Don't Stand So Close To Me
by R2s Muse
Disclaimer: Dragon Age characters belong to Bioware. I'm just borrowing.
A/N: Inspired by feylen's amazing modern Cullen fanart (link in my profile), the song "Don't Stand So Close to Me" (so you know, beware!), and the awesome BSN Cullen thread. The story resulted from imagining seeing that picture every day at your (academic) workplace. This 'hot for teacher' idea took hold of me and wouldn't stop 'til I'd written it. Special thanks to Feylen for permission, and to meanieweenie and curiousartemis for reviewing it for me (but the blame is all mine!).
Tags: NSFW, cullen x f!amell, modern AU, college AU, angst, sexual tension, Cullen Rutherford, Solona Amell, Anders, student-teacher taboo, wet bus stop, she's waiting, this car is warm and dry, did I mention student-teacher taboo?
Cullen Rutherford turned back to the blackboard and started writing, preferring the visceral slip of the chalk on his fingers to the Arial glare of powerpoint. "Thomas Hobbes' masterwork on the philosophy of security versus freedom was called Leviathan," he said. He started writing the word Leviathan but then hesitated at the spelling, confusing the order of the vowels again. "l – e – v – i – a . . ." he spelled aloud, touching each letter in turn for the amusement of his students who laughed behind him.
He turned back to face the class and as a group they visibly perked up, some leaning in. "Leviathan established the foundation of social contract theory, whereby a people choose to give up certain freedoms in their governance in order to gain security and stability. So who can tell me what Leviathan is?" A half dozen hands shot up, mostly female.
He pointed to Lily who sat up straight and said somewhat breathlessly, "A biblical sea creature from the Old Testament."
The man next to her with dark floppy hair falling across his forehead chuckled. "Or a lousy movie from the eighties. Featuring a biblical sea creature. And Peter Weller before his star faded," Jowan said smugly, and Lily smiled at him before turning her rapt attention back to Cullen.
"But what does it tell us that the word leviathan also has these darker biblical connotations?" Cullen said leadingly, tried to draw them out.
More hands. "Because . . ." started one woman who flipped her hair instead of answering and then just giggled at him and shrugged. Cullen sighed inwardly. Freshmen.
He looked around. "Anyone who has done the reading?" he said drily. All hands went down and he heard a few more giggles.
Cullen sighed in disappointment and reached up to unbutton the top button of his shirt underneath the tie he always wore. The tie was the most obvious vestige of his Britishness, he was told by his flip-flop-wearing American colleagues. Despite being barely older than the grad students due to his education in a different system, Cullen was apparently still considered rather square.
A woman in the front row started to fan herself with one hand.
At last, one more hand rose straight and tall. Without thinking he smiled and a few women in the front row turned around and glared daggers at the cause. But she ignored them and waited patiently for him to call on her. Because he always did. "Miss Amell?"
She crossed her hands primly on her desk and paused for a fraction of a second before answering. He always wondered why she did this. Was she trying to remember what she wanted to say? Mentally preparing her usually clever comment? Ensuring she had his full attention? Whether the latter was her intention or not, she inevitably succeeded.
Tall, lithe, smart, with direct blue eyes and straight brown hair that fell in a wave to the middle of her back, Solona Amell always had his attention. She was one of those students who excelled at everything she had tried her hand at so far, including the Honors seminar they had made him teach his very first semester at Circle U. Her strong performance in the class quickly brought her to his attention. Her talent and indefinable allure kept her there, for reasons he wasn't ready to examine.
He had suggested she follow up the seminar with this course, which served as a gateway to the major, in the hope that he could eventually recruit her as a Political Science major. Physics was also trying to recruit her, with Old Wynne already using the "we need more women in science" argument. But Cullen was playing to win.
Solona re-crossed her long tanned legs, the action drawing his attention, and lending more credence to his theory, before she spoke. "Leviathan also refers to the State as absolute sovereign, drawing a parallel that while government can better the people's lives, it can also become monstrous when it inevitably removes some of their basic freedoms."
The man slouching in the chair next to her snorted and propped up his feet on the desk in front of him. His shoulder-length blond hair was pulled into a messy half ponytail that was a study of intentional disarray. "Hobbes still supported the notion of absolute sovereignty. Without their freedoms, the people are just slaves," Anders said without raising his hand.
"But without government, the world turns into chaos and Lord of the Flies," Solona retorted.
"Good movie," Jowan commented randomly.
"There would be no safety, Hobbes argues," Solona continued, "no commerce, no industry." She glanced at Jowan. "No movie theaters." Jowan beamed at her.
Cullen would love to let Solona continue her take down of Anders's hawkishness, but the bell began to toll outside in the quad. "Yes, well, we'll continue this discussion next Monday. In the meantime, please don't forget to read Chapter 4. And Chapter 3, if you haven't already." He gave the class an arch look over the rim of his heavy tortoise shell glasses, and some of them actually had the grace to grin bashfully. One woman, however, actually licked her lips.
He was immediately surrounded by students asking for things. An extension on an assignment. What will be on the exam. An accommodation for the exam. Private tutoring. More private tutoring. A few women merely stood quietly and blinked at him, which he still found unnerving.
Since starting his first faculty position here at Circle University last semester, he'd encountered some odd behavior from the Americans. Like the flock of women who signed up for his courses, but seemed to have little interest in Political Science. He assumed it was because his courses satisfied some general education requirement, but that grad student Carroll laughingly told him that one sorority on campus was requiring Cullen's course for all the new Pledges. Whatever that meant.
Perhaps this was why he appreciated Solona Amell, who seemed interested in—and talented with—the subject matter. He glanced up over the crowd and saw that she had not left yet, but instead sat at her desk, watching. Their eyes met and a spark ran down his spine. A slow smile spread across her face.
"Professor Rutherford!" cried Lily, stepping physically into his line of sight. "I hope you'll still be able to come speak to my Bible group? You said you might be freer around Spring Break?"
"Um. I-I-I suppose. I will still have to check my calendar," he deflected.
Jowan rolled his eyes. "Just send him an email. Let's go!"
Lily turned to go with Jowan, but looked back at Cullen with beseeching brown eyes. "Don't forget, Professor!"
Cullen nodded at her absently and started to slide his notes into his beat-up leather satchel in the hope that it would signal the final end of class and encourage the students to leave. It seemed to be working as he repeated a few more times, "My office hours are on Thursdays. Check the syllabus." He stepped away from the desk in the direction of the door.
"Dr. Rutherford." The low voice was practically in his ear.
Cullen spun in surprise to find that Solona had finally approached him, standing close enough that he almost bowled her over. He automatically reached out to place a steadying hand on her arm, but then snatched it away once he realized what he had done.
"Pardon me," he mumbled.
"Oh, it's okay," she said, appearing oddly pleased. Behind her, Anders scowled and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.
"I was hoping you might have time to talk with me about my term paper," she said. "I wanted some feedback on my ideas before I get too far along."
Cullen swallowed. "Of course." He took a prudent step back. "Of course, Solona." Anything for you, he stopped himself from saying.
She took a half-step nearer, following him. "That would be wonderful," she murmured. "Would you have time now?"
"Y-yes." He winced, remembering that he was supposed to be editing a manuscript this evening.
Anders made a rude noise behind them. "I'm not waiting around, Solona. You'll need to find your own ride home then."
"Fine," she shot back without a glance at Anders.
Anders stomped off, leaving Cullen suddenly alone with her.
"Do . . . do you want to talk here, or . . . or can we go to your office?" she asked, biting her too pink lip.
He rubbed the back of his neck and smeared chalk on his collar again. "I think there's another class in here in a few minutes, so yes, why don't we go to my office upstairs."
The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. "Perfect."
He shouldered his bag and motioned for her to precede him out the classroom door, while he pushed his glasses into place on his nose. He looked around the room once, out of habit to ensure he hadn't left anything behind, but this time it felt more like stalling as he gathered his courage.
They were silent at first walking down the hall to the stairwell. He cleared his throat. "So, um, how are things? I mean, how is the semester treating you?" He held open the door to the stairwell for her.
"Good," she said. She slipped past him and accidentally brushed against his chest. When he could breathe again he followed her up the stairs, trying to ignore the sway of snug white denim before him.
"Thermodynamics is harder than I expected," she continued, "but my other classes are going pretty well." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Political Science is still my favorite, though."
He smiled and almost tripped on the next step. "Let's hope you say that after you finish your term paper."
After one of her thoughtful pauses, she said, "Oh, I'm sure I will."
Luckily, he was saved from answering by their arrival at the landing for his floor. "Through here," he instructed, and soon he was unlocking his door.
His small assistant professor's office was a disaster. Seven months later, and he still hadn't finished unpacking. A stack of boxes gathered dust in the corner, the top box opened but not completely emptied. The only thing he'd almost finished was the arrangement of his books, which now filled the shelves attached across one wall. On the opposite wall was a framed map of the geopolitical borders of Europe circa 1914.
He dropped his bag next to his desk and she followed him in, closing the door behind her. A frisson of panic shot through him when the door thumped shut. "Please, take a seat," he said, waving at the chair in front of his desk before he re-opened the door without comment and this time left it ajar. Just to be on the safe side.
He ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat again. "So." He sat down, mostly glad to have the desk between them. "What can I do for you?"
She just looked at him until his cheeks warmed as his question sunk in. "I mean, right," he stammered, "your paper."
She smiled. "Yes. I have an outline and I've started writing." She scooted forward slightly to sit on the edge of her chair. "We've talked a lot about Hobbes and the historical roots of arguments about national security, and I know the assignment said we should focus on one of the things we've read in class. But," she said, taking a deep breath, "I wanted to find out if it was okay for me to apply these ideas to a more modern context instead."
He wasn't sure what he had expected her to say, but he was pleasantly surprised. "I ask students to stick to the in-class texts because most do not have the writing or analytical skill yet to tackle the broader context." She looked a little crestfallen before he added, "But I think you could."
She immediately brightened. "Really?"
"Why don't you tell me about your idea?"
She launched into a variant of an argument he had overhead her having with Anders, another brilliant student but who lacked Solona's academic focus in favor of more activist tendencies. Hers was a well-reasoned thesis about the tradeoff between personal freedoms versus the greater good. She succeeded in winding up Anders every time they got into it, since he seemed to be a proponent of freedom no matter the cost. In contrast, she had a more starkly pragmatic approach similar to Cullen's own.
Cullen leaned back in his chair and listened with part of his attention, while the other part appreciated how her face lit up and her cheeks flushed when she became impassioned. She was normally more reserved in class, typically speaking up to answer only when no one else could, which happened often. But this was a different side to her.
She stayed perched on the edge of the chair and spoke animatedly, her hands cutting through the air to emphasize her points. Seeing the passion in her arguments, the way her words tumbled breathlessly as she warmed to her subject, he couldn't help but imagine alternate scenarios for making her breath catch.
He jerked upright in his chair to shake that inappropriate train of thought.
Once she finished, he offered his own suggestions of other books and scholars she might want to consult. She wrote down everything he said, and he found himself starting to speak in slower, pithier soundbites so she could catch them all.
As if your words are so important, he mentally chided himself. But he didn't stop.
"So, that's what other people say on the topic," she said. "What do you say?"
"I beg your pardon?" he asked, intrigued.
"Well." She took in his wall of books before turning back. "I know you've written on this as well. I read your book."
She read my book.
His whole body warmed at the thought. She couldn't possibly know the effect her statement had on him. Or maybe she could, because she was studying him carefully.
He didn't think he was this vain.
"Y-you did?" he asked in astonishment, wondering if she was just saying it to flatter him.
She nodded. "It's why I signed up for your seminar last semester. I was looking forward to meeting you."
His brows rose at this admission. "I . . . had no idea. I didn't know you had such a longstanding interest in the field."
"I have many interests," she said, gazing at him steadily.
Suddenly there wasn't enough air in the room. He grabbed his tie by the knot and loosened it to breathe more easily. He wasn't quite sure what they were talking about anymore, but it made him grateful he had left the door open. And annoyed.
"It might sound silly, but Dr. Rutherford . . ." She paused, searching for her next words.
"Please, you can call me Cullen."
She smiled. "Cullen," she said slowly, trying it out. He liked the way it sounded in her low alto. "I was wondering . . . would you, um . . . sign my book?"
He gave a bark of nervous laughter. "You can't be serious."
Her smile crumpled into a lopsided grimace in an odd combination of amusement and embarrassment. "Yes, I'm serious," she said a little defensively. "Surely someone has asked you for this before?"
His mouth worked silently for a moment. "Honestly, no, Solona. You'd be the first."
"Well then." She dug around in her backpack and then walked around to his side of the desk to hand him a well-thumbed hardback copy of his book. She looked him in the eye as she said, "I'd like to be your first." There was a slight tremor in her voice as she added, "Cullen."
He almost choked as his throat went dry. At the same time, heat lanced down every nerve and he was painfully aware of just how close she was standing. There was no mistaking her implication this time and he cursed the open door. And blessed it for stopping him from doing something he would regret.
For a distraction, he examined the book. Her copy still had the tattered dustcover with the picture of his younger self gazing enigmatically from the back cover, chin resting jauntily on his hand. His hair had been longer in the front then from his student days, and he had still owned that checkered sports jacket. In the photo he also gazed boldly over the rim of his glasses, as he still often did, a reminder of the youthful confidence Cullen rarely felt these days.
He pursed his lips. "As you wish," he said gamely, smirking with the righthand corner of his mouth. He grabbed a sharpie pen from his desk drawer and flipped the book open to the title page. Blood of the Peacekeepers: The currency of national security by Cullen Stanton Rutherford, it declared, the title a pretentious holdover from his dissertation.
"To Solona," he wrote, flicking a warm glance at her as he wrote. "My first fan. Cullen."
Her teeth bit into her lower lip, tugging it into her mouth.
He held the book out to her and she took it, sliding her hand down the spine until one of her fingers brushed against his in a subtle movement that was hardly accidental. She released her lip from between her teeth and it glistened delectably.
He froze, still connected to the book, connected to her. Then he felt it again, an electric spark as her fingertip ghosted along his. The touch was so light that it took the second occurrence for him to believe it was deliberate.
He locked eyes with her and saw an answering heat and longing. Also hesitance and fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of crossing the line.
Justifiable fear.
If his infatuation wasn't completely one sided, then he was in serious trouble. Panic quaked deep inside him. He could lose his job for something like this. And catastrophically damage this woman and her career.
He yanked his hand back like it was on fire, startling her into almost dropping the book. She colored and took a step back, holding the book tightly against her chest and stammering a mortified, "Um. Thank you."
He cleared his throat while his heart rate tried to return to normal. "Um, no, thank you." He rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. "This is probably the only time in my career that I'll get to do that."
"Oh, I doubt that very much," she said, still clutching the book to her breast. His own inscrutable gaze mocked him from the back of the book between her hands.
Every response that rose to his lips felt inappropriate.
Touching even one reader is enough.
Touching you is all I could ask.
I'd like to touch you more.
Wisely, he said nothing.
"I . . . should probably go," she murmured reluctantly. "Thank you for meeting with me." She eyed him and hesitated.
He rose from his chair and she was so close that he towered over her. He heard a small intake of breath, but she didn't move back. She now had to look up at him, those fathomless blue eyes drawing him in.
"I . . ." He swallowed. "Thank you for coming by, Solona. I think your paper will end up being something really special. I look forward to reading it." He wasn't even sure what he was saying at this point, only trying to delay her departure. His voice sounded rough to his ears.
She gazed at him and only nodded wordlessly.
"If you need anything else, please don't hesitate to come again." Please.
She nodded again and breathed, "I will." Her eyes searched his face, settling rather obviously on his mouth. She swayed slightly toward him.
It took all his will power not to close the short distance between them. Not to crush her against him in an unending kiss. To hear her gasp his name again and again. His blood pounded in his ears.
Without looking away, she slowly extended her hand. "Good bye."
He tore his gaze downward to her proffered hand. A simple gesture, seemingly safe, but that offered much more. Like his chance to touch her without repercussion.
He took it.
He marveled at how his larger hand fit around hers, enveloping it. Her fingers closed almost convulsively on his, a strong yet intimate grip. He imagined those hands hot against his skin. Tangling in his hair. Raking down his back.
He couldn't let go, so finally, she slid her hand out of his, fingertips trailing slowly across his palm as she stepped back. A shock ran through him straight to his groin.
"Good bye," he finally managed to choke out.
She smiled, a sort of sad upturn of her lips, and took a few more steps backward before turning to gather her things. She shouldered her backpack and he followed her to the door. She paused on the threshold, her hand resting on the edge of the door, and gave him another long look before slipping out.
He shut the door behind her, bracing against it with an outstretched arm, and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and released it raggedly. He took two more cleansing breaths, but they weren't enough to cool the blood pulsing through his veins. Or purge the lingering imprint of her skin on his.
He was going to the special sort of hell for these feelings, but at the moment he didn't care. He had just escaped doing something far worse, and didn't feel the relief that should have come from doing the right thing.
Saints preserve him.
ooXXoo
He had given up on getting more work done in his office, so he packed up and hoped he could concentrate on that manuscript once he was home and away from reminders of Solona Amell.
The crack of thunder above his head as he stepped out of the building was his first indicator that it had started storming outside. The wind whipped the rain sideways rendering umbrellas useless, even if he had remembered one. He ran across the parking lot to his car and threw his bag into the backseat as he clambered inside.
Once inside, he took off his rain-spattered glasses so that he could see clearly, setting them down to drip into the cup holder. He couldn't dry them with his shirt, which was also wet, but luckily his vision wasn't so bad that he needed them in order to drive. He wiped the water from his face as best he could with his hands and started the car.
The rain was sheeting down in an impenetrable wall, making it difficult to see very far ahead, particularly now that the sun was dipping toward the cloud-obscured horizon. He pulled out of his parking spot and carefully navigated the busy crush of cars from the increase in rainy-day drivers. But, when his turn finally came to turn left out of the parking lot, he scanned the intersection and saw something unexpected through the haze.
Standing alone at the bus stop to his right was Solona. She huddled, shoulders hunched and arms wrapped around herself, under the tiny bus shelter that afforded little protection from the wind-whipped rain. Her wet hair was plastered around her face, and her pink sweater and white jean shorts were steadily becoming soaked and more form fitting.
Cullen only now recalled that she must have lost her ride home with Anders when she decided to come to his office. Now he felt even guiltier.
He sat at the stop sign for a minute longer, conflicted. There was certainly no way to leave the door prudently open in his car. His very private, personal car.
He looked over at her again. She glanced down the street in the direction from which the bus must be coming, but she didn't see him. He could still drive away. And the bus would come eventually.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, while the left turn blinker flashed at him. Someone behind him honked at the delay.
He swore softly and turned right.
He pulled up in front of the bus stop and Solona frowned suspiciously at the car, peering through the water obscuring his windows. He lowered the passenger-side window and leaned toward it.
"Solona?"
Her eyes widened when she recognized him, and her mouth opened into a soundless "O." She stepped out into the rain again and approached the car slowly, almost like in a daze. He felt suddenly naked without his glasses as she stared at him.
"Hi?" she said in an uncertain, distracted voice, tilting her head so she could see him through the open window.
"Looks like you might need a ride?" he said with the same uncertainty.
"Um." She paused and bit her lower lip. "Are you sure?"
Am I sure?
That really was the question, and she knew it. Wherever the line was between personal and professional, teacher and student, this would be the closest they had come to crossing it.
Was he sure? Definitely not.
The rain glistened from her eyelashes and her blue eyes had darkened, like a reflection of the stormy sky in windswept seas. The sheen of water on her skin just made her more luminous, and his fingers yearned to skim across her cheek.
Lightning flashed above her head and the immediate report was so loud that she jumped and glanced upwards fearfully. The storm was right overhead.
"Get in," he said brusquely.
"But, Doct—uh, Cullen—?"
"Get in," he repeated, ignoring the warning bells in his head that tried to overthink the consequences.
She opened the door and slipped onto the leather passenger seat. The wet denim squeaked from the wriggle of her hips sliding across leather. She glanced at him sidelong, the beads of water standing endearingly like freckles on her cheekbones, and a small smile played on her lips.
The quiet thud of the door shutting echoed loudly in his conscience.
ooXXoo
"Oh, you should ask Miss Amell!" said the woman who always sat in the front row but never spoke up in class. She batted her eyelashes innocently at Cullen and gave him a catty smile.
Before Cullen could call on someone else to answer his question, the woman beside the first spoke up. "Miss Amell must know," she agreed in an affected voice, looking over her shoulder at Solona.
Another woman rolled her eyes and shot a sly glance at Solona. "Oh, yes, surely Miss Amell knows," she purred.
Solona turned alternately white and then red, and now her lips had thinned to a line. But, before she could retort, and before Cullen could think of a way to redirect their venom, Anders jumped in and answered the question instead, glaring at the girls in the front row.
Cullen felt helpless in the face of the vitriol directed at Solona. There had always been an undertone of resentment, but in the week since he had given her a ride home, the animosity had come out into the open. He didn't know how everyone knew what had happened, or thought they knew what had happened, but that didn't really matter anymore. Now it was whispered down hallways, laughed about behind hands, and angrily dissected after class.
He reached up to loosen his tie before remembering that he wasn't wearing one, just an old knitted gray cardigan he had thrown over a white undershirt when attempting to get to class on time.
The bell finally rang outside and Cullen had never been more relieved to hear it. He quickly gave a few parting instructions, and then fled, head down, back to his office, deflecting all questions with a curt, "Office hours are on Thursday." He didn't spare a glance for Solona anymore.
Cullen's interactions with her had gone from complicated to toxic. Solona unfortunately bore the brunt of it from the students, since she was an easier target. Apparently the harassment didn't stop outside of class either, according to that grad student Carroll.
Carroll had been a bit too keen to keep Cullen informed about the students' opinions of Solona, ultimately waxing eloquent—and lewd—on his own opinions of her. For Carroll, it must have been some attempt to ingratiate himself with Cullen.
For Cullen, that had been the last straw.
Cullen reached his office and sat down with a sigh at his desk, dropping his head into his hands. He winced at the unbidden memory of how he had grabbed Carroll by the front of his shirt and slammed the cheeky punk up against the wall. Carroll had emerged unhurt, save having the wind knocked out of him, but as far as the gossips were concerned, Cullen had just confirmed every salacious rumor.
As far as the administration was concerned, Cullen was lucky Carroll had claimed the incident never happened, the coward. With no charges from Carroll and only whispers of rumor and hearsay about Solona, Cullen had thankfully escaped with no more than a talk from the department chair. Greagoir had told him something avuncular and sexist about how "boys will be boys" that turned Cullen's stomach. But he was still glad that there would be no formal black marks in his tenure file.
A tentative knock came at his door, quiet at first and then louder when he didn't answer right away.
"Come in," he called.
The door swung open just enough to admit Solona, who slipped inside and promptly closed the door again behind her. She leaned back against it, hands still on the doorknob at the small of her back, and observed him warily from across the room.
He should be hyper vigilant about the door now, but he couldn't bring himself to worry about it today. Open or shut didn't matter. He had already been judged, and frankly, the privacy was a comfort when the whole department was talking about him.
"Hello," he said.
"Hi."
"How are you?"
"I'll live." Her lips twisted into an ironic half smile before returning to a more neutral expression. "You?"
"Same." He mirrored her brief smile. They hadn't actually spoken since that day in the rain, but it felt like so much had happened, he didn't know where to begin.
She self-consciously tucked a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. In contrast to his uncharacteristically frumpy appearance, she was even more primly dressed than normal, with her hair tied up in a smooth chignon at the nape of her neck and a long flowing skirt hiding her shapely legs. Her gaze darted nervously around the room and then settled back on him. "And they haven't . . . I mean, you're not in trouble . . .?"
He shook his head. "No, I seem to have escaped without any lasting repercussions." So far, he added silently.
"Good," she said. She bit her lip and then blurted, "Thank you, for all of that."
"For what? Carroll?" When she nodded, he looked away and mumbled, "It was the least I could do."
"Well, I appreciate it. He's a slimeball. At least now he has finally stopped asking me out."
Cullen's anger flared again as he remembered the disrespectful things Carroll had had the audacity to say about Solona, and he realized he would do it all over again. "You let me know if he bothers you again," Cullen growled.
She smiled, the first true smile he'd seen from her that week. "Oh, I will," she promised. She had finally released the doorknob behind her and stood more at ease.
"Other than that, you will be okay?"
She nodded. "Although. I'm afraid I haven't finished my paper."
"You know," he said, grimacing, "I can't give you any more accommodation than I've given the others." Anymore. "So please try to get it in to me by Monday if you can."
"Oh, of course! I mean, of course, I wouldn't expect anything special. Or anything." She wrung her hands together.
"Solona, why don't you come all the way in and sit down."
"Are you sure?"
He laughed at the irony of her question after everything. "I am."
"Okay," she said uncertainly. She sank down into the edge of the chair before his desk again. One of her knees bounced nervously up and down.
He ran a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm actually glad you came to see me, because I feel I should apologize to you."
"But you haven't done anything to apologize for!" she exclaimed, and her eyes suddenly became overbright. "I don't understand what is happening, because we didn't do anything wrong."
He sighed. "Yes and no, I suppose."
"No, we didn't!" She jumped back to her feet and started to pace in front of his desk. "All you did was give me a ride home. That's it! Everything they're saying is a vicious lie. It's not fair."
He shook his head. Is she really so naive? he wondered. Or had he truly misread all her signals? Perhaps he had.
The drive to her apartment that day had been excruciating. He had struggled to concentrate on safely navigating the pouring rain while also being uncomfortably attuned to Solona's every breath and shift in movement beside him. They hadn't spoken at all until the tense moment where he had almost accepted her invitation to come inside and dry off. The offer had not seemed innocent at the time, but whatever her intention, knowing that she would be just steps away, slithering out of those wet clothes, would have been his undoing.
Luckily, it didn't matter any longer.
"It's more complicated than that," he explained, resigned. "There's a reason there are rules about fraternization between faculty and students. I should have maintained more distance and not allowed my favoritism to be so obvious. I'm sorry that it has exposed you to unwanted attention. I-it won't happen again."
She paused her frantic pacing, absorbing this. "But . . ." She stopped and bit her lip. "But, what if I wanted it to happen again?" she asked in a low voice, like she wasn't sure she wanted to be heard.
His heart started pounding in his chest. Not so naïve after all.
She stood a little straighter and then took the few tentative steps remaining to reach his side of the desk.
He scrambled to his feet, needing to be on an even playing field now that she was upping the stakes. She stopped just in front of him and the space between them suddenly felt electric and palpable. Separating them, but only just.
"Solona," he said quietly, a warning in his voice.
"What if," she said, wetting her lower lip, "I like being your favorite?" Her gaze roamed over him, heavy and intimate, and his blood surged in response.
"Solona," he warned again.
"What if I'd rather give them something to talk about, since they're going to do it anyway?" Slowly she stepped closer, crossing that indefinable barrier into what was his very personal space, and invitingly tilted her face up toward his.
Distracted, he only realized her intention a split second before she rose up on her toes.
"No," he gasped, more like a plea than a command, and his hands shot out to her shoulders, stopping her just short of kissing him.
Her eyes widened, bewildered and a little hurt, and she made a faint sound of disappointment in the back of her throat.
All the logical reasons this was a bad idea tumbled through his mind. The scandal. The loss of respect. The impact on her future. On his tenure.
All he could manage was another strangled, "No."
"But—"
"Solona." He shook his head fondly at her. So reckless. So bold. So perfect. "I can't let you do this."
"It's my choice," she said, frowning stubbornly.
He sighed. "Our choice, actually." He shifted his hands from her shoulders to frame her face and lightly smoothed the furrows on her brow with the pad of his thumb. Her skin was just as smooth and soft as he'd expected.
"And so?" she prompted, standing very still, waiting for him to make his choice.
"Ah, Solona," he said regretfully. He touched his lips carefully to the center of her forehead. A low moan escaped her and woke something dark and primal inside him.
What he had intended as a chaste goodbye kiss lasted a heartbeat too long, betraying him. He pulled back slowly, hands still framing her face. Another storm brewed in her darkening eyes.
A man could drown in those eyes, he realized and tried to reel himself back in. Her pink lips parted to say something, but her breath caught in her throat, sounding almost like a sob.
Next thing he knew, he was drowning.
His mouth crashed onto hers, desperate and seeking, his own breathing becoming ragged. He was full of her, his senses assaulted by her taste, her smell, the frantic sounds she made as she responded, and the way she moved against him in sweet counterpoint.
Deep in the recesses of his mind, his conscience raged at his folly, but rational thought had deserted him as months of longing came to fruition.
He enveloped her in his arms and deepened the kiss, craving her moans and whimpers, and the urgent bucking of her hips against his. She balled her hands in his cardigan, anchoring herself to him. His fingers slipped up to the nape of her neck and wrenched her hair free of its careful bun to cascade freely down her back.
She shifted her grip on the cardigan and started to shove it back off his shoulders. He quickly shrugged out of it without breaking contact with her lips.
Once his arms were freed, he automatically reached for her again and pulled her hard against his chest. She melted into him, pliant and warm, offering more. Offering, perhaps, everything he had dreamed of during those brief, suggestive pauses each time he called on her in class.
It was then that cold realization washed over him at last.
He immediately stilled and groaned, releasing her mouth. His hands froze in place on her arms.
She pulled back. "What's the matter?" she panted.
"This is a mistake. Solona . . ." he trailed off into another groan of annoyance and self-loathing. He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing heavily, and screwed his eyes shut. "We can't."
"But—"
"We can't," he whispered. "Please. You have no idea what would happen if the truth actually came out."
"Everyone thinks they know already," she said, also breathing heavily. "Why not actually do the things they gossip about? I know you want this, too."
He opened his eyes to see her gazing imploringly at him from just a few inches away. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her glistening lips had become slightly swollen.
"Because then it would make them right," he said.
"No one has to know either way."
"We would know." He sighed and stepped back, releasing his hold on her.
He reached down to retrieve his cardigan from where it had fallen on the floor and took the opportunity to increase the distance between them. He slipped it back on and methodically adjusted the rolled knit collar on his shoulders, stalling for a few moments longer while his blood cooled and a trace of his scholarly respectability returned.
"Solona," he started again, but she turned her face away from him, crossing her arms across her chest.
"It seems a small thing to you now," he said finally, to fill the silence, "but believe me, it's for the best." He shook his head, regretful but resolved. "I'm so sorry. I take full responsibility for my poor judgment here. But, this cannot ever happen again. Not while I am your professor."
She turned back but the light had dimmed in her eyes. "I understand," she said in a husky whisper.
"And I hope you'll still . . . continue as my student." His voice raised at the end, making it sound more like a question. He hoped she wouldn't do something rash like drop his course so late in the semester and risk her grades.
She suddenly pursed her lips in one of her thoughtful pauses and then took a step closer. "Does that mean you would be willing to be my advisor?"
He started at the abrupt change of subject. "You mean . . . your major advisor?" he asked carefully.
She nodded.
He broke into a smile. Yes. This I can do for her. They could put all of this behind them.
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," he said fervently, relieved to get back on an academic footing and return to his comfort zone.
Her brows shot up and her expressive face articulated the "oh really?" that she didn't say aloud. His cheeks grew hot at his poor choice of words and he stuttered through some garbled clarification.
And just like that, with the twitch of a shapely eyebrow, Solona Amell threw him back out of that comfort zone and turned him into a stammering fool. A trickle of sweat made its way down the small of his back.
She had a bright future ahead of her, so much to give to the world, and he wanted to be a part of it. But, he also knew now that temptation would always be lurking in the shadows, no matter how bright her future—or his intentions—might be. Limits and rules flitted through his mind as it sought ways to ensure that this never happened again.
Resolute, he walked over to the door and opened it wide. He waited and she sighed as the message became clear. She approached and retrieved her bag from near the door where she must have dropped it on entering.
She stopped in front of him, hovering once again just at the limit of his personal space. Too close. Now that he had tasted her, he recognized her subtle fragrance. Whether it came from her hair or perfume, he tried not to speculate.
"I would be honored to be your advisor," he said. "We can talk about it more after class next time. O-or during office hours." With the door open. When other students are around.
"I'll see you in class then," she said, "a-and we can figure out what is required for me to change my major." She studied him for his reaction, her face tilted up to his. It would take so little to close the distance between them again.
He stepped back and nodded jerkily.
She smiled with a quick press of her lips, and then turned to leave.
"Solona."
She stopped.
"I think everything will be fine. But, I have one request."
"Yes?"
"Please." He swallowed hard. "This will be much easier if . . . Please. Don't stand quite so close to me."
After a moment, the corners of her mouth curled up slightly. She dipped her head noncommittally to one side and swept out of his office, leaving him with no assurances but that mysterious smile.
Fin