A/N: …This embarrasses me. The only reason I'm putting it up is because I feel like I have to. Honestly, this is wicked shitty. This writer's block is like a freaking DAM but I gotta get it out somehow! It took me an entire day to work this crap out of my system. Sorry. I'll probably get rid of it, depending on reviews and such nonsense.

I notice many teacher/student stories on here actually kind of suck. I really, really, really hope I'm not adding to it by doing this. I'M SO SORRY AUGH GOD!

NOTE: This one is a different teacher, but with Layton.


Hmm. It was kind of cold, I supposed. I mean, what did I expect in the middle of the fall? Freaking summer? I don't know, I was just…I had to get out. It was suffocating me, the place. The God damn party was so stupid, just absolutely retarded, I couldn't handle it. I was tired of the scent of booze permeating everything, clinging to my clothes like a lost toddler. Everyone was acting…well, drunk, of course. Pretty sure most of the girls were acting, but hey, who am I to judge? I don't give a crap anyway. They were all hoes anyway.

A gust kicked up and bit at my bare arms. You know, I was just really freaking smart. Who the hell wears a tank top at this time of year?! Oh yeah…I do. Because I'm dumb. The cold scraped and ripped at my skin, and goose bumps popped up in its wake like dirty evidence it left behind. My hands immediately clapped over them to try and hold in at least a little bit of heat, but it pretty much did no good. Great. Just great.

I almost wondered what I was even doing there. I mean, it would've been so much better to have just stayed at the damn party. At least the damn house had some damn heating. But no, I was a pussy and decided to leave. I was such a butt face.

Shit…I think I was some people's ride home…oops.

Everything was going right that night, I tell you. The party was a drag (well, for me at least. Everyone else was having a regular ball), I abandoned people at the house, and I jacked some kid's bike that I found on the sidewalk. God was probably looking down at me and thinking "The hell is this crazy bitch doin'?" But you know what? He can suck a fat one, because someone was going to die at that party. I knew it, I just knew it, it was too damn crazy. When they start climbing for the chandelier, that's when you know shit's going to hit the ceiling (hah, get it? Hit the ceiling? Because the chandelier is on the ceiling, and then it's a saying, and…heh…yeah…kay.).

I stood up from my seat on the pavement and darted over to a tree. Once at the base, I brought my foot back.


I let my Converse-clad appendage fly, and it slammed into the trunk with a resounding whump.







And then I ended up right back where I started, chilling in the center of the road. I guess that wasn't smart either, now that I think about it, but I obviously wasn't thinking when I was in the moment. You would've thought I'd have biked home, right? Yeah, well, that was a bit too smart for me. Instead I decided to take a detour, go the scenic route, because what the hell? I was young, I was vibrant, nothing could hurt me. And damn, that moon was bright alright—I remember that. It was huge, too. The light it cast conjured up puddles of shadow beneath the trees that lined Georgie Thicket, little black pools that slanted outward as if they were in sunlight.

I watched them. I watched them for a long time. I watched them travel millimeter by millimeter, creeping, snail-like, along the tall grass with every breath the moon took. It was pretty, I have to admit. And no matter what happened after that, I can't bring myself to regret going there.

Especially for what happened after that, I can't bring myself to regret going there.

It's hard to describe, really, and probably even harder to understand. It's just one of those things you've got to experience. You ever been just…just drawn to a place? Like, you set out to go one place, but then you just end up at another? You know you're supposed to be there, but you just don't know why? Maybe there are just good vibes coming from there, I'm not sure, but one way or another, you find your way there?

Yeah, that's what happened to me. That's why I went there instead of home. A leash was tied around my heart, and something was guiding me, coaxing me there. I suppose I should thank it now, because it just absolutely rocked my life, changed it in ways that I can't even begin to fathom existed.

My butt was planted, nice and cozy-like, on the yellow double-lines. They're cool in the dark, the absolute pitch. They kind of glow a little, and it's so trippy. Anyway, you know what I felt? I felt tired. Yeah, I was tired, exhausted, positively drained. My back, oh, my back was so weary, it wouldn't hurt if I just laid down for just a second, would it? No, couldn't possibly hurt, not at all.

I wasn't in prime position to be road kill or anything. Nah, no way.

So I allowed myself to sink down, to let my back connect with the cool pavement. Another breeze raked along my body, and I shivered, but I hardly noticed. Okay, well, I mean I noticed; it's a difficult thing not to take note of. But perhaps I just didn't care. Perhaps, as I stared wonderingly at the endless velvet sky pricked with glimmering stars, I found something a little more important than me. Perhaps I wasn't the only one with a mind racing, adrenaline pumping, a heart thumping. Perhaps there was more to everything than just how I felt. Hell, perhaps there was more to me than just me. Everything seemed possible in the void above my little head.

I only kind of saw it. I'm pretty sure I saw it—if I didn't, I should be legally blind—but I certainly didn't register it. For some reason, though, I heard it crystal clear. No name or explanation leapt out at me like it should have, but I the sound definitely kissed my ears. For a few seconds, I listened wordlessly to the hissing of something skipping along the concrete.

Only when a raking squealing sound erupted did I turn to look. And there, only inches from my nose, was the front of a car, its black paint winking back at me in the dull light.

"What the hell are you doing?" a voice asked as I heard the door click open. Damn, whoever it was, they sure were pissed. I guess I couldn't blame them. If I saw some nut job laying spread-eagle in the center of the road, completely conscious and seemingly unharmed, a little flame would be dancing in my belly too. Well, maybe I can only think that way because I know how the story ends. Maybe, if it had ended up differently, I'd want to beat him with a bathtub for being such a dick.

But I don't. And that's what matters.

My eyes lazily trailed up toward the speaker, carelessly, God I really just didn't care. I bet he could've ran over me and I wouldn't have given two shits. Well, I wouldn't have at the time. Surely when I was in Heaven—or Hell…let's stick with Heaven—I would've been pretty peeved, but in the moment, where my heart pumped hard and slow and my brain was stuck in muck, I didn't understand what all the hubbub was about. I didn't understand why the person was yelling, why were they so loud? Why couldn't they just chill out, see the moon and drink in the pure white light that it was throwing out? It was so much easier.

But then everything got really freaking complicated. I watched the figure round the side of the car, and then, right then and there, my world shattered as I saw the most beautiful face I could ever think of. It scared me, how perfect it could be, and then how illicit it could be at the same exact time. It was like a drug. Exactly equivalent.

"…Layton?" the perfectly sculpted mouth dropped my name so eloquently, so lovely. I could hardly breathe, let alone speak, and yet I knew that I'd always find time to utter the syllables that made up his name.

"Mr…Mr. Walker?"

His iridescent blue eyes locked onto me as he knelt before my head, leaned over it. Suddenly, his face was the only thing in my line of sight, and I certainly didn't mind.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, but this time, the words were completely empty of the angry edge they'd held seconds before.

My tongue grew to the weight of my heart, and right now, my heart was feeling pretty damn heavy as I blinked at him. Oh God, the knowledge that I was going to sound stupid was welling up in my tummy, but I had to, had to speak. He wouldn't let me go without an answer.

"I'm…laying in the middle of the…road…" I said. Yep. I sounded high as the cosmos right now, like I was dancing with freaking Pluto. In response, his brow furrowed low over his orbs.

"Thank you," he spat with confusion. "I can see that. Why are you laying in the middle of the road? Are you suicidal?" And then his brow shot upward instead. "Oh my God, are you suicidal?"

"N—" I didn't get to finish. His hand clapped down onto my bicep, and within the same instant, he was yanking me to my feet. I responded slowly, sluggishly, but eventually I got up. This wasn't enough for him, though, apparently, for he was next dragging me to the edge of the road, away from my nice little resting place.

"Don't you dare even think about getting yourself killed," he was snarling, stomping instead of merely walking. I watched and followed, perplexed. "If you think I'll ever let you get killed, you've got another thing coming, young lady."

"Mr. Walker," I interrupted him as my wits began to creep back to me. "I'm not suicidal, really. I promise you." I don't think he believed me, though, because he was still intent on getting me as far from the black river as he could. He wasn't content with just getting me to the grass; he guided me to the dirt trail that wound through the rolling hills of the thicket and continued to trudge.

"Then why the hell were you laying in the middle of the road?" he demanded of me again, and turned to glare at me with severe dubiousness. "Getting hit by a car is an awful way to go, by the way."

"No, no, no," I rushed to assure him. My head shook like a bobble toy. "That's not it, I swear to God. I…" but then I stopped. "…What was I doing in the middle of the road?"

His head snapped around, and he halted suddenly. I started at the abruptness of his movements, but he didn't take my little jump into account, as a cue to settle the hell down. "Are you drugged? Did someone drug you?"

"What?!" I gasped. "No, I'm not…I'm not drugged."

"Then what's wrong with you?" his large azure eyes peered closely at me, and suddenly I felt as though I was under a stage light. They seared through me, burned me, set me on fire, I was alight. Each of my veins was a wire, blue with the heat they bled. His voice was as soft as a stream's touch, and I felt the breath knocked out of me. Again. Damn, how did he do that?

"Nothing's wrong with me," I whispered, afraid to break eye contact, that if I did I wouldn't be able to get it back. Not with this kind of spark that I was sure I could feel being drawn from the connection. God, I was so sure it was there.

He tilted his cute head to the side in question.

"It's a long story," I sighed, running a hand through my long hair. Jesus, he really didn't know how long of a story it was.

"We've got time," he told me solemnly. Then, one of his elegantly-fingered hands gestured to the path before us. I realized that he wanted to take a walk through the meadow. A lump flew into my throat and sat there like a dumbbell. One swallow, two swallows, three swallows did absolutely nothing, and so I just stood there, my throat moving uselessly and leaving me gasping for breath. Even a little choking sound came from inside me. He must've thought I was mentally challenged.

Basically, what I said next sounded a lot like this:

"Slaksjdlkfjalksd…" I coughed.

Yeah. I'm really not lying.

He looked at me worriedly. "Are you sure you're not drugged?"

"Yeah," I mumbled, my eyes on the ground and my cheeks exploding with mortified blush. "I'm fine, I'm sure." Actually, I probably should've said that I was drugged. I would've looked like less of a psycho. But if I did say that I was drugged, he probably would've gone off, and it would've been just one massive mess that I wouldn't have been able to deal with. So I guess I was pretty smart by telling the truth. It works once in a while, you know?

He finally dropped my arm and continued forward. Determination had vanished from his step, and he now took on that easy walk, that meander that I'd come to adore from him, the one that was instantly recognizable when he filtered through the halls like water through rocks. He simply flitted through the spaces of kids' bodies with a grace that could make a raindrop jealous, hardly scuffing their backpacks and all the while keeping his papers pressed to his chest and taking small sips of his strongly-scented coffee.

I tell you, I must've stared for a while, because suddenly he was kind of far away. I thought, you know, maybe he was just so gorgeous that I was finally fainting from his flawlessness, but then he turned and called out to me.

"You coming or what, best friend?" his voice echoed along the blank terrain, and I could just see that charming half-smile of his. It drew my own smile out, but mine was more of a goofy beam that he was actually talking to me instead of that easy-going thing he pulled off effortlessly. My legs puttered to life and took me toward him in a trot.

"I can't believe you still call me that," I snickered as I came up beside him. My head just barely cleared his shoulder, and so out of the corner of my eye, I could see his neck bent as he looked down at me.

"What, so now you want me to stop?" he joked. "It was the first time I've ever had a BFF."

"No, no!" I rushed in, probably a little too vehemently at that. "That's not it! You know I was in there to talk to Mrs. Van de Mars, right? I mean, it's not like I was standing next to her desk, lurking and waiting for you to walk in so I could be like 'NEW BFF!'"

He laughed. I liked it when he laughed. It made my tummy snap, crackle, and pop. "Yeah, well, she's never seen that commercial with 'IDK my BFF Jill?' So you know what? You and I are better suited for each other."

"Right, because everyone in the English department is dying to be my best friend."

"You're so cool that literally every teacher wants to be associated with you. I feel so honored that you chose me."

"We had a moment. No big deal." I grinned up at him, raised an eyebrow. He returned it, but tossed in a chuckle for good measure. God, the twists my lungs did at that moment should've sent me into a seizure, but by some grace I was spared the humiliation.

"Don't even try to diminish the perfection of that moment," he accused me.

"I'm not!" I giggled loudly, and I must've sounded like a freaking hyena. I hate my laugh. It's so obnoxious! But I have this theory, see, that everyone hates their laugh…but how Mr. Walker could hate his laugh, I couldn't imagine. So I just liked to pretend that he simply didn't, because simply no one could hate his laugh. It was like falling snow, so gentle and easy and light and pure.

I was about to say something else, but then I stopped when reality reared up and bitch-smacked me with all its might.

We were having a total, complete, undeniable couple-moment.

What the fuck?

My mouth snapped shut, my teeth clicked together. He didn't seem to notice, though. His lovely eyes were already distant, miles away, he probably forgot I was even beside him as we began to walk up a pretty steep incline.

"Why were you just sprawled out in the middle of the street, Layton?" he asked, his tone like dew on flower petals, hardly even there and yet heavy with its own weight. My throat felt tight.

"I like living on the edge?" I offered weakly.

He scoffed as a smirk drew itself upon his slender lips. "I'm being serious for once in my life."

My hand immediately flew to my hair and I dragged it through. Strands of gold came away in the gaps in my fingers, wound around my skin, snakelike. Jesus, the one time he chooses to be serious is the one time I wish he would just screw around so I wouldn't seem like such a douche bag.

"Well…" I took a breath to cleanse myself, steady myself. This would suck. "I honestly don't know why I was in the road. I just kind of ended up there. But how I got there…I jacked some little kid's bike from the sidewalk and rode it there." I didn't dare look up and meet his eyes to see how he was taking all this. "How I came across the bike? I was going to walk home from this crazy-ass party that I was just so done with. Why was I done with the party? There was crazy-ass drinking going on, which is really just not my thing at all."

He didn't say anything.

"I know I sound like a pussy, but I mean…look, it's just stupid to me, it looks dumb, and it tastes God awful and it smells funny and it turns people into raging jackasses and it's just really not my thing and there were so many people absolutely guzzling and absolutely wasted that I just—"

"I'm proud of you."

Strange. It sounded like a voice just said they were proud of me. Maybe it was the little person in my head? But then I glanced at him, and he was staring at me through those oceanic irises that drove me mad.

"I'm sorry?" I furrowed my brow and blinked furiously. "What did you say?"

"I said, I'm proud of you," Mr. Walker had a smile on his perfect face that made me want to rip my face off. God, he made me want to torture myself, I shouldn't be able to see something so inhumanly flawless. I was unworthy to let myself gaze upon him, his God-like assets, and yet here I was, gaping at his loveliness drenched in the white moonlight that sealed everything in purity. He simply looked like an angel.

See, the circumstances were all just right for me to sound like a complete dunce. And so, instead of coming up with something witty and heartfelt, I came up with this:


The follow-up look from him should've made me quiver. It should've made me sink beneath the soles of his shoes and cower like the scum I was, so flawed and disgusting, I shouldn't have dared to even have been in his presence. And yet that look never came. He just sort of laughed and shook his head as though I was the silliest little thing on earth.

"Because you shouldn't be drinking," he offered quietly. "I know I'm supposed to say that, but I whole-heartedly believe it. And between you and me—" he looked around cautiously, pretending that there could actually be someone around at this time of night in this part of town—"I think girls that drink are very skanky."

I giggled and yanked on a strand of my hair. How could he make me feel totally okay with myself? I'd never been so fine, so 'whatever' toward the fact that I didn't drink when each and every one of my friends did, and yet here I was, ready to toss the fact around as though the leaves were red under my feet, or the grass over there was green, or that I was wearing a really cute thong-and-bra set tonight. It had always been such a big deal with me, everyone had made it such a big deal. And I'd never quite felt as if I'd chosen right.

Now, I felt as if I'd never had the ability to choose wrong.

"So you're calling Becca skanky now?" I jabbed at him. His eyes tripled in size (all the better to swallow me up with, my dear…)

"She drinks?!" he asked, utter shock encasing his features.

"Like a fish," I nodded. A giddiness that I'd never felt before started from my toes, crept up my legs, poured through my tummy, engulfed my heart, and swam to my brain like some plague. Never had I ever been able to talk to someone like this, least of all about this sort of subject. No one wanted to hear my thoughts on it. And yet I was always invited to those damn parties.

And I always went.

Explain that to me, please.

"My God, she's tiny, though!" he gasped, still ogling in surprise. "How the hell does she process it?"

"One word," I said. "Lightweight."

He laughed loudly at that, throwing his head back and letting his dark brown hair fall away from his forehead majestically. Man, if this was how he acted whenever he laughed, I needed to make him bust a gut more often.

"Naturally," he agreed with me as his hands cupped his stomach to try and quell the resonating laughter. "I could definitely see that. How do you manage to get yourself roped in with these kinds of people, Layton? I'd never peg you as a sheep; you don't seem to do much following at all."

"Yeah," I conceded thoughtfully. "I…I guess I don't…" How far had we walked? I glanced slightly over my shoulder, and it looked as though the road had long since disappeared into the night, a ninja. The only thing left to see were the empty planes of the thicket rising and falling with the undulation of the land, it looked like it was alive, as though the hills were its heaving breath. Soft winds whispered through the grass, and for some reason, a breeze struck me square and practically knocked me over with how cold it was.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," Mr. Walker was saying as my teeth were chattering so hard you would've sworn I was trying to gnaw my tongue to cornmeal. "I don't mean to press and pry. I'm just curious—are you okay?"

"W-w-wha-at?" I stuttered. Damn it, I couldn't get a word out with this trembling jaw of mine.

"Were you going to wait until you turned blue to tell me you were freezing?!" he chastised, all the while ripping himself out of his long black coat.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I shook my head, but whether it shook out of cold or rejection, I couldn't tell. Well, it didn't really matter either way. It seemed that he was getting that thing on me one way or another.

"Oh, save it," he rather snapped at me. "Don't be a martyr. I'm wearing a sweat shirt underneath anyway, so it'll better serve you." And he wrapped the heavy thing around my shoulders. I practically drowned in it, but as I stuffed my arms into the sleeves, I was floating instead. Not drowning, but floating, drifting through clear blue sky and puffy clouds and following the track of a rainbow as it painted its way through the air. His scent, Old Spice and himself, immediately bled through my own clothes and forever stained the fibers, even leaving residue upon my very skin.

"Thanks," I finally conceded as warmth began to flood me. Alright, well, now that he gave it to me, he wasn't getting the damn thing back. Boy was it cozy. "I'm sorry about this."

"Don't worry about it," he said easily, brushed it away with a flick of his hand. My attention was immediately drawn to his attire, almost like a leash was tied to my focus, and it was ripped away from his face and instead to his body. Indeed, he was wearing a sweat shirt, but also black sweatpants and sneakers. The way the pants hung from his hips was absolutely maddening; they clung to just above his crotch, and his sweatshirt had bunched up a little, so a little sliver of shimmering black boxer was visible.

Holy shit.

I gulped loudly. "Where…em…where were you?" I asked as conversationally as possible, but certainly it ended up sounded like a bit of an interrogation. But damn, where had he been that he had to look like a sexy athlete? Or maybe he was just the athlete, and the sexy part was just a lingering thought that he always possessed. Yeah, I was pretty sure that was it.

"Playing some indoor soccer," he shrugged nonchalantly, but then he tossed me a mischievous smirk and raised an eyebrow. "Being a teacher has its rewards. The gym's always open."

"I love soccer," I said quietly, absentmindedly.

"I know," he answered in almost the same tone. I hadn't been aware that he heard me, so my neck practically snapped in two as I looked up at him. When he returned my gaze, it seemed that he had no feeling of needing to explain himself, but he went along anyway, perhaps for more my benefit than his. "You're on the varsity soccer team. You're in the paper all the time."

"Oh," I mumbled. I didn't like the direction this was taking; surely, all the personal talk about me would force it toward awkwardness, and that was the last place I wanted it to go, not when nice conversation was flowing like the wind through the grass. "Well, then, thanks a lot for inviting me to join the game."

He laughed. Yes!

"Next time, Layton," he assured me with a nod of his head. And then, out of nowhere, he turned off the path. Of course, I didn't see him, so I continued to walk forward like an idiot, practically trembling because of the awkward silence that was now destined to ensue. God, I hated awkward silences. They were just so damn awkward. But then there were no footsteps beside me, and when I glanced to my left, a big fat blob of nothing stared back at me.

"What the…?" my head whipped side to side as I searched for him, and I very nearly tore my hair out in frustration before I saw his dark shape seating itself beneath a tree. Glad he had the courtesy to tell me when he was going to just leave me walking around like a dick.

I cautiously crept up behind him. Even I had to admit, I didn't make a sound. I was like, damn, ninja status achieved!

"You can sit down, you know. I don't bite," he said easily. But then, almost as an afterthought that could've gotten by me if I didn't listen to every word of his as though it was gospel, he added, "Unless you like it like that."

Admittedly, my laughter was rather closer to hysteria than amusement as I took a seat next to him. Shit, he was too sexy for my good. "Settle down, Walker. Settle down." He smiled at me, and I almost threw up with how much my tummy wrenched in delight. Man, he had some control over my bodily functions alright. It was kind of freaky. But I wasn't thinking about that as I lay down into the grass. I was thinking about how cool it was that I could see a few little pebbles of stars in between the gaps in the sparse foliage that was awful stubborn, refusing to drop to the ground until the very last second of autumn threatened to leave them behind. I was thinking about how nice it felt, laying here with warmth swathing my body and yet having the crisp air to flow through my airways. I was thinking how damn lucky I was.

I was also thinking about how close he was. How easy it would be to just reach out, stroke his arm, yank him down beside me and lay with him. How his very fingertips were mere inches away from my body, so close, so damn close to what I wanted, what I would give my everything for. It felt so odd, having to stand by and admire instead of receiving what I desperately desired. I'd never felt that way before.

"You know, I've always gotten what I wanted for the most part," I mused aloud, more to myself than him, but he seemed to be listening just as intently anyway. "I've never really had to fight for anything. I kind of wonder what it's like, having to really believe what I'm doing is right, and that I want it, and decidedly risk everything for it."

He didn't speak for a while.

"I'd think it would be a good feeling," Mr. Walker finally pondered with me. "You know, that sense of accomplishment when you finally got it. But the only thing is, perhaps you'd feel empty afterwards. If you'd put everything on the line for it, and then you finally reached your goal, maybe there would be this feeling of nothingness, this feeling of emptiness once you attained it. Or maybe…" He looked down at me then, and his gaze was thick with heat and…something else that I couldn't believe was running like a stream beneath his pupils. "Maybe it would be the best feeling in the world, a sense of sheer completeness and utter rightness that would be Hell to give up."

I'm pretty sure we just kind of stared at each other a while. I'm actually not really sure what happened. All I remember was that I was certainly staring at him. Perhaps he was looking at me, thinking how creepy I was. I don't know, I'll have to ask him later. But one thing was clearly seared into my memory: his eyes, the absolute blueness, the color of the Caribbean Sea maybe mirroring my own awe and sudden, wrenching need. We hovered, floated for I don't know how long, it felt like an eternity. A bubble was created, enveloped ups and removed us from time, suspended us in Never Never Land. All I was aware of was my heart screaming in my chest, shrieking at me to listen to it for once in my God damn life and just speak my mind, speak my feelings. I told it to shut the hell up.

I swear to God, there was practically a clicking sound, that's how well it all fit together. I was inside his head in that moment, and he was inside mine. And the best part? We were thinking the same thing. The same glorious idea was upon both our minds, before a burden, but now a necessity.

Caution heavy in his movements, he rolled on top of me, but didn't dare break eye contact. The feeling of him planting his legs on either side of me, letting his body rest lightly atop mine, pinning me into the soft grass without even touching me—God, it was a heady feeling, alright, especially as I drew the same breath as him into my sputtering lungs.

"I don't think you understand just how long I've wanted to do this," he whispered quietly to me. The earnest ring to his tone couldn't have gone unnoticed, and it was perhaps the only thing that kept me from cackling loudly in his face as I imagined all the times I'd stared at his ass, stared at his crotch, stared at his perfect face, and then imagined that he thought I couldn't understand. But somehow, by some grace of some God that sort of must have liked me a little bit, I kept the majority of it bottled inside.

"I think I have an idea," I scoffed lightly, but the smile that was plastered onto my face faltered many times before completely disappearing. Waves of intensity from his already-really-freaking-intense eyes poured out and entrapped me, suffocated me, stole everything from my mind that could've prevented me from just full-on ogling at him, at his everything. It was like staring into the sun, but looking away would've been risking suicide.

Then slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned down. Closer and closer he drew to me, I could feel his little wisps of breath against my anxious skin. I was certain he could feel me trembling; China must've felt me trembling, it must've been like a freaking earthquake. I would've shaken the whole world at this rate.

But then it ended. Because finally, his lips dropped onto mine.

Literally, the only thought that lingered in my mind was "Oh my God." Everything else was wiped away. Simply wiped clean. My brain was a blank slate, and hot damn, his lips were excellent teachers. You know, that's a sign of a really good teacher; they can teach anything. Yeah, he was a very good teacher alright. God, his lips were so smooth, so silky, I kind of wanted to pull away and just run my fingers over them, they were like satin. Of course, a hurricane wouldn't have been able to make me let him go, but if I could've had the strength, I would've. The heat that his body was secreting drove me mad, he was so warm. How could he be so warm? It was positively frigid outside, and yet he was like a freaking space heater. Maybe it was just my desperation for him that was lighting me on fire.

He didn't kiss me any faster, but it hardly mattered. He sure as hell deepened it, opting instead to let some of that passion that must've been building up inside him to transfer to his mouth. The way he delicately, tentatively ran his tongue over my lips, and then when I allowed him entrance, the way he completely stole my breath away with his fervor and just outright enthusiasm…I was never going to get another kiss like that. I'm certain. And I don't want another one from anyone but him.

The back of my hair was suddenly in knots, wound around his fingers, and I certainly didn't mind in the least. In fact, I saw it more as an invitation than anything else, and with gratefulness I reached up and shoved my own hands into his perfect tresses.

"Jesus Christ, Layton, how the hell do you do this?" he growled when he ripped himself away. Where the hell did he think he was going? I wasn't finished with him just yet—

But then I felt it. I felt the unconscious jerk against my hip, the unpreventable stiffness.

Oh my God.

I knew he didn't mean to. I mean, it was just a reaction, a normal reaction, right? Of course, I knew that. But I looked up into his eyes, and I knew he saw the knowledge there. Suddenly, his face was very, very red, and I was afraid he was going to burst.

"I'm sorry," he began to blather. "I'm so, so sorry, I didn't mean to. It just sort of happened. I promise, I won't let it happen again—" But the rest of his words blended into a gasp as I let my hand brush gently, ever so gently, against his manhood through his baggy, thin pants. It felt strange, the hardness there, but this even stranger desire to have it full in my hand was suddenly raging in my chest. And I highly doubted he'd object.

"Mr. Walker—"

"God, please," he coughed rather morosely. "Just call me Eric."

"Eric," Oh wow, it was like sugar upon my tongue. "Eric, please, can I…can I…?" The question hung in the air, but certainly the implications were made as I put a substantial amount of pressure right where the hardness was ailing him. His head reared back and his large blue eyes became sheathed in his eyelids. He looked glorious.

"God, I want to say no," he moaned, his face torn between self-hatred and absolute lust. It seemed he was having a bit of trouble deciding.

So I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and ran my knuckles just at the base of him.

"No you don't," I whispered into his ear, and with a delighted shudder, his head fell forward, dangled just beside my face as he instead concentrated on the sensations rampaging through his body. Great. Now that he was taken care of, what the hell was I supposed to do?! I'd never given a handjob before—I'd never given any sort of "job" before! What was my job, how did I make him…you know? Jesus, I couldn't even say the word, and I was trying to make him do it? What was I, six?!

Okay, okay, I just had to calm down. Just calm down, Layton, breathe. I could do this. I mean, it couldn't be that hard, right? My fingers tested the area, running up along his shaft, over the head, and back down again, trying to map out every crook and bend that I could possibly find. He seemed to damn well enjoy my little escapade, as his breathing was becoming rather laborious in my ear, but didn't it sound good. I wished I could've seen his face. But instead, I just set about making myself comfortable, doing what seemed to be natural, and continue with whatever he responded best with.

Alright, well, he liked what I was doing so far. Let's try that. I took his shaft completely in my hand at the hilt, wrapped them all the way around. Then I began to pull slowly upwards. It just kind of tugged a little, so I loosened my grip, and then the skin felt like satin against mine as it slid beneath my hold. Up down, up down, easy does it. His panting sounded, and so I figured that it was correct. Hmm, perhaps I could get a little creative? Maybe if I—

When I got to the tip, there was a tiny bit of fluid there. What the hell was that? The tip of my finger delved into it, dragged it away, and wow, was it so much easier to move! I gathered a bit of it in between my thumb and pointer, and I smeared as much of it as I could everywhere else. It wasn't completely useful, but it helped a bit. And you know what helped even more? Every time I went back to try and get some more, when my touch grazed along the head, I heard a deep, guttural groan in the back of his throat. With this as some sort of invitation, I gently grabbed him more toward the head and ran my thumb over the slit, alternating between harder presses and feather-light strokes.

"Ah, God," he groaned and dug his nose into the side of my neck, nipping and licking. "That feels so good, Layton."

It did, did it? Well hmm…Perhaps if I tried this…

I don't know how long I spent simply experimenting. It didn't seem long to me at all—I was honestly having the time of my life. I could practically feel the tremors of pleasure rocketing through his veins as I toyed with below his waist. When I think about it now, I figure it was actually probably about twenty minutes. For twenty minutes, I stroked him hard up his shaft and drew my thumb across his head. For twenty minutes, I dragged the tips of my fingernails softly down his side, then back up and across the slit in quick little jerks. For twenty minutes, I alternated the speed of my hand from mind-numbingly slow to brain-busting fast.

He's told me he was in Heaven for twenty minutes.

"Oh, shit," he continuously grunted to me, especially toward the end. I'd never heard him swear before, but it was sexy as hell. "Oh shit, yes, Layton, just like that. Right there, love, oh yeah, right there. Ohhh yeah, can you go a little faster?—Ah, yes, like that, like that, like that. Perfect, mmf…yeah, perfect…"

And then, suddenly, his body became wire-tense, absolutely stiff.

"Shit," he gasped, and his hips began to roll slightly. "Oh God, Layton, don't stop, please. Oh, Layton, I'm going to come."

I just about shit my pants. What did I do, keep going?! Was I supposed to stop and let him just do his thing? How did this work? I'd never done this before!—

Wait, wait, wait. He said "don't stop," right? So…why would I stop? There we go, there's common sense!

I began to stroke faster and faster, and damn, did that do wonders.

"Jesus Christ!" he moaned loudly, throwing is head back in ecstasy and fisting his fingers into the grass. I could hear the little tearing sounds their roots made as he accidentally yanked them from the ground. "Ooh God, Layton, yes! Aah, oh, Jesus fucking Christ! Yes, yes Layton, YES!"

It was like the thing came alive in my hand. He began to tremble, and then a stream of liquid came shooting out. I immediately knew what it was, but that didn't stop me from starting a little bit. Thank the lord I was about myself enough to continue to pump him through each of his moans and cries, but to be honest, I wasn't exactly expecting it to go quite like that. It was a little different. But damn, if his face looked as ecstatic and God-like every time he came, I'd have to make that happen more often. The flush in his cheeks, the little O of his mouth, the delectable encouragements that fell from his lips—he was simply gorgeous.

When he was done, when everything calmed down in my palm, he rested his body beside mine. I expected him to just get up and walk away; when I thought about it, if I was a guy, and I'd just gotten a chick to get me off, hell I'd be up and running. I'd have gotten what I wanted. But the second his side hit the grass, his arms wound around me and pulled me to his chest.

"Wow," he panted in my ear. The warmth of his breath felt splendid. "That was incredible."

"Yeah it was!" I agreed enthusiastically and nodded into him. "That was awesome!" I was being utterly truthful; every single part about what I just did was flawless, even if it seemed a little weird and, admittedly, kind of gross. It was still amazing.

I felt him blink once, and then he burst out into bouts of laughter.

"I couldn't agree with you more!" he said once his fits had died down. "But what on earth made you enjoy it? Most girls hate it, actually."

A blush seized my face, and I determinedly avoided eye contact. "Well…promise not to laugh?"

"I can't promise," he admitted. "But I can sure try."

"I guess that's good enough," I muttered under my breath. "Well, I mean…hearing you so…happy…making you feel so good…and hearing you yell my name like that…I can't think of anything better…"

There was silence, but not for long, and suddenly his face filled my vision.

"I can," Mr. Walker murmured as he pressed his lips back to mine. I was almost lost, almost drowned in haze that his lips created, and then I felt his hand travel brazenly from my hip to my crotch. His palm slipped up the opening of my skirt and directly cupped me through my thong.

That was certainly my no-no place.

"Hey now!" I cried out, actually jumping backwards slightly, but not out of his hold. "What were you doing down there?"

He stared at me openly, confused. "I can make you feel that way too…" he cocked his head to the side, and my heart melted. "I want to." Oh God, he had to go there, didn't he?

"Well…" I muttered uncomfortably, but he surely felt my muscles slacken, for he tried once more, pushed his mouth against mine and let his hand find its way to my innermost area. My heart was hammering beneath my tank top, it was a wonder he couldn't feel it. I wasn't sure how much I wanted this. I mean, hundreds of girls would've made him do this to them first before they did what I did to him, but…I wasn't like that. I didn't really like being touched. I like pleasing, being the pleasurer, not the pleasured. It was different when I was the cause of the ecstasy. I liked it SO much more.

But damn, did I have a hard time when his fingers began to set to work. They rubbed lightly, and little waves of pleasure began to wash out over me, whispering that hon, this was only a precursor to what could come. Over and over my sensitive nub to start, perhaps a little wandering toward my opening, but for the most part he stayed where the pleasure was obviously greatest. I sighed into his mouth, about to completely give in. God it felt so good, so good.

But I didn't.

"Please," I gasped, pulled away from him. "Please stop."

He stared ponderously at me. "Why, Layton?"

"I don't…" I shook my head rapidly, strands of gold flying everywhere. "I don't like it. I just don't. At least, not yet."

"Alright," he conceded easily. I met his deep blue eyes again. There was nothing there, no disappointment, no disgust, no distaste, no lack of respect, absolutely nothing. All I could see was the ocean, an ocean of perfection that beckoned to me. He smiled at me before leaning in again and simply pressing his lips to mine, removing his hand from beneath my skirt. Man, he tasted amazing, how sweet like honey, a honeysuckle. I could feel the fire, his fire that was burning through him like he was the Human Torch, the passion that dribbled out of him seeped into me. I delighted in it. I was enthralled.

Shit, could he ever kiss.

"I'll never rush you," he whispered to me, cupped my cheek and brought my forehead to his. "Don't you do anything you don't want to do. I can wait. I promise."

A/N: LASKJDLFAKJSD God. That was the first time I've ever written a semi-sex scene that's hetero. It sucked ass -_-. SORRY, Y'ALL. HOPEFULLY A BETTER ONE IS COMING! I think I'm feeling some inspiration!