A Son Unlike His Father

"Excuse me, Mrs. Gautier?"

The teacher standing at the front of the Chemistry classroom pauses, her hand poised in the air where it was when she was writing on the chalkboard. She continues after a short pause, her posture stiffening. The rest of the class holds a collective breath, waiting for the usual dangerous sparks to fly between the most attractive boy in the grade, and the most attractive teacher in the entirety of the school.

Andrew Delaine may be attractive, but Mrs. Gautier simply hates him. It's partially his fault, because he irritates her so, but it's also because she knew his father in high school, and as far as she is concerned, they are one and the same.

"Yes, Mr. Delaine," Evangeline Gautier says impatiently as she continues to write their homework on the board.

It is common knowledge that Andrew has hardly anything in common with his father. Sure, he is a bit of a flirt, and may wear his black hair as proudly as his father used to, maybe flash his famous hazel melt at select female members of the class, but his features are less haughty and pretentious and more mischievous and playful. There is a permanent grin on his face, one that grows in size whenever he sees his favourite Chemistry teacher.

"Well, I was wondering," he begins.

"What were you wondering? Something about the homework?" the teacher asks, glancing down at the textbook she's writing the page numbers from.

"If you're not busy after school," he suggests, "then perhaps..."

The rest of the class tries their hardest not to laugh at what seems like the most audacious request ever heard. Mrs. Gautier (emphasis on the Mrs.) puts down her chalk and turns around, hands on her hips, doing nothing but bringing attention to her figure.

"Andrew, now I'm wondering something. Do you enjoy getting detention?" she demands.

"Of course not, Mrs. Gautier," he grins. "I just enjoy spending time with you. Sooner or later, you'll realize it too."

"And maybe you'll realize that there are better things in life than spending detention with me!" says Mrs. Gautier, exasperated with the sheer cheek of this boy. "You will come and see me after school, three o'clock sharp!"

"It's a date," Andrew winks. Evangeline scowls, but even the frown doesn't mar her pretty face, Drew observes.

"And you'd better not be late this time." Evangeline mutters. She dismisses her class briskly, and they leave, still giggling about Andrew's flirtation with the most attractive teacher at school.

A few hours later, Andrew makes his way up to detention, passing a few of his peers in the corridors. He tries his best not to look too excited. Mrs. Gautier's detentions are awful, but if it means spending a couple of hours alone in a room with her, he's up for anything. Andrew is beginning to fall for his beautiful Chemistry teacher, despite the fact that she is married, with a daughter almost as old as he is.

Andrew knocks and waits for Evangeline to answer. "Come in," she sighs, from inside.

He quickly enters, shutting the door behind him. Evangeline is leaning against the desk in her office, arms crossed. She has her hair pulled back from her face, bringing her almond-shaped eyes into focus. When she looks at him, he feels as if he could look into her soul. His eyes fall to the hint of cleavage peeking out from her shirt, and he resists the urge to lick his lips.

"You're late - I told you to be on time!" Evangeline says, tapping her watch.

"You'll just have to give me another detention, then," he grins as he makes his way towards his teacher. She immediately purses her lips, looking at her student with narrowed eyes.

"Why are you doing this, Andrew?" she finally asks.

"What?"

"Coming on to me."

"I like you," he says matter-of-factly. "I think you're wonderful."

She flushes, a faint pink, before responding. "Thank you, Andrew, I'm flattered. But shouldn't you be asking out girls your own age?"

He shakes his head. "I don't want a girl, Mrs. Gautier. I want a woman," he says firmly, coming closer to her. She backs away, teetering slightly in her heels. He takes her hand, squeezing it, looking into her big brown eyes with earnest.

It is her turn to shake her head. "No. You're a child, Andrew."

"I'm old enough," he says, stubborn as a six-year-old.

"Not old enough for me," she laughs slightly, and his eyebrows crinkle, not dissimilar to the way his father's used to. She smoothes them out, and then pulls back when she remembers. "I think you should get to those beakers," she finally says, pointing to the cluster of glass jars in the corner of the room, some half-full, some empty. A table with cleaning supplies sits next to them, and a sink full of soapy water waits for its service.

Andrew sighs, resigned to a momentary defeat, and goes to begin his work. Unbeknownst to him, she watches from her chair, watching as he scrubs determinedly at the stains, the same crinkle in his eyebrow as he cleans the chemistry equipment from the inside out. Her cheek rests on her hand, and she realizes how much he has in common with his father.

From what she knows, Dorian is happily married to Caroline Winters, a prick like himself. Clearly, he has forgotten everything they talked about over the course of their relationship, most specifically the part about getting to know significant others based on their personality and not their looks. Caroline Winters is one of the rudest women one will find, and of course, because she is drop-dead beautiful and possesses the coveted hourglass figure, Dorian has apparently found his partner for life. Andrew is their only child, and he seems to have inherited the Delaine family traits – hazel eyes, hair as black as night, and the characteristic dimple in his chin.

As Evangeline marks assignments, she comes across his, and, as usual, marks everything correctly. Despite being a mischievous little flirt, he is the best student of the class, and she is secretly proud of him for that. When she initially transferred to this school, her daughter Heather spoke of Andrew. It wasn't until Evangeline had begun teaching him did she realize he was Dorian's son.

"I'm finished, ma'am," he says suddenly, bringing her out of her reverie. She looks up to see a collection of beakers, test tubes and graduated cylinders, all sparkly, clean and dry. The cleaning supplies have been put away, and everything is spic-and-span. For the first time since she's seen Andrew, he looks... disappointed. His eyes are lowered, avoiding her gaze. She feels guilty.

"Andrew –"

"May I leave now, ma'am?" he asks, interrupting her.

She hesitates, and then nods.

Andrew departs, without a glance backwards.

For the next few days of class, Andrew is strangely quiet, and throughout all of his courses, he can hear people whispering about what could be bothering him. The class he used to look forward to is now the one he despises, if not because of the teacher who thinks a relationship with him is laughable. He has never been more hurt in his life than when she laughed at the prospect of dating him. He had honestly believed they could pursue a relationship without any problems, and if they arose, he was willing to make the sacrifices for it to happen. He has really begun to fall hard for this woman, and he won't settle for anything less than her.

Heather, Mrs. Gautier's daughter, has taken a fancy to him, he knows, but he doesn't want a replacement – he wants the real thing. It's how he was raised, and how he runs his life. As he watches his teacher lecture the class, her beautiful curves hidden under the dress she is wearing, her ponytail bobbing with every movement her head makes, he does not daydream about kissing her, does not think about what he could do in this classroom with her.

He only takes notes, occasionally answers questions, and keeps to himself.

After class, Evangeline calls him. While he would usually be excited over the prospect of spending extra time with her, he now only sees it as a nuisance. He keeps his distance, and he's sure she notices.

"Andrew... is something wrong?" she asks, soft and careful.

"No, ma'am," he answers, reserved.

"You haven't been acting like yourself," she says, as if she doesn't know. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm fine. May I go now?"

He doesn't wait for a response. Andrew picks up his books and turns to leave. As he walks to the door, she stops him with a question.

"Andrew, are you angry with me?"

He slowly turns around to look at her. "I think you know exactly what is bothering me, Mrs. Gautier, so please, spare me the fake sympathy."

She breathes out and gestures for him to sit. He does so grudgingly, and she takes a seat across from the Chemistry table he is seated at. Her hands are clasped in front of her.

"Andrew, I like you. I like you very much. You get excellent marks, you help out others – you're the perfect student. But I am married, I have a child, and I can't pursue a relationship with you because of it. If you think I laughed because us being together is a joke, I apologize. That wasn't why. I laughed because I was surprised... surprised that you, a perfectly healthy eighteen-year-old boy, want to be in a relationship with a woman almost twice your age."

"You're only twenty years older than me," he says, hope evident in his voice. "And I don't mind. It just means that you know what you're doing. You're mature, and intelligent, and I can talk to you about anything."

She smiles. "You can do that now. We don't have to be in a relationship for that to happen."

"I know. But I-I want to be able to... do things with you." Andrew appears to be unsure of himself. Evangeline is surprised, because she thought that the Delaines were supposed to be cocky and self-assured people. She is particularly amazed that he is so hesitant to talk about something like sex, especially when his father seemed to have no trouble broaching the subject.

"Like what?" she teases, aware of the fact that she is now encroaching on very dangerous territory.

For the first time since she's known him, he blushes. It's a very bright colour, fire-engine red, and it appears even more so on his pale cheeks. He bites his lip, as if nervous about how much to reveal on the subject of his fantasies.

"I want to-to..."

"Yes?" Evangeline leans forward. Andrew looks up and into her deep brown eyes. He can smell the passion flower perfume she wears, and can see the tiny flowers on the collar of her dress.

"I want to kiss you," he blurts, and she smiles, a little smile, despite herself. He takes this as a good sign, and leans in. Her lips are warm underneath his, and her mouth is still curved up into a smile, even as he kisses her. His fingers brush her chin, looking for some measure of stability, and she takes his entire face into her hands, holding them steady. His senses are being driven wild, by the intensity of her kiss, by her delicious perfume, by her experienced, stable hands on his face, by her eyelashes brushing against his cheeks.

Slowly, she ends the kiss, finally parting with a soft little sigh. Her hands are still holding his face, and he decides that he likes them there. They look at each other for a moment, silence permeating the air around them, before she lets go, and he knows the moment has finally ended.

"Does that satisfy your fantasies?" she asks, fingers laced together under her chin.

He shakes his head, and it is her turn to crinkle her eyebrows. He breaks into a grin suddenly, and she responds with a smile. "It was better. Much better," he says.

"Good."

And with that, she lets him go. He leaves the classroom with very different feelings for his Chemistry teacher. He thanks her for that, knowing it would be the only lesson in love he'd learn from her.

A/N: So. Thoughts? Reviews? =D Hope you enjoyed it.

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