Fanfiction - The Teacher II
I had no choice, really. If you missed it, here is part I.
The Teacher II
Claire hesitated in front of the door, the incrusted bronze plate shining with the letters “Professor Fraser”, beckoning her to dare and knock. She breathed deeply and raised her fist to announce her presence.
“Yes?” A voice answered inside, in a lilt that made her stomach explode in a frenzy of millions of bubbles. She half-opened the door in order to peek inside, realizing that he was accompanied by a student, sitting in front of him in what could only be called “the hot seat”. “Ah, it’s ye Miss Beauchamp.”
“Sorry to disturb you, Professor Fraser.” She said in a respectful tone, watching as her colleague – another Health Management student - looked at her with a cry for help in his brown eyes – slightly hazed from too much weed -, his shoulders slumped in mortal shame. “I have some questions about the essay I still have to write for your class. I was wondering if I could go over them with you, sir.”
James Fraser gave her an uninterested look – which could clearly be interpreted as annoyance with her presence – and finally nodded.
“I’ll be with you presently, Miss Beauchamp.” He said dryly. ”As soon as Mister King here understands that copying a page from Wikipedia is not acceptable as an essay. You do realize I have access to the Internet, Mister King?” His eyebrows were raised above the rim of his black eyeglasses, enhancing his disappointment at his student poorly conducted machinations.
“Yes, Professor Fraser.” The boy furiously nodded, a sinner in repentance, his neck slowly disappearing between his shoulders as he tried to bury himself away, escaping those piercing blue eyes. “I am very sorry, sir.”
“I’m sure ye are.” The teacher gave him a lopsided smile, neatly pilling the sheets of paper crossed out in red ink and pushing them in his direction. “You have until tomorrow to deliver a corrected version of this paper, Mister King. I’ll have to grade it for a maximum “B” after this mischief, but it’s certainly better than the current “D” – from disaster.”
He pursed his lips and waited patiently as the student collected his belongings and made the walk of shame towards the door of his office. Claire could barely contain a smile as her colleague grimaced to her, rolling his eyes in despair, his back turned to the punishing master.
“Come in, Miss Beauchamp.” Professor Fraser urged her and, quickly patting Arthur King’s back in comfort, Claire moved inside the office and closed the door behind her. “How can I help ye?” He asked in a dark tone.
He looked serious and poised, his forearms resting on the mahogany table in front of him. His office was clean and discrete, fairly organized with stacks of paper and folders thoroughly aligned and labelled. He had a shelf filled with books behind him, silently complaining with copious overweight – Claire recognized titles from classic economy books but also lots of poetry and historical tomes. Over the years – both in nursing school and now as medical student –, she had been inside many teacher’s offices. There was a tendency for hoarding and to accumulate trinkets and photographs, as they spent so much time working inside them. However, Jamie’s office spoke of order and contention, only a photograph of himself with a dark haired woman – the same blue slanted eyes smiling to the photographer, betraying their kinship – and a small statue of a leaping stag.
“I was wondering if you could explain me again some concepts.” Claire said in strong voice, locking the door from the inside and slowly moving towards his desk. “I’m not sure I’m truly enlighten about them – in spite of our class yesterday.”
“Do ye now?” Jamie quirked a brow, his voice low and dangerous. “I thought I was fairly clear.” He rose from his chair and came around the desk, nearing her like a graceful predator.
“Some things benefit from repetition.” She licked her lips and, smiling widely, sat on his desk – her floral dress hiking up as she went, exposing her fair legs to his eyes, soft and creamy.
“Christ, Sassenach.” His mask of tight control fell – exposing his raw edges underneath it. He moaned and strode towards her in a heartbeat, placing himself between her parted thighs, his mouth punishing hers for the teasing, his hands grasping her curly hair. “I just had ye yesterday, but I want ye so much it hurts already.”
“I want you too.” She panted, as he touched her breast with his strong palm, her nipple already painfully aware of his proximity. “I couldn’t help myself – I had to come. I had to see you, to feel you.”
“When I saw ye standing at my door, I almost lost it.” He groaned, his hands brushing the soft skin inside her thighs, as he kissed and suckled her neck. “And ye – wearing this dress, ye wicked little vixen. I thought I’d throw ye into my desk and take ye, there and then, right in front of Mister King.”
“You’re a very good actor.” She laughed, her hands fumbling with the zipper of his pants. “I could swear you didn’t even like me – least of all wanted to shag me in your office.” Claire yelped as he kneeled in front of her and bit the sensitive skin, moist and heated from his attentions.
“This is madness.” He nuzzled her, his hands gripping her arse to bring her closer to him. “If we behave like uncontrolled teenagers someone will find out. We need to stop seeing each other here.”
A month before they had started seeing each other – meeting for dinner away from campus and taking long walks on secluded parks and on the coastline, where they could hold hands and kiss, languid and carefree. The underlying attraction had been there from the start, they were forced to admit – and their mutual feelings had bloomed into full spring, nurtured by hours of solitude and touches. At first the idea of sneaking around was fun and certainly arousing – but soon enough the burden of pretending indifference had become a permanent struggle and a source of unhappiness.
“You can stop.” Claire suggested teasingly, her lips tasting the hollow of his throat – skilfully undoing the first buttons of his shirt – the pulse of desire emanating from his skin. “I won’t force you, I promise.”
“I canna refuse ye.” He said in a hoarse voice, his accent made more evident by lust and strong emotion, as she struggled to free him from the constraining underwear. “Not today – nor ever, mo ghraidh.”
He played her like a violin – robbing her lips of moans and sobs that echoed in his heart like notes of the purest music, his eyes fixed on the way her beautiful face almost shattered, so close to be undone. Jamie touched her until his own body hurt – a desire so powerful it bordered on excruciating pain -, finally ready to take her. As he adjusted his body to hers, her head lulled back as she surrendered to the eminent joining, a knock on the door sounded – menacing and real, like a sudden tear on active muscle.
Their eyes locked in terror for a moment, their bodies almost fused together, their breathing ragged and superficial.
“Who is it?” Jamie questioned, struggling to compose his voice. He kissed her swollen lips one final – desperate – time and pulled her out of the desk, quickly helping her to adjust her clothes.
“Fraser?” The voice of Professor Raymond came from outside. “I need to discuss with you the program for the summit. May I come in?”
“Mallaichte bas!” Jamie cursed, gritting his teeth. “Just a second!” He shouted through the door, composing his own clothes and brushing his hair with trembling fingers. Like two actors in a comical play, Claire launched herself into the chair, searching for her best concentrated and slightly bored look, as Jamie hurried to adjust the crumpled papers on his desk. When everything seemed to be in natural order, they nodded to each other and Jamie opened the door with a pleasant smile plastered on his lips.
“Ah.” The little man, with silver hair and dark all-knowing eyes, noticed Claire sitting like a student in best possible behaviour. “I hadn’t realize you were busy, James.”
“Miss Beauchamp and I were merely discussing her last paper.” Jamie explained, adjusting his glasses. “She had already started it before she transferred to your class.”
“No doubt.” Professor Raymond smiled, clearly amused. His eyes drifted through the room – in spite of their best efforts, Claire’s lips were clearly swollen and her hair even more unruly than usual. Jamie, although composed, had the look of a man battling a cramp in the belly – his eyes wild and fiery, his smile a bit too tense. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your…work.”
“That’s alright, Professor.” Claire raised from her chair and headed to the door, her neck still flushed. “I think I have everything I need for now. Thank you, Professor Fraser. I’ll be sure to deliver my complete work later.”
Both men stared as she waved and disappeared, closing the door behind her.
“Your fly is open, James.” Raymond warned him in an amiable tone and laughed like a content toad, to Jamie’s utter dismay.
“Have you asked for me, Professor Mackenzie?” Jamie announced himself, standing on the threshold of Colum MacKenzie’s - the dean of faculty - office.
“Ah, James – yes.” Colum’s calculative gaze turned to Jamie, as he invited him to sit with a brief hand gesture. He was silent for a while, studying Jamie’s cordial face, his hands entwined in thoughtfulness. “I asked ye here because a pressing matter has been brought to my attention.” He finally said, leaning back against his leather covered office chair.
“How may I help?” Jamie furrowed his copper brows.
“Ye can stop seeing Claire Beauchamp.” Colum said in a cutting voice, which froze Jamie’s insides – was he fishing for the truth, expecting him to confirm his suspicions; or did someone actually see him with Claire? He was certain Raymond knew after their encounter in his office, but was confident the man wouldn’t tell a soul due to their friendship.
“That is hardly possible.” Jamie smiled, trying to look relaxed and uncompromised. “She attends this school and I am a teacher here.”
“I was wondering if I had to remind ye of that exact fact.” Colum admonished, harshly. “Someone informed me that you have been involved in some kind of affair with the lass. I couldna believe it. That a teacher – my nephew, no less – would be sae foolish and careless.”
“Who told ye that?” Jamie gripped his fist, hidden bellow the desk, barely containing the anger in his voice.
“It doesna matter.” Colum shook his head, his eyes demanding and judgemental. “Will you deny it, Jamie?”
Jamie endured the assault of his eyes, his own stormy and strong. Eventually, he sighed and shrugged.
“No, I won’t deny it. I’m in love with Claire and I’m dating her.” He confessed, tilting his chin in defiance. Colum hissed like a harassed animal and pursed his lips in discontent. “I’m a professor here but she isna my student – we only got involved when she quit my class. Nothing happened before!” Jamie guaranteed, tapping his fingers on his leg.
“I had hope the girl was lying.” Colum brushed his thinning hair. “How could ye be sae stupid? How could ye overlook what screwing the lass would mean to this school?”
“What we have,” Jamie hissed, adamant. “Is much more than screwing, uncle. Claire is the woman I waited for all my life. I won’t forsake her – not even for yer precious reputation.”
“I see.” Colum breathed through his nose, like a resentful cat. His eyes searched Jamie’s, as they battle their unwavering wills. “In that case ye have a decision to make – let go of the lass or yer days of teaching are numbered.” And with a magnanimous nod of the head, he dismissed him. “Professor Fraser.”