Sixty-seven percent

Sixty-seven percent

By The Chichi Slaughter House

Warnings: Shonen-ai, i.e. gay (homosexual) relationship between males, original characters, mushy.

All characters and backgrounds in this story are purely fictional and copyrighted to me. Not that anyone would bother to steal them anyway…

--

Sixty-seven percent overall.

What a stupid number.

He needed seventy or higher, but no; he was stuck with this almost-there-but-far-away number that drove him to the edge of insanity and caused him to swear darkly.

“Fuck.” Agitated beyond belief, he glared at the number on his computer screen as if it were its fault for what had occurred. He shouldn’t have to put up with this, and he knew that he was going to spend the whole of the next year berating the innocents to try and make them achieve the desired percentage – or higher, if he could manage it – though the failure of the previous year’s students had nothing to do with them.

Al Jones was a high-school science teacher in a school where teachers meeting targets meant more than the kids themselves doing well. It didn’t matter how many children you had gotten above their target grade as long as enough of them got As to Cs that would make a seventy percent rate per teacher, and, subsequently, for their department.

The rate that Al was currently getting so pissed over was his personal rate. He hadn’t even looked at the overall departmental one yet from both anger at the number he had received and also fear that everyone else in his department would have hit the right mark. In that case, his percentage would have dragged down that of the department to just under what they needed, and he would be a huge letdown to all of them.

It was times like this that he envied the optional subjects; art, history, geography…whatever else that the kids who went chose to do themselves. With a lower amount of pupils to teach, it was obvious that their scores would reflect better than his own as the students would work harder on the things that they liked, and the subject he worked in was one that was not liked by everyone.

Gritting his teeth, he poured himself another glass of wine, drinking it as quickly as he smoked a fresh cigarette, unable to think of a way to express his disappointment in the number except anger and self-destructive procedures. Scowling to himself, he leaned back from his screen and began to undo the neck-tie he was wearing, taking care to fold it and put it on the side as he got up, starting to get changed.

The annoyance and disappointment, he felt, was almost too hard for him to bear, and as he reached for his phone, a loud knocking sounded on the door of his one-bed flat. Surprised, he went to open the door, forgetting his state of half-dress as he opened the door to see his lover standing there, smiling at him.

“Hi…” The voice that met his ears was the one he liked best, and it, combined with the disarming smile on his partner’s face caused him to smile himself and step to the side to allow the frequent visitor into his apartment, watching with interest as the first thing that his lover did was sit on his bed, smirking at him a little. It was then that he realised his shirt was hanging open, his cheeks heating slightly at the image his messy hair and clothing would give off. Swallowing and brushing off his shyness, he went back to his computer, once again making faces at the percentage that was causing all of his unease.

Arms wound around his neck and a body pressed to his back, which he gladly pressed into, looking to the side to face his long-time partner properly, seeing the playful expression that he loved so much.

“Hm?”

“I don’t need an excuse to hold my boyfriend, do I?” A pout adorned his lover’s face, and he could not help but widen his smile and turn to kiss those beautiful lips before answering.

“Of course not, Jason.” His boyfriend’s lips brushed over his ear teasingly, causing him to shiver in pleasure from the feeling, his smile still not leaving his lips.

“What’s wrong then?” The warm breath flowed over his skin and distracted him for a moment until he heard a gentle intake of breath that was obviously the other man smelling his hair. Reaching a hand up to tangle in the messy jet locks his lover’s head offered him, he leaned back further and gestured at the screen in front of him, his voice sounding dejected, even to himself.

“I got the results of my classes today.”

“And?” The curiosity in his boyfriend’s voice was not faked, he could tell. Neither was the interest that his younger lover had been showing in his job for months. At every possible moment, Jason took the time to ask about his job, how the students were doing, and every other little thing to do with the school as possible. Al himself found this rather endearing that there was any interest at all, knowing that it had probably started because of how important his job was to him from the start.

He and Jason had met in a gay bar in the town centre when the older man had come in for a drink, not really expecting anything inside the building. He, however, was not as bigoted as his parents or grandparents had been, and had decided to stay for at least one drink when the younger of the pair had come to talk to him, all smiles. Despite the fact that Al had told him that he didn’t think he was interested in men, Jason had pressured him a little for his number and address, on the premise that they would just be friends, and Al, who had rarely any friends in his life, had given in.

Months down the line, Al had found himself physically and intellectually attracted to the other man; mainly because of the intelligence and wit that Jason had displayed to him throughout the friendship. One night, he had leaned in close and started to kiss him when the younger of the two had pulled back and asked if it was really what he wanted. A millisecond was all it took for Al to think it through, and before he knew it, they were naked and touching each other on his bed.

And he had not regretted it for a second.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Al remembered that he needed to answer the other’s question, doing so in a mumble.

“…I needed seventy percent.” The arms about his shoulders and neck tightened their grip after a moment, both comforting and shaming him at the fact that his results were low.

“If it’s any consolation…” Jason said quietly, as if he was nervous of what he was about to divulge. “…you have a hundred percent of my love.”

Shocked, he turned to look at the other man, never having heard something of the sort from his boyfriend’s mouth before, aware that his eyes must be wider than usual. Jason, usually not the sort to be embarrassed about anything, turned his face to the side, cheeks going redder under the gaze he was being given and making Al feel more infatuated with him than ever before.

Seconds later, they were kissing, and he had pushed his younger lover properly to the bed, crouching over him as his fingers stumbled on the buttons of the other man’s shirt, so caught up in his feeling of passion that he did not think about anything else.

If he had checked the science department’s marks, he would have found that he had scored the highest of all the teachers.