Mr. Armstrong

You couldn't believe you actually had to ask questions about the homework- usually you were the one to bring it in the next day. You'd spent half an hour held up outside trying to make sense of the Music Theory questions Mr. Armstrong had set as homework, but three of them seemed to ask the same thing. Your head was spinning in circles and finding no answers.

From your spot under the cork tree, you could see the school's main entrance. You hadn't seen him leave yet, and figured it was worth a shot to see if he was infact still around. Though the dread of being in the room alone with him made your stomach knot up with guilt. Over the last several months you had been shamelessly flirting with him and bringing yourself off most nights imagining how his mouth would feel on yours. It was one thing to flirt in the safety of others, but if he called you out on it now, you didn't think you could handle the humiliation of being so frank with your desire.  

It was this or get an F. 

"Mr. Armstrong?" You knocked tentatively on the door, when there was no respose you pushed it open slowly. The room was empty and you were about to turn on your heel- you must have missed him, there would be time before class anyway. The noise from the back office stopped you. On second thought, why put something off that you could do today?

There was a muffled grunting noise, almost like someone in pain. You opened the office door without waiting for a reply. 

"Mr. Armstrong? Are you alright?"

You froze to the ground when you saw him, because he had definitely just wrenched his hand up from below his desk. His face was far more flushed than could ever be natural, and his hair was even more frizzy than usual. Even without the terrified, deer caught in headlight eyes darting around the room with guilt stricken in them, you would have known what he was doing. 

So, not in pain, then. 

"Fuck-" he said, voice shot with arousal. God, if you couldn't feel yourself getting wet already. This was enough material to keep you going for months. "uh- I was, uh just-"

You let him fumble around with his words as you watched him,  soon you realized that yes, his eyes were darting around but they were actually primarily fixated on you. This was so not going how you'd thought. The right thing to do was to turn and walk away, leaving Mr. Armstrong to get over the horrifying embarrassment of getting caught masturbating by a student. But Christ, this was a one-time opportunity.

There was no way in Hell he'd risk jerking off in his office again after this- and hell, weather he knew it or not, he was still looking at you like you were some delectable. In that moment of pure impulsiveness you made a hasty decision, and closed the door behind you.

"What are you doing back there Mr. Armstrong, are you okay?" 

"Uh, sure, yeah. I was just uh, marking and- God, it's hot in here right?" He stammered, shuffling his chair further under his desk.

"It really is," you agreed, shrugging off your jacket and meeting his eyes. "Super hot."

He watched you closely as you crossed the room and sat your bag on top of a pile of paper work on his desk. "Could you open a window, maybe?" Picking up a few sheets of paperwork, you fanned yourself with them.

Mr. Armstrong glanced awkwardly around the room, but made no move to get out of his chair.

Gotcha. Your mouth twitched slightly upwards. This could easily go south very quickly, but something in his pine needle eyes that created a pit in your stomach, something that said just perhaps your flirting wasn't entirely unwanted. If there was even the slimmest chance he was interested in you, you couldn't just pass it up because it was a little risky.