Bitter Sweet Blaire: Teacher/Student Romance

Chapter Thirty-Three

September couldn't have come any quicker. Everybody had spent their week in as few layers as possible, the weather having been unforeseeably sunny. On top of that, we'd had all our practice exams over the past few weeks, an expert level of torture—on top of Miranda complaining about the effect the humidity was having on her hair. The silver lining: after having Christian making fun of me for my intolerance to the cold, his intolerance to the heat was my leading material for taunts.
Fanning herself with the book Miranda had been reading, Caroline sighed. "Blaire, it's been over three weeks. You've built more than enough anticipation."
My composure notwithstanding, I let a small laugh slip out as I settled back against the grass. The air was so thick I could barely breathe, and the sun so blinding it was making my eyelids glow with a tint of pink. While Christian, Ryan, Adrian and Marcus went out to the store—hunting and gathering—Caroline and Miranda somehow coerced me into laying outside in the shade, after stripping down to my bikini and one of Christian's shirts. There was a huge tree in Christian's backyard that offered the optimum amount of shade; I was easily sold.
"I don't mind if you want to hold out longer," Miranda said, scrunching up her nose and stealing her book back. Caroline laughed, flopping onto her back next to me.
"She's got a valid point," I said, turning to regard Caroline. I sent Miranda a knowing look. Every time Caroline shed a little light on my brother and anything sex-related, I shuddered. Physically and psychologically. Those two were closer than ever before, and if it weren't for the fact that her boyfriend happened to live in my house I knew I'd never see her. I'd had the two girls over to sleep over a few times, and at some point in the night Caroline would disappear—only to reappear the morning after, walking out of Ryan's room usually missing her pants.
"You know, Miranda and I borrowed Christian's car the other day," Caroline sighed, "and I don't know if it was just me but it still smelt like sex."
"Believe me," Miranda laughed, shaking her head to herself, "it wasn't just you." She slid around the counter, bumping me out of the way so she could dip her finger into the plant butter jar. "Have you two...you know? Since break?"
I folded my arms across my chest. They followed suit; a stakeout. Who would cave first?
Me.
"Well..." The truth was, between studying for practice exams and Christian running after school tutorials, I hadn't seen much of him. Today, three weeks and five days later, had been the first time we'd seen each other outside of school since what happened in his car at the end of the winter break. I hadn't really had a spare minute to miss him, but I did anyway. More than that, I had been craving him; keeping myself up most nights, fantasising about his hands and his mouth, and thinking of new ways to expose myself to him.
"Honestly, no," I admitted, frowning. "I haven't had a chance to talk to him, much less sleep with him."
"Delightful," Miranda said sarcastically. "What about last Thursday?"
Caroline shot up, sputtering, "What about last Thursday!"
I rolled my eyes, letting them rest in the back of my head. Last Thursday I told Miranda something, and she swore she wouldn't tell anybody. Mental note: remind Miranda that 'anybody' included Caroline. I'd crucify her later.
Last Thursday I had gone to Christian's office down the hallway by the classroom, digging a pop quiz out of my backpack from the week before. That's right: I was actually consulting the teacher side of Christian—though he didn't care. He had silently entered through the door, carelessly dropping his things on his desk and taking my bag out of my hands, putting it on the floor. There was a sudden pressure near the apex of my thighs—his spidered hand sprawled across my skin. It took me a second to collate myself enough to shove his mouth away from my neck, and to kick myself off of his desk. While I fixed my shirt, he backed up, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, scowl and smirk in tact.
"Christian," I chastised, drawing his name out. "Not here, remember?"
"Yes, I know, I'm sorry," Christian sighed, ran a hand through his hair, though I could tell he didn't mean his apology. Neither of us were sorry when it happened, despite where we were when it did. "It's just that this is the first time I've even touched you in nearly a week."
"Not true. We bumped hands when you borrowed my pencil yesterday."
"Ha, ha," he shot back. He crept towards me, fingers lacing around my waist. "I have about five minutes before the tutorial if you want to..." Christian let the rest of the sentence hanging, but he was already gravitating toward me. Carefully I leaned back, but he won. Just as his mouth was close enough to mine that I could make out the freckles on his nose—he pulled away. It was his phone; Ryan had been calling to ask after Caroline. My awesome older brother who had been blessed with perfect timing since 1992.
Caroline sighed. "I am so sorry."
"Don't worry about it, you only interrupted the first time I would have kissed him since—."
"No, I'm not apologising to you!" she corrected. "I'm apologising to myself. Maybe if I hadn't been the reason you got interrupted, you guys would have made out for a bit—then Christian wouldn't be so wound up and such a jerk to me."
"He's being a jerk to everybody," Miranda added, nodding in my direction as though I should be doing something about it. "He yelled at me for calling him 'Dorkus' the other day. I've called him that for years, even when we used to talk on the phone."
The two of them were right. Even I had bared witness to Christian's bad mood. In a recent class we'd been revising quantum physics, something that had never come to me to be honest, and I made an 'inappropriate remark.' Something that he would usually have laughed at scored me a lunchtime detention studying even more. He spent the first five minutes apologising, and the rest trying to control his temper while he attempted yet again to drill the photoelectric effect into me. It could be the stress and the heat, but it might have had more to do with sex than I had previously thought. An uncharacteristic blush was colouring my cheeks at the thought of it, and I attempted to hide it by lifting the bottom of the t-shirt up over my face.
Before I had a chance to consult with the girls, something heavy and wet was on top of me. "Christian, gross!" I exclaimed, making the others laugh. "Why are you all sweaty?"
"They made me run back," he breathed, removing the t-shirt from my body all together and returning to my skin. It was then that I realised he wasn't wearing his shirt, which just made it even worse. He was transferring his sweat onto me, what a turn on. "I brought you something," Christian sang.
"Christian, get off me," I sputtered, placing my hands on his chest and pushing as hard as I could. Surrendering, he got to his feet, using one of his hands to help me up and the other to guard whatever it was he was holding behind his back. "What is it?"
A cute, excited smile graced his lips. "Guess."
"I don't know, a new boyfriend? One who doesn't find it funny to coat me in his sweat?"
"Hilarious," he deadpanned, before giving in and handing over my gift. "I know it's only an ice block, but I knew this was your favourite one and they'd run out at the supermarket so I had to go to another store to get it and—"
Grabbing onto his wrist, I tugged him into me, kissing him for two reasons: to shut him the hell up; and for positive reinforcement, so he knows he'll receive a reward if he hunts and gathers for me again. Honestly though, knowing I had Christian—for however short a time—felt like home, and kissing him made me feel like that wasn't about to change.
"You taste amazing," I mumbled into his mouth, too smart to remove myself from him in case I had to wait two weeks to do this again.
"I just drank a blue slushy," he responded, changing angles and biting my lip so that I would deepen the kiss.
"Guys, seriously, are you beyond removing yourselves from one another to talk? Or do you think you could exchange words like normal people?" Miranda teased, accepting an ice block and a slushy from Marcus. Ryan gave one to Caroline, before chasing her inside. Adrian held one out to me, smiling over at Christian. They exchanged words too far away for me to hear, but it looked friendly—I wasn't about to threaten that by questioning it so I took my slushy inside and flopped down onto the couch.
Shortly thereafter, Christian flopped down on top of me, much to my protest. But I was too hot to waste energy on arguing, so I let him. The others were busting out to Beyoncé in the kitchen, even Marcus, debating which movie to go see over the music. I'd agreed to go with them, and Christian had decided to mark papers instead. My boyfriend: the biggest buzzkill since his conception.
Taking Christian's ice block from his near-limp hand, I put it in my own mouth; he raised his head off of my chest, curious. Pineapple and strawberry, second favourite. "That's really good," I said, keeping my voice low and strong so it didn't shake, and passing it back to him. Meanwhile, I could feel myself flushing red.
"Blaire, we're going now, are you coming?" Ryan called out.
Moving into the kitchen, I kicked Adrian out of the way so that we could share the cooler spot in front of the fridge. Miranda and Caroline were fighting over which move to go see, while Marcus was peering through the papers he'd brought over to peer-assess with Christian. Ryan was mediating the two girls.
I sighed. "I think I'm going to stick around here for a little bit longer," I mentioned casually, leaning against the counter between Christian's parted legs—he was placed on top, next to the sink.
"What a buzzkill," Caroline sulked.
"It's her loss, Christian and Marcus are going to be marking papers all evening," Miranda said, shrugging.
"Not unless we can convince him otherwise," Adrian added. He, Miranda, Caroline, and Ryan joined Marcus in the living room, giving him cheesy grins and even cheesier lines like 'pretty please.'
He chuckled. "Of course I'm coming—Christian'll mark mine, won't you?" Marcus said hopefully, earning a begrudged nod from his saviour.
While they all grabbed necessary clothing and possessions, I sobered up. Wheeling around very slowly and stepping away, I tipped my chin up so I was looking at Christian. He regarded me with concern, which confirmed for me that he grew very anxious when I became somber. Biting the inside of my cheek thoughtfully, and trying to gather my nerves and the speech I had been practicing. All I could manage were five words.
"Come with me to Montreal," I whispered. "Please." Okay, maybe six.
Christian's eyebrows drew together, his eyes growing darker. "Blaire..."
"I want you to come with me to Montreal, Christian."
Nervous fidgeting. "Blaire, I... It's a big deal to me."
Resolve? Out the window. "It's a big deal to me as well," I objected, crucifying him yet still impressively maintaining a whisper. "But do you know what's an even bigger deal? Leaving you behind."
"Let's talk about this when we're alone some time, okay?" Christian begged, pleading with his eyes as well as his clenched fists.
"No, Christian, I want to know right now. If you love me so damn much, why don't you want to come with me?"
Like the seemingly one hundred times I'd asked, he had no response. Rather, a very apologetic expression. But I didn't want an apology; I didn't want an answer even, not if it didn't involve him travelling half way around the world to be with me. Having debated for weeks on whether the idea was realistic or not, I realised it wasn't something I could work out; there was no right answer. We were unrealistic in that we should never have logically fallen into this relationship in the first place, so the sky was sort of the limit where 'realistic' was concerned.
Adrian kissed me on the cheek and dashed away before I could reprimand him. "Laters, Blaire. See you later, Christian!"
"Laters!" the rest of them called from out the door, before slamming it closed behind them.
Something broke me from my trance. I realised I must have had my gaze locked on Christian, because he had bitten his lip, and the movement had tugged me back into reality. Suddenly, I understood the words he had mumbled like a prayer beneath his breath in the car that day. Just now, I just need this right now. (Or at least I thought I had.) Whether I could drag him half way around the world or not I couldn't be sure, but the future was the second most important thing, the first being: now.
"I thought you wanted to talk," he said quickly, when I covered his thigh with my hand. Christian slid off the counter, his expression protesting my intentions.
"I'm trying to distract myself from the fact that you didn't answer my question."
He sighed. "Blaire, I—" But I was shoving him back as he tried to step forwards, making him wince as he crashed into the edge of the counter. Christian said my name again, somehow chastising me with just that. If months and months had taught him anything, or at least it should have, when I had an idea I wanted to follow through, and my follow through was consistently dependable. I shook my head, chastising him, as I tugged on the belt on his jeans.
"No," Christian growled into the small space between us, fiercely grabbing onto my wrists and leading me over to the pantry where we were obscured from the view of the others. Ducked down. Eye to eye. "I'm not going to pretend I don't want that, but not like this."
Stepping back against the counter behind me, I leaned into it; knocking a plate in the process. It had three quarters of vanilla cake left on it. "Blaire..." Christian said slowly, watching as I grabbed a handful of it, maintaining eye contact. My father had gotten me into softball as a kid, which supplied me with intuition—the cake hit his chest with a squilch.
"Blaire!" he chastised, stepping forward, which only made me throw another piece. "Cut it out!"
It was hot, and I had heard 'no' one way or another far too many times.
"St-stop!"
"Why? Christian, why?"
Christian's shoulders broadened. "It's me, it's me, okay? I have nothing—absolutely nothing—for you, Blaire! Sometimes I wish you'd wake up from this ridiculous dream you're having and realise that! In a short while I will have no money, no house, no job--"
"I don't care if we're sharing a hut along the mountainside with a domesticated family of moose, Christian!"
Still angry, he somehow was still being witty: "You know, that's really not an accurate portrayal of the Canadian—"
"Christian!" I shouted, throwing another piece of cake, this time nailing him in his shoulder blade as he turned to shield himself from it. And still not stopping. Hip, jaw, neck, pelvis, leg, hair. Firing vanilla cake like a true veteran until only remnants were on the plate and my legs crumpled beneath me, leaving me in a heap on the ground, the fight in me extinguished.
"Feel better now?" he asked. I glared ahead.
I threw cake at my boyfriend. Three-quarters of cake. What a waste.
I muttered a string of incoherent words beneath my breath, jamming my eyes closed so the site of him wouldn't encourage me to grab something else, maybe sharper, to throw at him.
The cake-boyfriend hybrid crawled toward me, notably hesitant. Pried the hands away from my tear-strewn face and kissed me. Too rough and definitely necessary. Domineering and guarding. I didn't close my eyes, for fear of opening them and becoming properly conscious. Frustrated, I reached for the remaining piece of cake from the plate sitting on my lap, and smeared it across his cheek, over his jaw, down his neck.
"Quit it," he growled, sliding over my hips and grabbing onto my biceps.
"Get off me!" I tried, jostling left and right beneath him, striking him with my free hands.
"Blaire, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry!" Christian shoved his head against the ground, his hold never faltering. I felt like a set of shackles, keeping him from running away from himself. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"
"Please," I exclaimed, confused. "I don't—"
"I...I'm self destructive," he warned, but it was more of a threat. "I turn everything good into a weapon I can use against myself. I have to make it hurt so I don't want it anymore because I always wreck it. I don't want you to stay, I don't want to go with you, go without me, I don't want it anymore."
"Is that what I am to you? A weapon?" I demanded, trying to release myself.
"Don't fight me, Blaire. I'm not letting your hands go until I know you're going to walk out that door."
I averted my gaze, peering up at him from under the protection of my eyelashes. His body was shaking, his shoulders heaving, cheeks flushed, abs clenching. "Then I guess you're going to be holding me down for a little while longer then."
"Damn it, Blaire! Don't you get it? I don't know how to be with you because I...I don't..." Furious, Christian looked up at me from under his eyebrows, so much so I could barely see his irises. "I'm afraid of hurting you if I feel like I need to get away. That's the only way I can separate myself from you—hurting you so you run away from me first."
Glad he was holding my hands down since they would be uncontrollably shaking otherwise, I lifted my head off the ground. I wasn't sure which one of us was about to cry first. Somehow he let his guard down for long enough that I managed to lick some of the vanilla frosting off of the skin beneath his jaw, a guttural sound coming from his throat, before he recoiled.
"I want to have you, all of you," I mumbled, resting my head back on the kitchen floor. "I want it to always be more than I can take."
Christian's eyes widened, his shoulders stiffening, resting back on his feet and shuffling backwards until his back struck the cupboard "It won't be. You need more, I can't give you more, you need more."
"I need you," I whispered, more to myself than him as I backed up into the pantry. Anxious, I averted my gaze, focusing on my hands. I could make a joke about nervous eating, but at that moment all I noticed as I scraped the cake off my hands with my teeth was the sudden movement beneath his jeans. No blush adorned my cheeks even as I openly regarded the straining crotch of his jeans.
Christian sighed in exasperation. "Blaire, don't look at me like that. It's har—difficult—to have a serious conversation with you doing shit like that. It's not fucking fair."
"Oh, a conversation? That's what this is?" I shot back, before realising I wasn't meant to be pushing him away but pulling him in. "Come with me."
"Where are you—Blaire?" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and tailing me into one of the downstairs guest rooms. Donned with a queen bed and white furniture, it was sickeningly bright—but I couldn't close the curtains because of the delectable way the light spilled over Christian's features.
"Let me show you, Christian," I admitted. "Let me prove how much of you I just can't take."
Lowering myself onto the end of the bed, I hooked my fingers over the waistband of his jeans, gently drawing him between my legs. A noise, sounding vaguely of defeat, was caught in his throat, as he leant his fists on the bed around me, leaning down until I was almost laying down. Intrigue crossed his features, in the crinkling of his eyes, furrowing of his brows.
"Just this..." I mumbled incoherently, unable to string together a logical sentence while in such close proximity to his mouth. "...this, please..." With the palm of my hand under his chin, I motioned him to crawl with me up the length of the bed, switching positions so that he laid on his back, me on my knees.
"Blaire, I—" he tried, and I recognised the worry in his expression, the tension in his shoulders.
"It's okay," I assured him, unfurling his fists, then: "You are in control."
Ducking down to his chest, I scraped the vanilla of the cake from the basins above his collar bones, down to the chevron muscle pointing below the layer of clothing. Tongue below his ear, I sealed my mouth over his skin, making him shift beneath me and grab onto the edge of the bed.
When my hands slid below his the waistband of his jeans, his hands returned to the mattress, and he tipped his head so far back I could only see his angular chin and clenched jaw. He fought to remain silent, but he groaned anyway.
In hindsight, when Christian had mumbled, "just this, right now..." into my ear that afternoon, it hadn't been senseless and in-the-moment after all; he hadn't thought he deserved it, and he took it anyway because he wanted it so bad that he couldn't stop himself, especially when I wanted him to as well.
It wasn't whether he deserved it or not; it was whether I was willing to let him take it in the first place. And I was. And he realised I wanted him more than I wanted to live, and he couldn't keep his fucking bear hands off of me for even a second.

A/N: I found this chapter years late that I hadn't posted, please enjoy. I currently am not working on this story, but it was a crazy and enjoyable ride! Watch out for future stories I'm working on... :)