Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > One Shots

The Boy With The Thorn In His Side

by whatkatydid 0 reviews

Pete Wentz One Shot

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: R - Genres: Drama - Published: 2008-03-04 - Updated: 2008-03-04 - 1785 words


"That's all for today class, endeavour to read up to the end of the next subheading, I'll be asking brief questions tomorrow." She said absently, closing her own marked up text book.

The horrendous sound of chairs and desk screeching against the polished floors never stopped her skin creeping.

I am more than happy that was my last lesson of the day... she said silently.
The last squeak of the standard converse sneaker, exited the room and she pushed her door to, slumping in her chair and leaning her head in her hands on her desk.

Then there was the chronic sigh to finalise the day's end.

She moved across the room, pulling down her tight fitting blouse over her pin stripe trousers and yanked the window up, a gust of smoke tainted air eager to get in the room. She wafted it away slightly, sulking back to her position of tired woman over her desk.

Leafing through the class lesson tomorrow, she slipped markers in the areas required and underlined her key thoughts for that chapter. It was during this time she felt it.

Snapping a glance up at the windows and door of her classroom, she could have sworn the presence of eyes on her but there was no-one. She kept looking for a few moments, to make sure she wasn't miss-sighting it.

Calmly, she resumed preparation for tomorrows class.


It was awkward for her to reach to the top of the whiteboard but she managed and carefully scribed in blue pen.

He was uncomfortable with them looking at her in that that way, in trueness, they were ogling. He wasn't uncomfortable because they were doing it, but, because he wanted to be ogling with them. Distraction soon followed:

Is it ogling? What type of word is that, besides, can't men find a woman attractive and it not be derogative or assume a negative connotation? he thought.

Miss Playfair turned and faced the class.

Those breasts are wonderful... he thought, biting on the end of his pen, it quickly splintered in his mouth and the plastic pieces fell over his T-shirt and on to his desk.

She informed the class about character development and as she walked past him, handed him another pen. As he looked up at her, he noted her coy smile as she carried on instructing the class and he wasn't sure what look he was giving back, but was sure it was:

Goofass... he muttered silently.

Her classes were always snatched time to him. It seemed that he only had time to enter the class, sit and take a deep breath of her in and the bell was going. He wished he could only show her a snippet of the inspiration she'd given him and before he'd finished thinking, was folding the slice of paper in his fingers and as he walked by her at the end of class, pushed it into her hand.

What's a letter on a page if you don't watch me write it?
Eyes of an angel, mouth made for sin
The way you move can break me
I am not scared of what you don't feel, I'm scared of what you could.

she read, almost a loud as her lips read the words.

She looked up at the door, seeing the hoard of different sized, make, type, children. Swallowing hard, she folded it back up quickly and stuffed it into her bag.

In the bin! she scolded herself, taking it out and as she went to throw it in the bin, clutched it tighter in her hand, these letter's on this page could not be discarded or go with out a grade of at least wAy to her heart.


The notes were drip fed to her mechanically over weeks, it was hard for him to claim youthful innocence, he knew exactly what he was doing to her. The Student - Teacher relationship was being undone by his clever romantic drug use of the English language.

He'd watched his prey wriggle and squirm under his pinion poetry and now she watched helplessly as he made his final move by closing the door of her classroom and locking it behind him.

Donna Playfair stood, physically shaking at the thought of being alone with him, not shaking in fear, not shaking in pleasure, shaking at the thought of exactly what he'd done to her.

His bag hit the floor in lead weight motion, he then flicked off the lights and meandered over to her. Standing inches from her, he dominated her with his eyes. Although he couldn't hear it, he knew her heart was beating firmly against the rich red cotton of her shirt. His fingers sloped up a piece of curled hair, fingertips caressing it's soft texture, he brought it to his nose and smelt it, closing his eyes.

She lost it.

Without shame, reproach or regard, she grabbed the back of his head, clutching the handful of dark hair in her fingers and kissed him powerfully. They stumbled back and she collided, less than softly, with the row of cabinets by her desk.

Without permission, tenderness or care, he hastily undid her buttons and squeezed the content of her bra hard. His mouth on her throat was an unexpected pleasure, and being incensed with his passion, seized the fabric of his T-shirt on his shoulders and squeezed it in her tight grip, up over his shoulders.

As he withdrew to at least gauge the level of decency between them, their eyes met, both with only a solo pursuit as the objective.

He pressed his fingers against her cheek bones and kissed her a little softer. He wanted to see her again, remind himself of why he was here on the understanding of a lie to his family.

This older woman had captivated a piece of his bedraggled heart and soul and yet they'd barely spoken. But those hips had spoken to him several times, and the natural flush of her pale skin always welcomed him to her classes, her hair was always tossed up in a different style and whilst it was beautiful, it looked at it's best, cascaded over her breasts and shoulders, it's deep brown tones were warm and inviting.

The feel of his skin under her finger tips simply excited her, there was no question he was handsome, it was how he wore it with the 'anonymous' name tag that got her. There was nothing overly manly about his stature that made her feel so feminine whilst in his hands, she was on a par with his height and knew she wasn't on a level with the thinness of his generation.

Somehow, he succeeded in dismissing all her insecurities with the sincerity of the actions in his eyes. Laying her against the cold surface jolted her back.

"Not here...." She gasped.

He continued to kiss her neck, sucking just along her collarbone.

"This is the last place anyone can find us!" he hushed in her ear. Closing her eyes, she raced through the various scenarios.

"We shouldn't!" She bailed and before she could sit up, he pressed her against the desk firmly and hovered above her lips, pinning her hands by her head.

He's already making love to me with those eyes... she admitted.

"You want me Miss Playfair..." he whispered as he then presented a lip offering to her mouth.

"It's Donna." She whispered.


"My name is Donna.." she repeated. An unexpected and beautiful smile flourished his facial features.

"Hi Donna..." he whispered, kissing her again.

"Hello Peter..." she whispered back, his hands still squeezing her own to the sides of her head.

This is harder work than I thought.... he murmured to his faithful memory.

His face was so hot against her shoulder as they made love, upon moving away from her, he realised how damp his skin was, he looked at her as he awkwardly moved his hips with the little experience he had.

He could only watch as her mouth hung open slightly, accepting the gesture of infatuation he had for her. She felt stupid as she involuntarily, vocalised her satisfaction, it slipping her conscious control for a second. With the confirmation he was capable of making a woman feel like that, it stirred up a confidence she'd been desperate for him to have. He progressed the acquaintance with more force and a sense of urgency.

To say it was too little too late was unjust, but as he lazily slumped over her, she couldn't help but feel a slight dejection.

"I'm sorry." He moaned, discouraged.

"Don't be."

"Next time I'll hold back more!" he whispered, she stared at him suddenly.

Pushing him away slightly so she could see him better in the poor setting of the hall way lights.

"Next time?" she asked.


"No..." She said firmly, detaching herself from him, getting off the desk.


"No.." she said hurriedly, pulling her underwear back on quickly.

"Where are you going?" He frowned, he pulled on his boxers.

"We shouldn't have done this - you think we're gonna have some sort of relationship or something?? There won't be a next time, this is the only time!" she explained, fastening her shirt buttons hastily.

"What?" he asked, his voice was weakened by her shocking presentation of truth.

"Peter...." She said, picking up his T-shirt from the floor and handing it to him.

"This was was great even. But , you and I both know what you have is only an infatuation."

"No, I love you!" he said frowning. She laughed.

"Don't be silly! You didn't even know my first name!"

"I didn't need to! It wouldn't make me love you more or less!" he said frustrated.

"Stop being stupid! You're a boy!" she replied, slipping on the 1st of her two heels.

"I'm a boy but I know what I want."

"You're a boy with a thorn in your side!" she exclaimed.

He stared at her.

She plucked her handbag from the desk and he remained still with only his boxers on.

"Just so you fully understand the situation..." she said, he looked at her with sorrowful eyes.

"It's Mrs Playfair."

With that small attentive additional detail and closure of the door that sealed the act of senselessness, he allowed that figurative thorn to pinch at his side. The last he had to hold of that encounter was the faint sound of her heels on the hallway floors and the steadying of his heart to it's normal sedated state.
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