The weekend flew by, as time often does when one is not looking forward to the week ahead. Chris spent most of that time floating between a state of utter depression and total self-loathing.
He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he should have stopped Jake the moment he had felt the younger man's hand on his trousers – before then even; the moment their lips fist met, but if he was honest with himself he also knew that wild horses could not have stopped him from allowing what had happened.
As soon as Chris had climaxed under Jake's skillful touches that Friday afternoon in the lecture hall, it was as if his brain had somehow kicked itself back into gear and immediately he could see the situation for what it was: cold, impersonal, wrong. His imagination had given a fleeting birds-eye view of what they must have looked like at that moment; Jake on his knees under the table with most of his clothes on the dusty floor beside him and Chris, lying semi-supine in his chair, with his cock hanging limp and lifeless outside his trousers.
The image had shocked Chris back to reality and without so much as a glance in Jake's direction, he had jumped up and practically run from the room, so intent on getting the hell away from his student that he didn't even stop to redress until he was outside in the rain.
Shamefully, he had hidden in the faculty lounge until well after nine that night and when he eventually plucked up the courage to go back, he'd had to ask the security guard to unlock the lecture hall to allow him access to get his belongings. Afterwards he headed home, his head hanging and the rain pouring down and soaking him to the bone as an appropriate metaphor for his heartache.
And so, between days of self-flagellation and nights filled with dreams of bright eyes and crooked smiles, Chris tried desperately to figure out how he would explain himself the next time he and Jake crossed paths. That is, if they crossed paths again. For all he knew, Jake could well have spent his weekend requesting a different English tutor or, God forbid, even making an official complaint to the Dean. After all, he had such an honest, open face that all he had to do was say Doctor Patterson had tried to seduce him and everyone was sure to believe him.
But no, Jake wouldn't do that. At least of that, Chris could be certain. Even though he had fled without so much as a by-your-leave, embarrassing himself and probably humiliating the poor lad beyond belief, he still could not deny that there was something between them; something that went beyond the normality of simple physical attraction and when the connection is that new and that strong, neither party could wish to sever it with something so cruel as betrayal.
And you didn't betray him, running out like that? Chris thought to himself scornfully as he rinsed the soap from his hair. Monday morning had rolled around and still he hadn't come to any conclusions about how to handle the situation. If he were half the man he ought to be, he mused as he turned the temperature on the shower up to scalding, punishing his skin as if he could burn the impure thoughts away, then he would simply email a meeting request to Jake, and when he arrived simply apologize and explain that despite the obvious attraction, nothing could ever happen with them again because he was a teacher and Jake was a student. And it was wrong. Never mind that the man could make him as hard as a rock just by walking into the room, or that his sexy little smile was the star of most late night fantasies.
Chris groaned and turned the water to ice cold.
Once clean and dry, he grabbed a pair of faded jeans, threw a jacket over his plain black top and laced his trainers. He dressed quickly, refusing to even glance at his appearance in the mirror. He knew full well what he looked like. The lack of sleep these past few nights would have made his blue eyes dull and he was bound to have dark circles under them. He could tell just by looking at his extremities that his normally naturally tanned skin would be pasty and he couldn't even be bothered to shave so three days growth was just adding to the self-destructive look. In short, he looked like shit. He knew it and he just didn't care.
Grabbing his work bag from the chair where he had slung it haphazardly on Friday evening, he unzipped it roughly and pulled out the contents trying to find his class agenda for the day. After emptying half of the rucksack onto the chair he eventually found it folded neatly inside his dog-eared copy of Hamlet and pulled it open, his eyebrows raising and his mouth forming a silent Oh, when he unfolded it to discover that Jake has gotten to it first and written his name in every single timeslot for Chris' office hours that afternoon.
Chris turned it over and had to sit down. On the back Jake had, in very neat penmanship, written the words
'Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.'
(Hamlet 2,2)
Was this a declaration? Chris read it again. It had to be. There was no other way of reading this. After a moment more of sitting in stunned silence, he shook his head to clear his thoughts and reached for the phone. Calling University Administration, Chris faked a doctor's appointment and organised cover for his first class. Then he went back into the bedroom and pulled out a black tie, his smartest work shirt and the trousers that even he knew made his butt look really good. Eyeing himself in the mirror, he realised there wasn't much he could do about his pale skin and sunken eyes, but if he was to have an entire afternoon of meetings with Jake Marshall, the least he could do was shave.
-x-
Chris was sitting at his desk when Jake arrived at the door to his office, alerting the professor of his presence with two soft raps on the door in quick succession. As soon as his last lecture had finished, Chris had practically sprinted back to his office, arriving almost thirty minutes before office hours were due to commence and had spent the remaining time nervously rejecting and rescheduling other students who had wanted to meet with him that afternoon before tidying his desk, stacking paperwork into piles and pacing the floor impatiently. He knew his short blonde hair was probably a mess from him having run his fingers though it all day – a nervous habit he hadn't been able to shake since he was a child, and he did consider going to the men's bathroom to check his appearance in the mirror but he was concerned that Jake would arrive in his absence, realise that there was no-one in and leave, so he remained within the small windowless room, anxiously loosening his tie, then tightening it again before removing it altogether and undoing the top button of his shirt.
He had counted down the last seconds to 1pm on his wall clock, tensely waiting for Jake to arrive as he had indicated in his message, but Chris's heart still jumped into his throat when five minutes later he heard the knocking at his door.
Unclenching his hands from the desk and placing them on his keyboard as if in the middle of typing, he forced himself to speak. "Come in," he called, absurdly pleased that his voice sounded even despite the erratic beating of his pulse.
He watched as the handle slowly turned and the door opened, his breath hitching as the sole focus of his thoughts for the past three days walked into the room.
Jake looked beautiful. Jake always looked beautiful, but more so today than ever before, Perhaps it was because of the intimacies they had shared the Friday before, but for some reason on this overcast Monday afternoon Jake looked almost ethereal.
