Baby Lips [l.s mpreg] (boyxboy)

primer

Teachers, Louis thinks, have to be the saddest people on the face of the planet. Why someone would want to spend their day working with adolescents that they hate only to have said adolescents hate the right back every day of their working lives until retirement is beyond him, but he's not one to question other people's lifestyle choices.

Which is why he doesn't mind the pretty boy that sits next to him in chemistry anymore than he minds the way Pamela, who sits two seats ahead, has never heard of a belt and always shows the top of her knickers and the skin of her back off to everyone sat behind her. (That is a rather nasty habit, he has to admit. Someone ought to say something to poor Pamela.)

Teachers aren't all bad, Louis supposes, becauses he's sure a lot of them are just normal people looking to support their normal families and fulfill their normal wishes. Louis, being extraordinary himself, can relate.

Extraordinary. As in extra-ordinary. As in extremely ordinary.

Boring.

"How was your weekend, class?" Horrible.

The usual monotone chorus of "Good." echoes throughout the classroom. The teacher seems to be satisfied as ever as he wipes the stray marks from the old dusty chalkboard in the front of the classroom with an eraser as ancient as the graying hair on his head. He coughs as he rubs his hands together, sliding a pair of spectacles up his pointy nose. Louis often wonders if he's ever considered getting work done to the thing, because it's sharp enough to pop a lung. Can lungs be popped? Louis' always imagined them as giant balloons of air taking up space in his chest. He pokes at his ribcage. There are gaps in it, but none of them are big enough for Louis to slide his finger through. A blessing in disguise, he supposes, because poking his own lungs instead of paying attention to the lecture sounds like a great way to fail midterms.

"Open your textbooks to page fifteen." Shit.

What kind of bloody idiot comes to class without their textbook? Louis eyes the boy next to him as he leans down and grabs his own textbook from his stack of notebooks and folders. Louis tries not to let his gaze linger too long on the smooth looking skin of his long, lean legs or the plaid print on his skirt (it's cute, actually. Louis should be disturbed, but instead he finds himself fascinated by the way the fabric looks in contrast to this boy's complexion) for too too long.

Apparently, it's long enough for Long Legs (which Louis had cleverly dubbed him as in the brief ten seconds he had spent ogling at his limbs like a sicko) to notice him. He blinks at Louis once, twice, three times - and then he speaks.

"Can I help you with something?" And Jesus, if that accent paired with such a beautiful, deep voice isn't music to Louis' ears. "Um.. what's your name again?"

"Louis," he provides, because he's been sitting next to Long Legs for about two months now and he realizes they've never gotten around to proper introductions. He sticks his hand out politely for Long Legs to shake. Long Legs stares hard at Louis' hand for a second before he looks back up and licks his way-too-pink-to-be-natural lips. Louis lets his hand fall and awkardly scratches the back of his head instead. "I - uh. Yours?"

"Can I help you with something?" he ignores Louis' question. Louis tries not to let himself become offended, but the rest of the class is already scribbling down notes and Louis isn't sure how much longer they can carry on this nice little chat before they both get caught.

"Can I share your textbook with you? I. I forgot mine," Louis asks quietly.

Long Legs seems to consider this for a second before he shrugs and places the textbook on their table gently. "No, I don't think I will."

Louis blanches. "Huh?"

"See, this is my textbook. It's always been my textbook, it's always going to be my textbook. See that?" He points to the empty space in front of Louis. "That's where your textbook should be. You forget your textbook, okay, whatever. No big deal. But if I lend you mine, this spot right here-" he moves his finger from in front of Louis to in front of his own space. "-will be empty."

"What?" Louis mutters. "I don't - look, mate, just let me borrow it for now? We can, uh, keep it in your spot I guess."

"That's not how it works. You owe me, now."

"Why does there have to be an entire complicated system to it? Yes or no?" Louis snaps. Long Legs furrows his eyebrows. Louis kicks himself under the table.

"No." And then he turns away.

Louis shifts in his seat (Mr. Professor is staring him down from the front of the classroom) and pretends to be mad for a few seconds. He taps his pencil against the edge of the table and huffs as he busies himself with writing his name seven times on the corner of his paper.

Finally, he breaks again.

"Please? Just let me borrow it?"

"No."

"God damn it-"

"You know, you're not going to change my mind by cursing. Or by having a fit. You're going to get yourself in trouble," Long Legs tuts. Louis really hates him.

"Whose fault will that be?"

"Yours. You're the one who forgot their book in their locker." He shrugs. Louis sighs. He doesn't know what else to say to this boy slash girl slash unnaturally attractive human being person thing. Louis rubs his temples. It's only eight in the morning and he's already stressed and annoyed.

"But, you could do the right thing and help me out," Louis points out smoothly. Long Legs ignores him and taps the edge of his converse shoes against the leg of the table. Louis grinds his teeth together before he sets his jaw and slaps his hand down directly across the surface of the page the other boy had been reading from.

Long Leg's eyes flit up to Louis'. "I could. But what are you going to do for me in return?"

Louis has had just about enough of this. "Whatever you want."

The other boy seems to consider this for a moment before he sets his pencil down neatly on the table and slides the textbook closer to Louis - who sighs in relief - with a huff. "Fine. You owe me.. a kiss."

"A kiss?"

"On the lips." He pops them for emphasis before his tongue snakes out to lick over them teasingly; Louis gulps and turns his attention back to the text in hopes of hiding his flaming cheeks. Bloody hell, this boy is a character. "Deal?"

"I - I guess-"

"Boys!" the teacher snaps. "Or, boy and Harry, rather."

Harry. That's what his name is? He doesn't look like a Harry. Louis stares over at his widened green eyes and perfectly arched brows - Jesus, he's too beautiful. Louis kind of feels like he's staring at the sun.

"Back to work."

"Yes, sir," Louis coughs, because half the class is looking at them.

He shrinks down into his seat.