Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Mm, cons, Mdom, anal, hs

   Max has been carefully calculating this for weeks, mindfully deciding
which assignments to skip and which to do, which tests to flunk and which
to ace.  It'd been a complicated balance, but when his name is called by
his physiology teacher after the bell rings, he knows it's finally paid
off.

   "Max," Mr.  Franceschi's voice goes.

   Max tries to keep the stupid grin off his face as he walks over, his bag
slung lazily over his shoulder.  "Hey Franceschi," he says.

   "Max," Mr.  Franceschi says again, "why has your grade dropped so much?
I know you can learn the material, but you seem to choose not to do the
work."

   Exactly Max thinks, but that's not what he says.

   "Mr.  Franceschi, I've just had so much going on, I've..." Max's voice
trails off.  "I don't know.  I guess I don't understand directional terms."

   "Oh," Mr.  Franceschi says.  "Well some of them are really simple." He
stands and walks over to the class skeleton, wheeling it back over.  Max
can't help but appreciate his casual Friday attire.  Well-fitting jeans,
Vans, and a button-up shirt with the cuffs bunched up around his elbows. 
Mr.  Franceschi turns the skeleton sideways so Max sees it in profile. 
"Which part of the body is dorsal and which is ventral?"

   Max stares at the skeleton.  He'd learned this.  "Uh, the front is
ventral and the back is dorsal.  I think," he says.

   "Good," Mr.  Franceschi says.  "You can remember that because the dorsal
fin of a fish or marine mammal is on its back." Max nods, only
half-listening even as the late bell to his next class period rings.  Mr.
Franceschi didn't have a class this period and was always generous about
writing passes so Max isn't worried about that.

   Your amazing ass is dorsal to the cock I want in my mouth, Max thinks.

   "I mean, I guess...  I dunno."

   "Well, let's try superior and inferior," Mr.  Franceschi says.  "Are my
hands superior or inferior to my knees?"

   "Uh," Max says.  "Well, it'd depend which position you were..."

   "Max, remember, we're always speaking about anatomical position." Mr. 
Franceschi stands with his legs a bit apart and his arms out a bit, palms
forward.  "So are my hands superior or inferior to my knees?"

   "Inferior?" Max asks.  Mr.  Franceschi shakes his head.

   "Max, I think what you ought to do is read the chapter regarding
directional terms," he sighs.  "They aren't very hard to memorize once
you've figured out the first few." Max makes a face.

   "I'm horrible at memorizing though," he says.

   "Remember the little tricks, like remembering dorsal and ventral by
thinking about the dorsal fin of a fish.  Or proximal and distal," Mr. 
Franceschi says.  He steps back to the skeleton, holding out one of its
arms.  "The hand is distal.  The shoulder is proximal.  The hand is distant
from the body.  Distal, distant." Mr.  Franceschi frowns at Max's blank
face.  "Max, what's wrong?"

   "Nothing," Max lies.  Actually, there are a lot of things wrong, like
how distracted he is by everything Mr.  Franceschi ever even does.  Like
the way his fingers hold the skeleton's hands, or how he makes this little
irritated face as he rolls the skeleton back into its corner.

   "Alright Max," Mr.  Franceschi says, "I guess I could..." his voice
drops off and he seems to have a thought, "offer you an extra credit
opportunity."

   Max's eyes widen a bit and he smiles.  "Could you add it to my test
grade?" he asks.  "Because that's where I'm doing the worst, and it counts
the most on our grade aside from the final, and-"

   "I'll give you an automatic A on the final.  Just come back after
school." Mr.  Franceschi smirks.  He smirks.  Max blinks.  Wait.  Oh.  Oh.
Okay.  Mr.  Franceschi can tell Max has figured it out.  "I mean, if that's
alright with you."

   Max considers it for a moment.  "An automatic A on the final?  Which is
25 percent of our grade?" he ask.  Mr.  Franceschi nods.  Max nods back. 
"I'll be here eighth period then." Mr.  Franceschi smiles.

   "I'll see you then," he says.  He grabs his passes and Max rocks on his
feet, his weight on his heels then up to his toes, then back again.

   "I almost feel bad for this," Mr.  Franceschi says, "but not really." He
smiles and so does Max.  "Hope you don't mind it on the desk.  It's always
been kind of a thing of mine." Max chews the inside of his cheek to keep
from making a noise as Mr.  Franceschi writes his pass.

   "Of course not," Max says.  He makes sure his jeans are pulled up right
under his bum, making it look particularly nice, and Mr.  Franceschi
doesn't do a thing to hide how obviously he's staring as Max walks out the
door and leaves to go to Economics.

   x

   Max arrives at Mr.  Franceschi's classroom approximately three and a
half minutes after the dismissal bell rings.  His last class is only a few
rooms down but he hadn't wanted to seem too eager, so he lingered in his
European History class for a few minutes, skimming one of his teacher's
books on the French Revolution.

   When Max opens the door, Mr.  Franceschi is working on his laptop.  He
looks up and there's Max, putting his backpack on the floor and padding
nervously over to his teacher's desk.

   "Hi," Max says.

   "Hey," Mr.  Franceschi says.  "Let me lock the doors.  Hop up on the
counter for me in the meantime."

   Max has to use a stool to get a little lift but he sits on the counter
in the front of the classroom.  There's a little space cleared, but around
him there's a model of a plant cell and a fake plastic skull, a couple real
human bones, and a stack of graded papers.  He toes off his shoes just so
Mr.  Franceschi won't have to fight with them.

   When he returns, Mr.  Franceschi steps in front of Max and places his
hands carefully on his thighs, nudging them apart a bit.  Max obliges and
Mr.  Franceschi grabs his hips, pulling him to the edge of the counter and
their hips kind of press together and Max's breath hitches.

   "Mr.  Franceschi," he whispers.

   Mr.  Franceschi kisses Max before he can really reply, and this is so
wrong in a million different ways but he's about to be fucked on a desk by
his ridiculously hot physiology teacher so at the same time he doesn't
really give a shit.  But with the way Mr.  Franceschi's mouth is going at
Max's neck he can't help but gasp and pull him closer.  Max's fingers find
the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with shaky fingers as Mr. 
Franceschi pushes up at Max's shirt and Max lets him take it off.  Max
doesn't even get Mr.  Franceschi's shirt all the way off, just rips the
front open and grabs his belt buckle.

   "Mr.  Franceschi," Max says again, more whiny this time, and Mr. 
Franceschi makes a noise.

   "You can call me Josh," he says, but Max quickly shakes his head.

   "It feels dirtier calling you Mr.  Franceschi," he says, and his teacher
smirks.

   "So you're dirty then," he says, and if Max wasn't hard before then he
is now.  He nods.  "Good." Mr.  Franceschi undoes Max's belt and pulls his
jeans off, accidentally staring a bit.  Well then.  Max is...  large.  Max
blushes.  "Fuck," Mr.  Franceschi whispers, running his hand along Max's
length through his boxers, and Max's breath shakes.  He's wanted this for
so long and it's finally happening and oh god why is Mr.  Franceschi
getting on his knees.

   "Fuck," Max says, watching him pull his boxers off, and there he is
naked on his physiology teacher's front counter and about to get his dick
sucked by said physiology teacher and Max is already leaking a bit of
precum which would be embarrassing in any other situation but it's gone
before Max can blush about it because Mr.  Franceschi licks it right off
the tip of his cock.

   "Fuck," Max says again, louder this time.  Mr.  Franceschi smiles and
takes Max whole in his mouth, purring around him, and Max's fingers grab
for something to hold onto but all he finds is the model of the plant cell
which he accidentally knocks off the table.  He moans.

   Mr.  Franceschi lifts his head, accidentally drooling a bit.  He looks
down at the cell model, which has broken off its stand, then looks at Max.

   "Fuck," Max says, "I'm sorry."

   Mr.  Franceschi doesn't say anything.  He just shoves his pants down
around his ankles and Max gives him this look.  Well.  He hadn't exactly
expected to see his teacher's dick but now he's looking at it and it's
right in front of him and then Mr.  Franceschi's grabbed onto Max's hips
and wrenched him to the edge of the table, his cock all pressed up against
Max's ass, and Max gasps.

   "Fuck me," he chokes out.  He hadn't really meant to say it, per say,
but now that it's out he doesn't mind it.

   "Ask nicely," Mr.  Franceschi says, spitting in his hand.  He rubs on
Max's entrance and Max whimpers, trying not to jerk down on his fingers.

   "Please," Max whines.  "Please just fuck me.  I need the extra
credit..."

   "It's actually an automatic A on the final, if you recall," Mr. 
Franceschi remarks, two fingers sinking into Max, and Max makes a noise. 
"But I guess that's close enough."

   "Do I still have to take the final?" Max asks, his breath shaking a bit
as Mr.  Franceschi curls his fingers.

   "Depends," he says.

   "On what?"

   "On how good you are."

   Max's hips buck and he moans as Mr.  Franceschi's fingers press into his
spot.

   "I'll be good Mr.  Franceschi," Max pants.  "Please.  I'll be good."

   Mr.  Franceschi seems to consider this briefly, sighing.  He slides his
fingers out and Max goes to make a noise of disapproval at the loss, but
then there's something bigger inside him, and oh.

   "Shit," Mr.  Franceschi says, anchoring his hands on the counter above
Max's shoulders.  Max whimpers a bit, tightening his legs around Mr. 
Franceschi's back, a hand resting on his exposed chest.  He'd never taken
his shirt the rest of the way off.  Max appreciates this.

   Max goes to say something but all that comes out is this embarrassingly
loud moan as Mr.  Franceschi starts just slamming into him, his eyes locked
on Max's.  Max grabs the collar of Mr.  Franceschi's shirt, fisting his
hands in it for purchase on something and he pulls hard, and his lips are
smashed against his teacher's in another half of a second.  Max moans
loudly when Mr.  Franceschi hits something in there particularly deep, his
back arching off the counter.

   "Oh, fuck," he hisses into the kiss, and then Mr.  Franceschi pulls out
and manhandles Max over so he's on his stomach.  Max makes a noise but then
he's being filled up again and okay, much better.  He grabs onto the
opposite end of the table, feeling it shake underneath him every time Mr.
Franceschi pounds into him.  Max is a whimpering, panting, mess, his
knuckles going white at the pull in his stomach.  No.  Not yet.  They
haven't even been fucking for two or three minutes.  Then Mr.  Franceschi's
hand is on the side of Max's face, pinning his head down, and oh god.  Max
almost screams.

   "Shut up," Mr.  Franceschi says, voice low, almost a growl.  There were
still people on campus.

   "I can't," Max chokes out.  His hand goes to find something to squeeze
onto like one of the bones or something but all it finds is the stack of
graded papers and it goes spilling, homework worksheets floating across the
floor, and if Max weren't having the greatest sex of his life right now
he'd apologize, but he's pretty much forgotten how to speak in anything
other than sentence fragments.

   It's fairly obvious that Mr.  Franceschi is beginning to feel the same
way, because his fingernails dig into Max's scalp and he swears under his
breath.

   "Max," he says, so low Max wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been
listening to it.

   "Mr.  Franceschi, please," Max whines.

   And then Max is being shoved further up and Mr.  Franceschi hitches his
leg up on the table, knee on the edge of the counter, and his leverage is
just hammering into that one.  Fucking.  Spot.  Max can't even speak, can
hardly even moan for that matter, so he's just resorted to begging under
his breath.

   "Please Mr.  Franceschi I need to cum please I'll finish you off however
you want me to please touch me fuck I'm so hard Jo-"

   And just as Mr.  Franceschi's first name is about to slip out, his hips
stutter a bit and Max knows that familiar full feeling as Mr.  Franceschi
cums inside of him.  Max moans softly, just sighing and then gasping when
there's a rough hand jerking him off, and it's only about thirty seconds of
that before Max is exploding all over the side of the desk, making these
high little whimpering noises as he comes down, feeling his teacher pull
out, and he slumps into the table a bit.  He lets his eyes slide shut and
he silently and appreciatively listens to Mr.  Franceschi dress.

   "Max, get up," he says.  Max kind of rolls over and slides off the
table, getting his boxers and looking over as his teacher is scrubbing the
side of the desk off with a wet paper towel.  Max blushes, dressing himself
back up quickly, and by the time he's all dressed again his teacher is
picking up the broken cell model and snapping it back into place.  The
papers, however...

   "I-" Max stutters, going to apologize, but Mr.  Franceschi gives him
that teacher look and he closes his mouth.

   "I had those papers alphabetized, Max," Mr.  Franceschi says.  Max
swallows dryly, his throat tight.  He goes to say something else but he's
cut off.  "Guess I'm just going to have to assign you a detention.  Back
here after school tomorrow." Max nods obediently, grabbing his bag.  "Oh,
and..." Mr.  Franceschi bites his lip.  "Wear those jeans again."