Chapter 28

                                    

                                          
The kiss was awkward at first—as is any first kiss—but it didn't take long for the two to find their rhythm, moving their lips in sync as the motion became easier and more natural. They began to lose themselves in the moment, eliminating what little distance remained between them while their hands wrapped around one another and latched onto the other's body wherever it felt most comfortable. It was only when Brian broke away to catch his stolen breath that he realized how close they were, and how tight his pants had gotten, the blonde's eyes traveling down the curly-haired man's rising and falling chest and noticing it as well.
                          
Neither of them said anything as they wordlessly agreed to step away from each other, their gazes meeting in a confused, curious, where-do-we-go-from-here kind of way. 
                          
The blonde rubbed the back of his neck nervously, spitting out a muttered "Well?" even though he already knew the answer. 
                          
All Brian could do was stare at Roger, the fire that burned bright inside of him this past weekend igniting once more. "I-I think you need to kiss me again," he stammered timidly, as if he needed more reassurance. 
                          
"Come on, Brian, I don't think—" Roger didn't get the chance to finish his disapproving sentiment before being rushed by the professor, who enwrapped him in a passionate embrace again and captured his lips with his. 
                          
The two stumbled back into the piano, the blonde landing on the keys and sending an erroneous chord into the air as his legs found their way around the professor's waist, locking him in place. The cramped room began to feel even smaller as the moment progressed, the pair eager to explore this new and exhilarating feeling that had washed over the both of them. 
                          
It didn't even occur to either men that just behind them was a classroom door with a window, where anyone could look in and witness them committing what some might have considered a sin, but to them, it was something long overdue. Roger's flirtatious way of engaging Brian had certainly dug its way underneath the professor's skin, and Brian's frankly sporadic and spontaneous revelation had done nothing but fulfill the blonde's dreams. The only problem was—
                          
"Chrissie," Brian whispered, pulling away from Roger whose widened eyes met his frightful ones. It was hard for the professor to focus, distracted by the blonde's shirt that had been ripped open to expose his bare chest and the sweat that beaded up on his skin, giving him a sort of ethereal glow. He dragged his hand down Roger's glistening torso and mumbled, "Oh god, what am I supposed to tell her?" 
                          
The music instructor didn't even get a chance to process the question before Brian gasped, meeting those captivating blue eyes once more, and suggested, "We don't tell her anything." The professor broke away from the blonde's hold and backed himself into the center of the room, getting excited with his unknowingly unoriginal idea. "Y-Yeah, we...we keep this between us. She doesn't have to know!"
                          
Roger rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, having heard countless variations of the same conversation before. "Well, obviously," he agreed bluntly, "But you know they always find out, right?" 
                          
Brian's face dropped at his words. "What do you mean?" he muttered.
                          
The blonde peeled himself away from the piano and spun around, flipping the top of the bench open and extracting a box of cigarettes and an accompanying lighter. He let the lid drop and plopped down on the seat, crossing his legs and answering lowly, "You can tell them all day long that you're still in love with them and that they're still the only one for you, but at the end of the day..." He brought the white stick to his lips and flicked the lighter open, bringing the small flame to the end of the cigarette and taking a deep breath in. He tossed the lighter aside and sat forward, the smoke slipping past his lips as he rested his elbows on his knees and finished his response with a bitter, "...they know you don't mean it. They've all got this kind of sixth sense about things like that. It's freaky."
                          
The professor swallowed the nervous lump in his throat and ran a hand through his mane of curls, saying nothing as he dragged himself over to Roger and sat down beside him, expectantly holding his hand out. The music instructor stared at him for a bit before handing him the burning white stick, losing possession of it quicker than he could comprehend as the professor snatched it from him and quickly brought it up to his lips. He drew in a long breath, coughing when the smoke hit the back of his throat. "God, how do people do this? It's absolutely awful."
                          
The corner of Roger's lip perked up into a smirk. He looked over at the professor and watched as he attempted to take another drag, bursting into yet another coughing fit. He chuckled and took the cigarette away from him, saying, "I don't think smoking's going to solve your problem, Bri."
                          
He frowned, looking down at his own opened shirt and the small bruises that stained his chest up and down and sighing in defeat. "I know. I just...I'm so confused, Roger. I didn't think I'd...what we did...I didn't..." His voice trailed off as he struggled to properly vocalize his thoughts. He squirmed uncomfortably and glanced over at the blonde, asking worriedly, "What if she fires us?"
                          
"No one's going to get fired, Brian," the blonde assured him in a mutter, though getting fired was the least of his concerns. If they were to be caught—whether it be for this instance or another—there was no doubt in Roger's mind that Tim's punishment would be a thousand times worse than Chrissie's. 
                          
The blonde could handle being fired. After all, Reid made it clear last night that his clients still wanted him, and that all he had to do was pull out the box he'd taped up after getting this job and adorn himself with the clothes he swore he'd never wear again. Of course it would humiliate and degrade him, but if he needed to do it—and he knew he would—he would do it. It wasn't like Tim would step up and become the breadwinner of the family. 
                          
Instead, Tim would ensure that Roger would forever regret trying to leave him and make a better life for himself. God knows what he'd do to express that, though. Maybe he'd lock the blonde up, never to see the outside world again except to see his clients. Maybe he'd move them both far, far away, never to see anyone they knew ever again—not Brian, not Freddie, not Reid, no one. Hell, maybe he'd do something worse, something Roger couldn't fathom.
                          
So, for the sake of avoiding the immensely less desirable outcome of the two, Roger took one final drag of the cigarette and rose up from the piano bench, walking over to the waste bin and tossing the white stick in. "We just can't do this again," he tacked on to his previous statement, looking back at the curly-haired man who leaned forward and covered his face with his hands, knowing the blonde had a point but unhappy with the fact that he was still just as confused as he was before, possibly even more now.
                          
Seeing Brian like this made Roger feel guilty, and he wanted nothing more than to take back what he said because he didn't mean it. He just said it in an attempt to make the situation not seem as bad as it was, and so to save himself from completely losing the chance that had been presented to him, he blurted out, "Look, Bri, just because—"  
                          
"No, you're right," the professor admitted glumly, dragging his fingers down his face and heaving a defeated sigh. He stood up and walked out of the room, stopping in the doorway and glancing back at the music instructor to say, "I-I don't know what came over me. I should've just...I...I'm really sorry, Rog." 
                          
"Don't be...I'm not," Roger retorted with a small grin that Brian managed to return, slinking out of the classroom and taking the weight that bore down on the blonde's shoulders with him. The music instructor rushed out after him, ignoring every instinct he had that screamed for him to stop, and watched as the professor disappeared down the hall. 
                          
With his back to him, the blonde couldn't see the raging blush creeping up in Brian's cheeks, or the wide grin that had stretched across his face as those two final words played over and over again in his head.
                          
I'm not.