Mr. Way is the weirdest teacher Frank's ever had.
For one, he isn't fat and balding and evil. He dresses smart for art class - vests and waistcoats and shirts and ties, but it's not stuffy or boring, it works for him. He's got dark messy hair and bright, interested eyes, and he's always wearing slightly dirty sneakers, sleeves sometimes rolled up to his elbows. Sometimes he hums under his breath when he's working at his desk, tapping his feet on the floor or chewing absentmindedly on the edge of his pencil. When they're doing something messy or experimental he'll roam around the desks, looking over people's shoulders, talking and suggesting things, gesticulating wildly with his hands the more excited he gets.
The thing is, Mr. Way is actually pretty hot. And he has this belt buckle that Frank kind of can't stop staring at. He wonders if it was Mr. Way's intention to draw attention to his crotch like that.
At first it's just a bit of a crush, which is no big deal. Frank's had crushes before, though admittedly not on a teacher, and also not on anybody quite so much older than him, because despite the fact Mr. Way isn't old old, he's definitely too old for Frank. At first Frank thought he might be in his early twenties - because fuck if there isn't one single wrinkle or line on him - but the longer Frank looked at him (and, hey, pretty quickly Frank got to be spending a lot of time looking at Mr. Way) the more he started to suspect he needed to round it up a little. There's just something around his eyes that seems older, words that hint at experience. Late twenties, then, maybe early thirties.
Sometimes when Frank is bored and playing up to the class and running his mouth off a little bit Mr. Way will just flash him this look, right, and it's knowing and warning but also a little amused, just hinting at the corners of his mouth, and he doesn't even have to say anything because Frank will lose his train of thought right there, stuttering off into silence.
Those are the occasions when Frank has to jerk off when he gets home.
But after a while, it gets to be more. Shit, Frank never thought he'd look forward to going to school, but that's what happens. He actually starts trying in art, trying to talk to Mr. Way more, asking him questions, putting his hand up in discussions even when has no fucking clue what they're talking about. The best times are when he gets Mr. Way to come over, to stand close behind Frank as he looks at his work, so close Frank can feel the heat of him all along his side, body casting a shadow over him. Mr. Way smells like cigarettes and gum, kind of sweet and musty at the same time, and sometimes - sometimes, Frank gets a hint of his shampoo. Or maybe it’s aftershave. Or, like, whatever Mr. Way rubs on his skin to keep it looking so soft and pale.
Fuck, but Frank really doesn't want to be creepy. He's a hormonal teenager with a crush who can't stop staring and talking and trying to get close, and Mr. Way is his teacher. And even if he wasn't, he's an adult. Frank won't officially be an adult for like, three fucking years. He'd never be interested in Frank. Frank is a scrawny, scrappy, eighteen year-old kid with a bad haircut that lives at home with his mom. And on top of that, Mr. Way probably isn't even into guys. It's stupid and pointless.
Only, sometimes Frank thinks he catches Mr. Way looking at him. And not in that knowing, teacher-ly way either. At first he thinks it's just his imagination, that he's seeing what he wants to see, but then it will happen when Frank isn't even paying attention, when Mr. Way is at his desk so Frank's just staring blankly out the window or splayed back in his chair, waiting for the bell. Frank will glance over and meet Mr. Way's eyes and find they were already on him. He can never read anything particular in the looks, but he's definitely looking. And as soon as he realizes Frank's noticed, he'll look away sharpish.
It really doesn't help Frank feel less creepy. But then again, he figures, if by some impossible chance this thing could be mutual, oh god - then it isn't creepy anymore, is it? Now it's like. Flirting, almost. It sure feels like flirting to Frank, because now he knows Mr. Way looks at him, he starts trying to give Mr. Way something to look at. Splaying his legs in his chair, sucking a little on drawing utensils, playing with gum in his mouth; they're not even supposed to have it but Mr. Way never says anything, even when Frank starts stretching it out of his mouth from between his teeth, swirling his tongue around it to feed it back in, licking at his lips wide and sloppy.
