Consequences of Flirting (Teacher x Student)

Chapter 16 - Some Dumb Kid

"I'm just some dumb kid
trying to kid myself
that I got my shit together"

- LOST BOY
Troye Sivan

The day started relatively normally, with the sun creeping through crappy nylon curtain, sneaking up the covers silently. Groaning in disapproval of the daylight, I buried my head back under the sheets like an animal refusing to wake from hibernation.

It was Saturday - no school, no responsibilities - and I had minimal intentions of leaving the bed crease I'd created for myself. The sheets were wrapped around me like a cocoon. My eyes, heavy with sleep, involuntarily shut on themselves as a silent yawn escaped my mouth.

I allowed my body to go limp as my consciousness ebbed away once again. It was comfy beneath the pale covers, and the warmth they emitted drowned my overactive senses.

Or, at least, they began to...

A quiet crunching of bedsheets, ominously similar to the rustling of leaves, was enough to shock me awake, my body becoming stiff with the initial panic before I realised where I was, and that, contrary to my prior assumption, a mass murderer had not miraculously climbed through my window at 8am without being caught, planning to tear me limb from limb and sell my vital organs on the black market.

Squinting due to the blindness-inducing light pouring through the window, I sat up, allowing my eyes time to adjust. Although my eyesight was still slightly fuzzy, I spotted Sherlock perched on the end of the bed. He turned to face me with a blurry smile, which I found impossible not the imitate. His smile clung to his lips like cupcake crumbs and sweetened the very air in my lungs; especially with the way the sunlight stained the left side of his face with a pale, white streak, enhancing his angelic appearance.

"Morning."

"Mornin'," I replied, my accent thick with sleep. He leant over to my end of the bed and kissed my nose lightly, his scent lingering.

"I should get you home soon," he informed me as I dragged myself out from under the duvet, "How are you feeling?"

I haphazardly chose a shirt from the floor and put it on to retain some warmth, not bothering to do the buttons up, before ruffling my hair to make it look at least slightly acceptable. It was Sherlock's shirt - it smelt like him - but he didn't seem to mind, smirking as he beckoned me over to him.

"'lright," I shrugged, slotting myself between his legs. Sherlock placed his hands on my hips, gently pulling me closer to him. The sleeves of his shirt covered my hands as I cupped his face.

"Good," he decided, pulling me a tad closer before kissing me softly. My stomach filled with a feeling similar to that seeping into kids trying to sleep on Christmas Eve. It was enough to fill my tummy with butterflies, or a sensation very similar, at least.

I started playing with his hands, a small grin plastered on my face. I kissed each of his fingers lightly, barely even brushing my lips against his skin before moving onto the next finger. He smiled, his expression once again infectious.

"I like you," I announced, dropping our still-joined hands to my side.

"I like you too," Sherlock replied, a hint of scepticism in his voice - not as though he was questioning the truth of his words, but like he didn't understand the use of such a flimsy adjective as 'like'.

Another kiss.

The birds sang like overenthusiastic talent contest auditionees as I whispered, "Do I have to go?"

Sherlock nodded sadly, "But not yet."

With that, he tackled me to the bed, pinning me down with his hips against my own. I didn't have time to acknowledge his impressive feat before his lips were encouraging an embarrassingly needy moan from my throat.