Home for the Holidays: Mr Frosty Pants, Mr Naughty List

by Leta Blake

  Offering what he hoped was a winning grin, RJ lifted his beer in a salute. “Yeah, that’s me. RJ Blitz.”

  “Sixth period. Senior English Comp. My first year teaching,” Mr. Danvers said with a smile. He rocked back on his heels again. His hair ruffled in the breeze, and the music from the ice-skating rink swelled with a new song: Dolly Parton’s “Here You Come Again.” Weird that it wasn’t a Christmas tune. “Sorry if I wasn’t that great of a teacher back then,” Mr. Danvers said with a shrug. “I was still getting my feet beneath me. That year feels like forever ago.”

  Perfect.

  They were agreed then that there was no need for any student-teacher deference. Maybe this seduction would be easier than RJ had anticipated.

  “For me too.” RJ kicked the chair beside him out from the table. The heavy wrought iron slid across the patio concrete with a screech that momentarily blocked out Dolly’s sweet voice from the rink and the bouncing dance music from within the pub. “Have a seat.”

  Mr. Danvers stared at the chair for a long minute, a small furrow digging in between his delicate eyebrows—did he tweeze them to be so perfect?—until his expression broke into a smile again. “Sure, what the hell? Why not?”

  “I mean, unless you have something else going on tonight,” RJ said, with a knowing wink.

  Mr. Danvers rolled his eyes and gestured toward the phone in his pocket. “Apparently, I don’t. And I’m not ready to go home just yet. I’d love to catch up with a former student.” He gave RJ an almost flirty glance. Or was that wishful thinking on RJ’s part? “Let me just grab a drink to keep warm.” Mr. Danvers nodded toward the bar inside. “Want another beer while I’m at it? On me?”

  “Sure.”

  Mr. Danvers’s smile grew deeper, again revealing the dimples RJ had mooned over from his desk in the back row. “Your ID?”

  “Seriously?”

  Mr. Danvers shrugged.

  “C’mon. You know I’m old enough.”

  Mr. Danvers swallowed and flushed. “You look plenty young.”

  “Like you’re one to talk.” RJ pitched his voice back, making it flirty as fuck, testing the waters. “I mean, get real, baby-face. Do you even shave?”

  Mr. Danvers laughed but didn’t relent. RJ narrowed his eyes at him and thought back to the torture of having to watch Mr. Danvers teach every day, fighting off increasingly ferocious hard-ons. Back then, Mr. Danvers had looked like an uptight, arrogant, baby-faced dream, and the intervening years hadn’t aged or changed him much at all. Soft-looking cheeks, supple lips…

  God, RJ still wanted to fuck him blind.

  “It’s been five and a half years,” RJ said, lifting his chin and gazing at Mr. Danvers with determination. “I was nineteen when I graduated. Do the math.”

  Mr. Danvers put out his hand with his beautiful, pale fingers outstretched toward RJ. “ID.”

  This time he used his teacher voice, and RJ wanted to just grab him and kiss the smug look off his stupid, gorgeous face. Instead he grumbled in annoyance as he dug his wallet out of his back pocket to produce his driver’s license.

  Mr. Danvers plucked it from his hand to examine it with a raised brow.

  “See? Twenty-four years old. I’m really damn legal.”

  Mr. Danvers darted a quick, startled glance at RJ. The potential double-entendre of his words gripped RJ like a hand around his balls, as Mr. Danvers’s eyes darted down to RJ’s mouth and back up again. RJ’s heart thudded with terrifying pride.

  Yes, Mr. Danvers, I saw that.

  He’d made his prissy, hot teacher think about kissing him. Probably fucking him, too.

  RJ smirked to cover his glee, and when he took the ID back from Mr. Danvers, he was glad his hands weren’t sweaty because their fingers brushed.

  “I’ll be right back,” Mr. Danvers said, his voice a little husky. “You want anything stronger than another beer?”

  “Nah, good old YeeHaw will do.”

  “Great.” He nodded at RJ’s sleeveless arms currently free of tats. Hashtag goals for the upcoming years. “Need your coat from inside? I can grab it.”

  RJ had left his coat in the band’s van and, from a quick glance over his shoulder back inside the pub, it looked like Casey and Joel were long gone. Becca and Madison were still dancing, though. He could see Madison’s blue hair bouncing in the crowd.

  “I’m good. Thanks.” He put his chin up again, determined to stay cool. “This so-called ‘winter’ has nothing on Finland mid-January. Now that’s cold as tits.”

  Mr. Danvers snorted. “Surely I taught you how to use descriptive language well enough that you don’t need to resort to crudeness.”

  RJ laughed. “Fuck yeah, you did.”

  Mr. Danvers rolled his eyes. “I don’t remember you being such a brat.”

  RJ shrugged. “I’m surprised you remember me at all. I was quiet back then.”

  “Sure. If you call that whole angry, goth-punk vibe you had going ‘quiet.’” Mr. Danvers grinned again, dimples digging into his cheeks. “I’ll be right back with drinks. I want to hear about what you were doing in cold-as-tits Finland in the middle of January.”

  The familiar sounds of “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” rang out from the sound system in the bar as Mr. Danvers swung the door open to go back inside. The crowd was still in a jovial mood. Gazing in through the wide, front windows, RJ saw Becca had joined in with the folks who were singing along, dancing, and swaying with raised glasses or beer bottles.

  The buzz off the crowd was hot enough to intensify RJ’s already strong headrush. Patience was never his strong suit, and he tapped his foot to the beat, eager for Mr. Danvers to be back even as the door closed against him and the music. RJ hummed the cheesy melody under his breath while fingering the chords on his beer bottle. He couldn’t believe he was talking, flirting even, with Mr. Danvers.

  What kind of holiday fever dream was he in? The best kind.

  He grinned, remembering the last time he’d dropped acid. He’d been in Rome, and he’d promised himself he’d never do that shit again. Not after the entire world had breathed in and out like a big lung, expanding and contracting around him. Not after flowers had told him secrets that, even now, he was afraid to repeat. And definitely not after he’d nearly fallen into a chasm made by his own mind. Real or not, it was all too terrifying.

  But here he was, mostly sober, sitting in downtown Knoxville positively tripping balls because he was talking to his high school crush. RJ didn’t know if he was scared or excited. Mostly both. He rubbed a hand over his short hair again. A cold wind blew across the square. RJ shivered hard.

  Even letting his mind toy with the idea of touching the man he’d obsessed over, ached for, and lusted after was nearly too much for him. He’d wanted Mr. Danvers since he was a teen. He couldn’t stand to blow it.

  Blow it. Ha.

  He was going to seduce the pants off Mr. Danvers’s intoxicating ass tonight, and finally get the kind of Christmas homecoming he’d always wanted but never thought he deserved.

  Chapter Two

  Aaron ordered his second whiskey sour of the evening and a YeeHaw for RJ. Standing by the bar with a cocked hip waiting to pay, he blew a bit of hair off his sweaty forehead and let his gaze wander back to the big windows that looked out at the patio and Market Square.

  His gaze hung on RJ Blitz sprawled at the iron patio table, looking far too grown up for his own good. Forcing himself to look away, Aaron watched as the bouncer, standing a few feet away from the patio table, checked some college girls’ IDs. But his attention quickly drifted back to RJ. He licked his lips as he noticed again the casual stretch of RJ’s long legs in the beaten-up jeans, and the sexy way RJ’s T-shirt stretched over broad shoulders. The epitome of careless and cool.

  Another rousing chorus of “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” lifted up around Aaron, and, determined to get a grip on his thrumming lust, he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. What was he doing? He couldn’t afford any trouble
. Not after what had happened with Coach McAllister.

  He took a steadying swallow from his whiskey sour and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Everything was fine. This was a completely different situation from that mortifying experience. RJ was a former student, not a fellow teacher. A married fellow teacher Aaron had been foolish enough to dally with in the man’s office.

  He’d told himself it was late at night and no one would know, and he honestly hadn’t realized the asshole was married. He’d barely ever seen the coach in the staff room, and they’d hooked up unwittingly on an app before meeting face-to-face. That should have been the end of it, but they’d been stupid and horny.

  Did he mention stupid?

  Aaron had learned the hard way upon breaking the school board’s code of ethics that winning football coaches were far, far more valuable than young English teachers. He was lucky to still be teaching at all, and probably wouldn’t be if not for…

  He pushed away the twist of guilt and gratitude. He gulped his drink and mentally scanned the rules for ethics. RJ was in no way connected to Aaron’s current school, Pineview Middle. There was no reason Aaron couldn’t share a drink with the man. And he was a man—Aaron had checked his ID and everything. See? He was playing by the rules.

  Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to sleep with him. They were just going to chat. Catch up. There was no reason at all for him to be thinking about the situation with Coach McAllister. None at all.

  Never mind that RJ was sexy as hell and that Aaron’s entire body had twitched alive with shocking arousal as soon as he’d kicked that chair out from the patio table like he was the boss and Aaron his obedient servant. Never mind that Aaron’s nipples were still singing in anticipation of a good tweaking, and his balls hummed in hope, as if they sensed an imminent orgasm on the horizon.

  He wiped at his forehead again and tried to get a grip on himself.

  The best thing he could do was to talk with RJ. Get to know him a little for the undoubtedly boring, stupid, or flat-out weird guy he probably was, and this unreasonable attraction would drop away effortlessly. RJ was a young musician. He’d barely gotten a C in Aaron’s class. He probably had nothing of interest to say.

  There was no reason to expect he’d be any different from any other man Aaron had ever made the mistake of talking with. A conversation was always the best way to kill his lust. Which was one reason he preferred hookups with guys he had nothing in common with. No expectations aside from sex meant he was rarely let down.

  Aaron grabbed the beer from the bar and headed out to the patio, letting the chilled drinks against his palms do the job of cooling him down. He and RJ were just going to talk. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  “Keep it all superficial. He’ll ruin it. No problem. Everything will be just fine,” Aaron whispered to himself as he pushed the door to the patio open and plastered on a smile. His stomach dropped as he stepped out the door.

  Fuck.

  RJ was just as hot as he’d been when he’d left him.

  The door swung open and Mr. Danvers stepped back out, a beer in one hand and some sort of whiskey drink in the other. His cheeks were flushed and fresh sweat glistened on his forehead and narrow nose.

  RJ’s heart raced, and his palms went damp.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Right. So, getting into Mr. Danvers’s pants was going to be no different than learning a hard song on the guitar: cut it into achievable sections, take it piece by piece, and then let it flow.

  RJ smiled as he took the replacement beer from Mr. Danvers’s hand. Cool relief rode him like the night’s breeze as Mr. Danvers sat down across from him. Dimples broke out again and, to RJ’s amazement, they were somehow prettier than the last time Mr. Danvers had flashed them.

  “Cheers,” RJ said, and put his beer out for Mr. Danvers to tap his whiskey glass against.

  After they’d both taken a drink, RJ kicked his feet out. “So,” he said with a smirk. “You didn’t like my emo, goth-kid look, huh?” Cold wind stung RJ’s eyes, and Mr. Danvers pulled his sports coat tighter around his body.

  “No, I can’t say that I did. But kids.” Mr. Danvers shrugged and smiled fondly. “They’re still trying to figure themselves out. It’s not easy work, is it? Sometimes they take a few ill-advised detours along the way to their real selves.” He shrugged again and took another swallow of whiskey, his cheeks and chin pinking up even more from either the cold, or the alcohol, or both.

  “Yeah, well, I gotta admit, eyeliner and greasy hair weren’t my best looks,” RJ conceded. He indicated his current casual punk style and ran a hand over his tightly shorn head again. “I prefer what I’ve got going on now.”

  When he was younger, he’d thought guys who dressed like him were scary, neo-Nazi skinheads, but now he just knew it was easier to keep his hair short than to deal with the risk of lice from all the dubious lodgings he stayed in while traveling the world with the less-than-famous bands.

  “I have to agree,” Mr. Danvers said, sounding a bit breathless. Then he swallowed a healthy gulp of his drink. Out of nowhere, he started chuckling. It was a sweet, effervescent sound that made RJ tingle all over. And Mr. Danvers didn’t stop. It went on long enough that Mr. Danvers had to wipe at his eyes with his fingertips.

  That made RJ bristle a bit, despite the tingle. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Rude, Mr. Danvers.” He put on his dominant voice. The one his kinky German friend, Pieter, had taught him how to use during their D/s training sessions in Berlin. Leaning forward and making eye contact, he demanded, “Tell me.”

  Mr. Danvers caved like a sweet baby sub, and RJ swallowed hard, making note of that. Damn, Mr. Danvers. Damn.

  “All right.” Mr. Danvers leaned forward, stage whispering. “Truth is, I was afraid of you back then. When you were in my class, I mean. You were always so intense. Stared at me like you wanted to hit me or something, and, well, I…” He trailed off, chuckling again. “How ridiculous is that? So ridiculous.”

  “Why would I want to hit you?” RJ didn’t understand how Mr. Danvers could have interpreted his lustful gaze, inspired by watching that fantastic ass shake every time Mr. Danvers wrote on the smart board, as violent.

  “It doesn’t matter. Never mind.” Mr. Danvers bit his lower lip, and his eyes dropped to RJ’s mouth again. “You’re more approachable now. I like it.”

  Yes. That was a response he’d take with no complaint.

  After another sip of beer, RJ untangled his tongue and offered, “I had a lot of shit going on back then.”

  “Yeah. I think that’s called high school.” Mr. Danvers closed his eyes and shook his head. “Who didn’t have a lot of shit going on at that age? I wouldn’t go back to it for the world.”

  “What do you mean? You go back there every day.”

  Mr. Danvers arched one fine brow. He had to shape them. They were just too perfect. RJ kind of wanted to lick them. “Believe me. Going to school as a teacher is a very different thing.”

  “I don’t know. Seems like it’s pretty similar. You’ve still got homework, even if it’s called grading, and you get summers and holidays off. Plus, you have to hang around with teenagers all day. So, where’s the difference?”

  “When you put it like that…” Mr. Danvers winked. “Though I teach middle school now. So, I guess I went back to seventh grade. Which was, if memory serves, even worse for me. Maybe I’m a masochist.”

  RJ’s fingers clenched his beer bottle reflexively. Had Mr. Danvers meant to use that particular flirty tone on the word masochist, or was he imagining things?

  And RJ hadn’t known about the switch in schools. How had he not gathered that from stalking Mr. Danvers’s social media? Probably because he’d been more obsessed with pictures than anything else. Deciding to leave innuendo aside for now, RJ asked, “Oh, yeah? Why the change?”

  “I prefer the age group. They’re fun.”

  “What’s fun about a stinky, emotional preteen
?” His mom had one living in her home right now, and RJ didn’t think his moody, snarling stepbrother was all that amusing.

  “When they aren’t yours, a lot of things.” Mr. Danvers smiled again, and RJ’s heart did a funny little flip. “They’re all so damn sincere and trying so hard.” His eyes went fond and pitying. Then he brought his gaze back to RJ, who found it impossible to think that there could be a gay man alive who wouldn’t think that Mr. Danvers was the stuff dreams were made of.

  “But enough about me.” Mr. Danvers waved his hand, batting away the topic of his career. “Tell me what you do now, RJ. Play music, obviously. But is this just a hobby or is it a career for you? And what’s this about Finland in January?”

  RJ relaxed back in his chair again. This he could do. Talking about his work and adventures as a touring guitarist for various bands was easy and usually entertaining. He didn’t start at the beginning. He didn’t bother telling Mr. Danvers how, on graduation day, he’d gone back to his mom’s trailer and packed up his things while she cried.

  He didn’t start in the middle either, with his disappointing first year in Nashville.

  No, RJ started his tale for Mr. Danvers with his first big tour as guitarist for a little-known band, Society Demons, opening for The Cure. The band’s regular guitarist had injured his hand in a fireworks accident and Society Demons had required a last-minute replacement. RJ’d been thrilled to snag that opportunity.

  Afterward, he’d toured with band after band. Any genre—country, rock, funk, soul. The tours lasted months or weeks, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was being out there on the stage, feeling the music rise in him, and being part of it all. He didn’t love living on the road. It was tiring and strange. But, after that first stint with Society Demons, he’d never been anywhere in the world long enough to call a place home. Nothing held him down. No apartment, or car, or student loan. None of the things that so many of the kids he’d graduated with claimed as their own.