"(Y/N) (L/N), will you pay attention!"

You jumped, chin slipping off your palm and smacking into your desk. Instantly, your face went a brilliant shade of red, though it had little to do with the snickers from your classmates. It had much more to do with the fact that your extremely attractive history teacher was glowering down at you from the other side of your desk.

"I-I'm sorry, Mr. Zwingli, sir," you squeaked, cheeks burning.

"You will see me after class," he barked, then returned to the front of the classroom to continue his lecture.

Not that you heard much of it. You lapsed back into what you had been doing before: studying your teacher rather than the subject material. You couldn't help it; he was absolutely perfect. His heavy blonde hair kept falling across his forehead, and his green eyes kept catching the light hypnotically, sending you into a sort of fascinated trance. His thick Swiss accent washed over you, even if you didn't take in a single word of what he was actually saying, and you could tell he did some sort of workout from the muscles outlined underneath his military jacket. Almost without realizing it, you found yourself fantasizing about what he'd look like without his jacket . . . and his shirt, for that matter.

"(Y/N)!"

You blinked, returning to reality with a slight bump. The bell must have sounded, because you and Switzerland were the only two people in the classroom. For a moment, you wondered how long you'd been staring at him like a lovesick puppy, but then you decided firmly that you probably didn't want to know.

Switzerland was seated behind his desk, and you noted with significant interest that his military jacket was now draped over the back of his chair, revealing him to be wearing a simple black tank top.

Your heart rate increased. He definitely worked out, and you could barely resist the urge to run your hands over every centimeter of his chest. Instead, you meekly approached his desk.

"(Y/N), would you mind telling me why you haven't been paying attention in my class?"

"I . . . I was distracted, sir."

"All week?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"What could possibly be that distracting?"

"U-um . . ."

"Well?" he barked.

"You, sir."

It was his turn to look surprised. The he slowly stood up and paced to his door. Your pulse quickened as he carefully shut and locked it. When he turned back to you, there was a glimmer in his eyes that had nothing to do with the way the light caught them.

"Oh?" He moved closer to you. "How am I distracting you, (Y/N)?"

You blushed. "W-well, you're very attractive, and‒"

"So are you."

Your breath caught in your throat. He was very close, surely closer than was natural.

"S-sir‒"

"Basch."

"W-what?"

"My name is Basch."

"I-I . . ."

He placed a hand on your waist, and you were startled into silence.

"What would you say, (Y/N), if I said you distracted me too?"

Something beyond self-consciousness sputtered into life inside you.

"Nothing," you said, placing your hands on his shoulders with a slight smirk. "I wouldn't say one darn thing. I would, however, do this."

You pressed your lips against his, savoring the soft feeling and the hinted flavour of chocolate that you found there. Somewhat to your surprise, he deepened the kiss, sliding his hands from your waist to your hips. He brought his lips from yours and began kissing his way down your neck, making you gasp in surprise and delight.

"Mm, Basch~" you whispered, tangling the fingers of one hand in his soft blonde hair. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"No more than you do," he growled, nipping your earlobe. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Hell no," you breathed, sliding your free hand down his chest.

He progressed his way down your neck, lingering on that one spot that made you squirm, then proceeded to kiss his way lower. Unfortunately, the shirt of your school uniform didn't allow him to get very far. Impatiently, you nudged him off of you and stripped off the inconvenient garment, tossing it heedlessly over your shoulder. As he simply stood there, staring at your chest, you smirked.

"I still have my bra on," you teased. "You haven't got a reason to stare just yet."

"Oh, yes, I have," he growled, tackling you to the floor.

You weren't particularly sure just when he wrestled you out of your bra, but the next thing that registered solidly in your lust-clouded brain was his hands on your chest, touching your breasts in a way that drove you positively mad with arousal. You tugged insistently at his shirt, and he detached his hands and lips from you just long enough for you to pull it over his head and fling it aside. You nearly moaned with longing at the sight of him in nothing but his increasingly tight slacks. This was far better than anything in your topless daydreams . . .

He was on top of you once more in a matter of seconds, and this time it was your school uniform's pants he stripped off. You didn't give him a chance to get at your panties, but wrestled him around so that you were on top for the moment.

"These look awfully tight," you said innocently, running a finger over his slacks. "Shouldn't you take them off?"

"You never gave me a chance to."

With a soft bump, he pushed you off of him and swiftly stripped off his pants and boxers, leaving you to stare at what the hindering garments had concealed. He kissed you again, and you eagerly met his lips, squirming in anticipation for what had to come next.

"Nervous?" His voice was a low rumble against your lips, and you felt his strong hands grip your shoulders.

You smirked against his skin. "Do I look like a virgin to you, Basch?"

"Good," he growled nipping your lower lip. "Because I'm not going to treat you like one."

His words sent a sudden thrill through you, and he wrestled you onto your back again, slipping your panties down your hips and haphazardly flinging them to the side. He didn't waste any time, and you made a rather undignified sound of pleasure as he slid into you. True to his word, he didn't start off slow or gentle, and you quickly felt something tightening inside you.

"B-Basch!" you gasped, wrapping your arms around his chest. "I-I‒"

"I ‒ know‒" His breath was coming in ragged spasms now, and his fingernails dug into your flesh slightly.

One hard thrust later, and you let his name fall from your lips in several broken syllables as the ever-tightening knot within you broke with a shudder. In a few more thrusts, you felt something hot spread inside you. With a soft grunt, he rolled over to lay next to you, brushing your hair aside from your face as he did so.

"(Y/N) . . ."

You looked up at him. "Yes?"

"Pay better attention in class from now on, alright? I'm not going to play favourites just because I like you."

Chuckling, you wrapped your arms around his chest and kissed the tip of his nose teasingly. "Of course, Mr. Basch."

A/N: For Pete's sake, people! This isn't illegal. It isn't pedophilia. He's one of the reader's college teachers! Anyone young enough to be in high school should NOT be reading this.