trust me," De'Angelo said.

Jon just stared.

De'Angelo bit his lip. Hard enough to bleed. He didn't want to talk, but now he had to. "I trust Jake. I trust me, too. I won't let him." A deep breath. He looked to Jon. Please understand. I don't want to say anymore. Please.

"He kissed you."

The black eyed boy gave a pleading look.

"I . . ." Jon paused. I can't.

"I won't do it again." Jake.

Jon shook his head. "Damnit, Jake, that's not how this works and we both know it." He stopped – had to count backwards from ten to keep his cool. "I thought you were the best thing for him. You're not. You're worse than his fucking brother. He's counting on you to keep him safe and you're fucking betraying him and he loves you enough to let you."

De clenched his fists. Fuck. "I kissed him!" he nearly shouted.

"Oh, and I suppose you made him get on top of you?" Again, that mocking tone.

De'Angelo started to cry. Jake held him tight to his chest, whispering soothing things to him. "I'm sorry, Angel. I'm so sorry." He kissed the top of his head. "Okay. Shit. We can do this." A pause. "Rules. Yeah, why don't we sit down and make up some rules? I know it sounds stupid, but if we agree to some boundaries, we'll both be better off."

"Jake . . ."

The teacher looked up, pleading. "Jon. Shit. Give me this and I'll never ask you for anything again. I swear to you, I'll never touch him like that again."

"Because you got caught!"

"No!" This time it was Jake's turn to shout. "I didn't mean to. I didn't. I just . . ."

"Couldn't help yourself," Jon finished for him. "That's straight pedophilia."

Jake paled at the word; looked like he was going to be sick. "No. I'm not . . ."

Jon just shook his head. He didn't know what to do. "I want to believe you, Jake, but I can't. God, if De was Vinny, I'd have fucking killed you already. And you want me to give you another chance to be alone with him? Fuck no."

De licked the blood off his lips and stared. You can't! You can't take him away from me! But he couldn't say it. He wanted to but he just couldn't.

A sigh escaped the doctor's lips. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and tried to think. Why was this all so close to home? If Jake were anyone else, he'd have called the police, demanded something be done about this. Was Jake really a pedophile? He was brilliant, younger than most other teachers but not that young. Not young enough to put only a tiny gap in their age difference. No. And Jon had just caught them kissing. Hell, Jake had been on top of him, and he was willing to bet that they'd have done a lot more than kiss if he hadn't walked in.

Weren't they at least scared that someone would hear them?

"I don't want to ruin your life, Jake. God, you work with kids." Jon wanted to cry. Why did it have to be him? Why did he have to deal with this. "I can't let you stay in this room with him. I can't trust you."

"Yes, you can." Jake's tone was a bit forceful. "Look, I'm an adult, right? He's a kid. I can do this, Jon. I have to be here for him. I'm the only one he trusts."

"No. And if you fucking make me repeat myself again I'm not going to be the only one you're talking to about this, got it?"

De'Angelo hissed.

"I don't want to hear it, De'Angelo!" Jon seethed. "I'd be in his face even if you were old enough and . . ." Jon counted backwards from ten again. "You know it's not right; you both do." He stood up and stared De'Angelo down. "Now, you've got two choices. You either take up residence in another wing where I'm locking the fucking door, or you can stay with Vinny, but you're not staying here."

De'Angelo pouted and held onto Jake.

"And you." He looked to Jake. "You can room with me. And you're not to be alone with De'Angelo." He sighed. Better to try and make it a little easier on the other man. He didn't know why, but he felt that it was the right thing to do. "Not until I can trust you and you can trust yourself alone with him. Okay?"

Jake nodded. What else could he do? "Jon . . ."

Tiredly, Jon asked, "What?"

"I'm sorry."


De'Angelo took off down the hall when he spotted Vincent's room, threw open the door, and practically flung himself onto Vincent's bed. The poor blonde woke up with a scream halfway up his throat before he realized who had jumped on him and quieted down. His whole face was covered in a fine layer of cold sweat and he looked terrified, like he'd been having a bad dream.

A couple of death breaths later, the blonde let himself fall back on the bed. He reached over and turned on a spider lamp; two out of the five lamps flickered on and danced like candle flame. De'Angelo looked at the lamp interestedly for a few moments, and then turned to Vincent. He gave him an apologetic look.

Vincent shivered and tried to drown himself in the warmth of the covers. "I know," he said softly. The huskiness in his voice made De'Angelo let out a tired yelp mingled with a sob. Vincent sat up too quickly. "What? Hey . . ." He stopped and thought a moment. "It's gonna be okay. Why don't we get some rest, and we'll figure it all out in the morning?"

De'Angelo wondered if he'd done something wrong when Vincent turned ghost white the moment he lifted the sheets, but when the boy grabbed his hands and hissed, he realized that he must have. And he felt really bad.

"No." Vincent smiled as best he could. A few moments of silence ensued before he said, "I'm naked," in a whisper. A blush formed on his cheeks, making it look as if someone had stroked just the right color for his complexion on his cheekbones. It was rather adorable.

De'Angelo took it upon himself to scale the floor for any article of clothing that might rectify their situation. Vincent had a fan running, out of habit, and damn was it cold! He wanted to crawl under the covers and be warm, and if he had to search the entire huge room for boxers, he'd do it.

Lucky for him that the blonde's boxers were at the foot of the bed, along with a t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts – De'Angelo ignored those and just grabbed the boxers, smiling when he held them out to Vincent, who turned even redder. He just wasn't sure how white boxers did anything for anyone. They weren't even boxer briefs, and he was damn sure that if they got wet, well . . . Maybe someday he could convince Vinny to wear them around the house and then push him into the pool so he could see . . .

Vincent made a nervous gesture and tried to slide the boxers on, sitting upright, without showing anything. It was rather difficult, so De'Angelo just turned his head, hoping that it would make the older boy a little more comfortable. He ended up thinking about Jake. He wondered why Jon had gotten so mad. It wasn't like he hadn't kissed Jake back; hadn't opened his mouth and let the man do as he pleased. He'd liked it. He wasn't ashamed of that. They loved . . . Well, cared about each other. He wasn't in love with Jake. Loved him, yes. He would always love him. But he wasn't in love with Jake.

Was Jake in love with him?

Is Jake a pedophile?

Vincent lightly tapped him on the shoulder. "Is everything okay? Well, as okay as it can be?" A short pause. "Should I just ask if something is the matter?" He didn't sound certain of himself and it made De'Angelo feel bad.

Massina just stared back with huge, soul-filled eyes, feeling horrible when he saw Vincent's frown. Why had he chosen to room with Vincent? Because he didn't want to be alone. He was chancing finding out about that horrible other side because he . . . he couldn't be alone right now. Besides, the way Vincent's eyes were when he'd promised never to hurt him.

De'Angelo believed him, so when Vincent opened his arms, he fell right into them. He wondered if Vincent wanted to kiss him, too, but he knew that no one who went through that wanted to be kissed or wanted to kiss anyone. Not for a very long time.

But they'd make it through.

They would make it through.


Author's Note: I'm pretty much more than sure you all think I'm crazy right now. Ah, maybe I am, but I do have to insert a little growl in here by saying that I think people who write stories like this one should either get a freaking life or some therapy. I have license to write this because, for me, it is therapy. Recommended from my psychologist, no less. Something like this happened to me. I feel that it's not okay, but not crossing a fine line, either, for me to write a story like this.

When I started it, I thought it was great. I didn't know why. Teacher and student sounded kinda sexy to me. I've been writing this for . . . Two years? It took me almost as long to figure out why I wrote it in the first place.

I wanted, needed, someone else to feel my pain. To hurt. Because no one wanted to listen to me. Nobody's gonna hear me so I didn't let anybody hear De'Angelo.

And the confusion about how he feels for Jake? Too real. Close to home.

Screwed up. I love my stepfather.

Eff. Aych.

. . . Yikes.

I was going to make them end up together. You know, happily ever after and all that jazz important to a kid like me. I can't do that. It . . . makes me sick to my stomach to think about Jake touching De'Angelo that way. Loving him is one thing, but trying to have sex with a fifteen year old? I can't write that. I'll puke and have a relapse on coke. Not a good idea.

I guess that's where, and why, Vincent comes from Deviant (my other story) and to the rescue. Someone to understand. I wish somebody understood.

A guy yesterday told me he thought teenagers with older guys was sexy.

I spent half the night throwing up. Guess it's still a raw wound.

So, point is, I'm sorry I can't keep my promise about a nice lemon scene between De and Jake. That bedroom scene was about as close as it gets.

Also, this is the official end of Stalker. I need for it to end. For me.

De'Angelo's gonna be in some of the future chapters of Deviant. You can start with the newest ones if you just want to catch what's going on with Vincent and De. He'll be in the next one I post. And don't worry, you'll be able to follow along easy enough.

Maybe it's a good thing most people don't bother to read this part . . .