So this is just something random I wrote while dying of boredom at my mother's house this weekend, where everyone is asleep before ten pm. I have no idea where it came from, really. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!
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He hated the holidays.
Growing up with his little brother in his grandfather's household, it had been his favorite time of the year. Back then Christmas had meant wreath-shaped sugar cookies, decorating a massive tree, twinkling lights all over the place and, of course, an abundance of gifts. But now, with his grandfather dead of a heart attack and his brother off making a name for himself on the other side of the world, there didn't seem to be much reason to celebrate. Moreover, there didn't seem to be anyone to celebrate with. He was twenty-seven and, while his professional standing was impressive for someone his age, he lacked family, close friends, and, as of the day after Thanksgiving, he lacked a girlfriend. There was nobody in his life who could really be considered 'holiday-sharing' material.
That explained why he was at the campus library on December 26th—the day after his very solitary and incredibly lonely Christmas. The fall semester had ended and, with the last finals taking place over two weeks ago, the place had long been deserted. Aside from the one middle-aged woman stationed at the checkout desk by the front door, he was the only person around. It was eerie, actually, to wander through aisle after aisle with that scent of dusty old books hanging in the air and see no one. No geeks at the tables, heads permanently bent over a giant textbook. No slackers hunched over the computers, frantically tapping out conclusions of term papers due fifteen minutes ago. No first-year undergrads making out in any of the far aisles. Not a soul except for himself.
Feeling like some sort of freak, he quickly sought out the book he was looking for and, mission accomplished, made his way to the checkout area. He hurriedly flew around a corner just as someone was coming out of the ladies' restroom. Each of them completely not expecting the other, they collided.
Who else could possibly be on campus? And who else would be in the library, of all places?
He wasn't surprised in the least when he got his answer.
At twenty-one years old, she was barely legal to drink but she was nevertheless the smartest graduate student he'd ever had the privilege of teaching. She was absolutely brilliant—a 'certified genius,' as she'd once boasted when she'd come to his office hours seeking advice on a paper—and her learning curve was incredible. Explain a process one time, show her a picture, let her read an article, and she immediately had it committed to memory. And she wasn't one to mindlessly follow the rules, either. She came up with her own challenging theories and inquiries, frequently making him question even himself—something that was hard for many to do because he, like her, had an abnormally high intelligence quotient. Her mind was amazing, and she was eager to learn. She was going to make one hell of a forensic anthropologist one day, he was sure of it.
To top all of that off, she was beautiful. Noticeably nerdy and socially awkward, sure, but still one of the finer women he'd ever seen. He knew it wasn't professional to think about his female students in the way that he occasionally—okay, frequently, especially whenever she came to frazzle his mind with some complex question or theory during an office visit—thought about her, but he would have to be blind not to notice that she was stacked. Breasts, butt, legs…she came with the whole package. Then there was that flat stomach, that silky auburn hair, those flashing blue eyes, and, his favorite, that cute expression of concentration she wore when she was focused on being the best there was at whatever assignment, exam, or paper she was working on.
Beautiful. She was quite simply, beautiful.
"Temperance!" he exclaimed, catching her by the upper arms in order to steady her after their collision, "Fancy seeing you here today."
"Professor Stires! I'm so sorry!" she was blushing, her whole face tinged pink with embarrassment, "I didn't mean to walk into you. I just…I just…I wasn't…looking," she finished lamely, looking up at him as he released her arms.
"Don't worry about it…" he paused, immediately noticing the sad hue to pretty blue eyes that were usually so alive and feisty. They were a little swollen, a little red.
Had she been crying?
"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.
"Yes I…I'm fine," she stammered, "Why do you ask?"
"You look a little off, that's all," he observed. Instead of held high with self-confidence like they usually were, her shoulders looked a little slumped and dejected.
"No…I'm fine," she tried to assure him with a weak smile. A fake smile. He might only be her professor and he might not know her very well personally, but even he could see that, "I'm just a little tired, that's all."
"Well go home and get some rest. You've surely earned that right with your excellent academic performance this past semester," he said with a slight smile, "And what are you doing with all that anyway?" gesturing to the rather large stack of books she clutched against her chest, "Classes don't resume for another month."
At his mention of the books she shifted them slightly, away from her chest. He tried very hard not to notice how the red sweater she was wearing clung to her every curve. And that was a hell of a lot of curves.
God, what he wouldn't give to run his hands up and down her waist. Just a couple of times. He only wanted to do a little mild exploring.
"This isn't for class—" she said quickly. She would have gone on, but he interrupted.
"Oh? Just a bit of light reading on…" he glanced at the title of one of her books, "…Bronislaw Malinowski, then?" he asked teasingly.
His sarcasm went completely over her head.
"Well I would hardly call it light. It's actually quite voluminous. And I'm looking for something besides my job to keep me occupied during the break."
He frowned. Yes, she was a genius, but surely she didn't spend her entire winter break with her head buried in books on the philosophy of one of the fathers of modern cultural anthropology?
"Shouldn't a girl like you be occupied with Santa Claus and family stuff?" he asked, "Why aren't you home? Did your flight get cancelled or delayed by that snowstorm we had last week?"
She shook her head, looking down at the ground and blushing again. This time, her cheeks turned dark red instead of just hinting pink. He could see that he had struck a nerve. She struggled to speak coherently.
"I—No—I'm not—I—um…" were those tears in her eyes? If they were, she blinked them away in a microsecond, "I'm just staying going to stay here for the entire break. They don't close housing for graduate students. We can…stay. If we want to. And my parents, they've, um…they've gone on a trip to…celebrate their anniversary so I just thought I'd stay here and work."
He immediately knew the truth. After all, wasn't he in the same predicament? His heart went out to her, his prettiest, fascinating, most intelligent student who stood before him now visibly trying hard to hold back tears. Poor thing. Her tiny little shoulders were shaking.
He wanted to ask her what had happened to her family—had both of her parents passed away when she was too small to remember them, like his?—but decided against it when she sniffled. She wasn't quite crying yet but, damn, it did something to him to see her like this. She was normally so strong and self-assured. Now she looked three steps away from mental breakdown.
The urge to comfort her was overwhelming, so he did what felt natural. He eased the heavy load of books out of her hands and onto a nearby table and—fuck professor-student boundaries—pulled her into his arms for a reassuring hug.
She resisted.
"Professor Stires I—we—I don't…" she was stammering again. He wondered if she was really this bad when it came to all social situations or if it was just because he was her professor. Finally she took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes again, "I just don't know if that's very…professional…"
"It's only a friendly hug, Temperance. You look like you could use it."
"Well I'm not a very…I don't usually…hug people," she informed him.
"And you also don't usually look on the verge of tears. Come on," he tried again, and this time she stepped into his arms. He moved his hands around to her back as her cheek rested on his shoulder.
Uh oh. He hadn't anticipated that she would feel this good in his arms. He hadn't anticipated that she had such a soft, warm body. He hadn't anticipated how aware he would be of the light weight of her breasts pressed firmly against his chest. And he definitely hadn't anticipated that her smell would be a complete turn on—her perfume was heady and, to him, it seemed to ooze sexuality.
It occurred to him that girl like her would be just what he needed to boost his spirits. He had spent his Christmas Day with a bottle of whiskey at a seedy bar, intoxicating his loneliness into oblivion, and the next few weeks didn't promise anything better. But if he had her…she was so intelligent and so stunningly beautiful that she could keep him satisfied on a mental as well as a physical level. They'd already had a number of brain wars over the course of the fall semester, and now he really wished he was free to touch her, to slide his hands beneath her sweater and see if her skin was really as smooth as it looked, to slip a few fingers beneath her bra and—No! He couldn't think like that. She was his student and she was upset and she was probably very vulnerable and—
But, damn, when she pulled away from him after a few moments and those tears were gone from her eyes—although that sad hue still remained—he felt something go off within him. His eyes settled on her cute lips and he wished he could kiss her right then and there. She probably tasted sweet. He would play with her tongue and savor her flavor for a few moments, then he would place little kisses down her neck. And he'd touch her, of course. He'd caress that perfect ass of hers and rub her nipples until she panted and squirmed in his arms. Then he would take her somewhere—one of the study rooms, his car, his apartment, anywhere—and get the release that he suddenly longed for.
She is my student. I am her professor. She is my student. I am her professor. I am her professor. I am her professor.
"Thank you, Professor Stires," she murmured, taking a step away from him. She looked a little distracted as she slowly collected her books, "I guess I should…be going now."
"Back to your apartment?" at her nod, he continued without really knowing what he was doing or saying or why, "Are you hungry? We can discuss quantum physics while I buy you dinner."
"Um…No, no thank you. I really should go home and…and…sleep. I've got to work early tomorrow."
"Sure, but you gotta eat, don't you?"
"Well, yes. All humans need nourishment in order to sustain life."
"Right. And all humans are also, by nature, social creatures. We seek comfort in each other and—"
"I don't need comfort."
"I never said you did. Maybe I'm the one craving interaction with another human being right now," he flashed her his best charm smile and gently touched her forearm, "Come on, Temperance. There's no one waiting for me at my apartment, and I'm fairly certain that there's no one waiting for you at yours. Why should we eat alone when we can eat together? As associates, of course. Nothing more than that."
She hesitated, her eyes lingering on his face, and he could see that she was thinking about it. That good old charm smile worked for him every time. He knew he was a handsome man, and ladies often found it irresistible—even when he was promising that they would be nothing more than two friends sharing a meal.
"Oh…okay. But you're not paying for me. I'm buying."
"What? For both of us?"
"Yes."
"Temperance, I am a gentleman. I will not allow a woman to pay for my meals."
"That is chauvinistic bullshit."
"It's basic manners."
"In this society."
"What other society do you see us in? We're not flying to the Amazon for a meal…" she was glaring at him. He sighed, "Fine. Compromise: we'll split the bill in half."
She smiled a little.
"Fine. I can agree to that."
He smiled also as she turned and began walking in ahead of him towards the checkout area, her backside swaying tantalizingly with every step she took. He absent-mindedly watched her move for a moment before he realized what he was doing and mentally slapped himself.
She is my student. I will keep this professional. She is my student. I will keep this professional. I will keep this professional. I will keep this professional...