#threnn

“Thrawn.” 

Thrawn started in his seat, abruptly realizing his name had already been called several times. He’d been dreamily watching Mr. Nisien lecturing— distracted in turns by the hint of dark chest hair peeking past the top of the teacher’s shirt; the silvery-grey streaks at his temples and that strong, lightly stubbled jaw; the way his mouth and throat moved while he spoke with that mesmerizingly low, warm, rumbling voice— and hadn’t been listening to what the teacher had actually been saying. 

Again. 

“I’m… sorry, sir. What- what was the question?” Thrawn stammered, desperately trying to fight down the hot blush creeping into his cheeks from both the titters of his classmates and the sound of his teacher sternly barking his name. 

Mr. Nisien raised an eyebrow at him. “Perhaps I ought to ask someone who’s been paying attention, instead. Ronan?” 

Sighing, Thrawn fought the urge to slouch down in his chair in embarrassment as Ronan immediately began droning on in that irritating know-it-all voice. He’d always done just fine in all his classes before— it was only this year, and only in Chemistry, that he constantly lost the ability to focus. And all because he couldn’t stop his mind wandering to extremely distracting fantasies about the unfairly attractive sixth form science teacher. 

He wasn’t called on again, fortunately, and spent the rest of the period trying with partial success to will away his usual persistent half-erection before he had to stand up to leave. When the bell rang, he started shoving everything into his bag with no small measure of relief, listening with half an ear as the teacher called out homework reminders over the bustle and general hubbub of twenty-odd students packing up books and binders and already chattering amongst themselves. 

“Not you, Thrawn,” Mr. Nisien said firmly, catching Thrawn’s eyes just as he started making his way up the aisle towards the door. “A word.”