A/N: This is another one shot, but I am in the midst of planning a long, full length story. Now, there are song lyrics, but I don't always use them...only when inspired to do so. Anyway, enough rambling. I hope you enjoy the piece. Thanks for reading!


Illicit Allure – A One Shot

It was January. It was cold, dreary, and desolate, and he was running late for his first class. Professors were supposed to be there early, he had been told, to set up the room, prepare their notes, and, in general, appear to be anything but a student, but that wasn't his style….well at least it wouldn't be. He was new, just hired to replace a professor who had quit for personal reasons, and, only 28, he could remember his own undergraduate experience quite well and did not want to be the typical stodgy, closed minded, rigid, didactic instructor; instead, he wanted his students to relate to him. So, with that in mind, he had purposely planned to hang out in the student center a little longer than he should have, sipping his coffee and working away on his laptop. He had worn dark jeans, a simple, black t-shirt, and his ubiquitous leather jacket with his favorite, beat up and worn boots. His hair was tousled and unruly, as if he had simply rolled out of bed and jogged to class without a care in the world. Even his bag was tattered and used, for he elected to carry his supplies in the same backpack he had carried through his many years of college. So, as he stood waiting for the elevator to open before him, his mind distracted by thoughts of wanting to be anywhere but in a classroom teaching, it was understandable that someone might perceive him as another student.

"You know, I thought college would mean freedom, the freedom to live on my own and be my own person, the freedom to eat junk food all day and stay up all night, the freedom to mold my life into the shape I wanted it to be. Being forced to take a science course does not constitute freedom."

The little wisp of a brunette walked up and stood beside him, her hand automatically going to hit the key for the fifth floor despite the fact he had already punched it for himself. She was shorter than he was, petite and saucy, and he was immediately attracted to her. Turning to her in part because he felt it was only polite to look at her when he replied to her rather testy statement but also because he wanted to get a better look at her alluring face, he was taken aback by the fierceness of her impassioned blue eyes, eyes that sparkled with anger and resentment while still retaining their warmth, sapphire eyes that, when provoked, would emit streaks of indigo and violet, eyes that immediately drew him to her.

"I think it's fairly common for liberal arts school to require their students to take at least one science course."

"It doesn't mean I have to like it," she snapped back, the hand that fell to her slightly popped hip drawing his attention to her low slung jeans and the small sliver of pale, alabaster skin that was revealed between the hem of her tight fitting sweater and the waistband of her pants. "I'm an art major," she continued, her words bringing his gaze back to her glowing face. "I don't need to know the capital of Norway or the principle rivers of Asia. If I'm ever forced to paint a map, there are dozens of old, boring dead guys who've already figured that stuff out for me, and I'll just copy their work."

The elevator appeared before them, its soft bell alerting her to the fact that their ride to the fifth floor was waiting, and, together, they stepped into the tight, confined, closed space, the doors closing almost immediately.

"Well, no one said you had to take geography. There are plenty of other science courses you could have scheduled instead." He had no idea why he was baiting her, why he wanted to know more about her, why he was trapping her into a conversation that could perhaps put her in an awkward situation with the man she didn't know to be her professor. "Why pick this?"

"Three reasons," the quick witted woman answered using her delicate, thin fingers to emphasize her words as she spoke. "Number one, geography should be a whole hell of a lot easier than biology or physics. I barely passed them in high school; I don't need a repeat performance in college. Two, the professor is supposedly young, and we all know what that means."

Unsure, he questioned, "we do?"

"Ugh, what are you a freshman," she complained, rolling her eyes at his apparent naïveté.

"Yeah, not quite," he revealed, smiling down upon her, "but I'm sure you're going to explain the significance of having a young professor to me, so then I won't I won't be as green when it comes to the ins and outs of the campus. Enlighten me."

"Young professors generally have a life which means they don't want to be stuck at home all night grading tests and papers, and this, in turn, means that there won't be much work for the course. Plus, young professors aren't senile with short term memories; they can recall what it's like to be young, finally legal, and ready to push the boundaries of their new independence; they sympathize with students and don't hold them to such strict standards of conduct."

"That makes sense," he conceded, holding the elevator doors open for them when they arrived at their floor. "However, you never told me your third reason for taking this course." As they made their way down the hallway together, the young woman assuming he was one of her fellow students, their conversation continued.

"Well, the third reason that I picked this class was because it's a night class. Most professors don't care if students show up for night classes, so I figured I could skip it all the time, come on the days we have tests, and submit my papers online."

"Do you skip a lot of your classes?"

"Depends," she retorted with a mischievous smirk of her kissable, full lips. "Why are you asking?"

To that, he smirked back at her, his own blue eyes, though a lighter shade, dancing with mirth. "Let's just say that I'm…intrigued by your study habits and thought that perhaps, if our schedules fit together, we could meet up and discuss this further." His voice was laced with innuendo, his words betraying his attraction towards her, and, as she stepped closer to him, leaning her lithe body against his to open the door they had to walk through, he knew she found the idea appealing.

"I plan on skipping all my Thursday classes."

Quirking his eyebrow, he teased her, "even this one? I mean, since we'll both be here anyway, why not make the best of the situation?"

"We'll see," the sultry brunette countered. Although she had refused to give him a straight answer, she had also refused to turn him down. That was all he needed, a chance, a window of opportunity, because if there was one thing he was good at, it was getting what he wanted, and, as they strolled into the classroom together, their bodies moving together side by side in sync with one another, he knew he wanted her more than any other woman he had ever met.

"You can go ahead and take your seat," he instructed, his gaze watching hers as the hint of annoyance at his demanding tone turned into shock and then embarrassment when she realized he was her professor, "preferably towards the front of the room so I can….keep my eyes on you. Oh, and why don't you stay after class. I believe you have some other valuable lessons to instill upon me, and I can guarantee you that I could teach you a few things as well….things that have nothing to do with geography and everything to do with those other science courses you were so loathe to take. Perhaps private lessons will be in order." And with that, he walked away from her, but even as he moved to the front of the classroom where he would put on the mask of a lecturer and disguise his illicit intentions for the young woman seated directly in front of him from the rest of the class, he could feel her intense blue eyes burning into his back, and he knew it was only a matter of time until her fingers would singe a similar trail along his spine when he claimed her as his own.

She was wild; he was calm and restrained. She had dreams and plans and goals to chase after; he was still trying to figure out what he wanted from life. She was spontaneous and instinctual; he lived with a constant plan in mind. She enjoyed her friends and made them easily; he was too reserved and quiet to form long standing, important relationships. She was innocent and pure, a woman yet to experience true love; his heart had been broken and destroyed too many times to count, hardened to the point where he claimed he didn't believe in love any longer. She was idealistic and believed in the inherent good in all; he believed society was doomed and essentially evil in nature. But yet, despite their differences, she wanted him, and he wanted her.

She loved the mornings and believed that nothing was more beautiful than the light of a sunrise breaking over the slightly misty horizon of their mountainous, small town; he planned his life so he didn't have to get up until the sun set if he didn't want to. She listened to music 24/7, singing along in her slightly out of tune voice; he found music to be an annoying, grating racket. She liked karaoke bars, carnivals, and bowling alleys; he preferred the isolation of his apartment, a cold beer, and the company of his own, private pool table. She wore colors, especially red; his entire wardrobe consisted of nothing but black and blue. She talked nonstop, enjoying the sound of her own voice even when she was alone in her own company; he only spoke when there was a damn good reason to open his mouth and believed that his actions said more than his words. She ate junk food; he, if he remembered to eat, only allowed healthy food to enter his body. And yet, despite their differences, she understood him better than anyone else ever had and he recognized the true person hiding behind the layers of defense she used in front of everyone else. They were completely attuned to one another mentally, emotionally, and definitely physically, accustomed to the others intricacies and quirks, and familiar with every secret the other had.

He drove slowly, knowing what was to come, his right arm wrapped tightly around her body as she snuggled up against him. Just like every week, they were headed into the mountains, away from the rest of society where they could hide within each other and escape the constraints the real world placed upon them. She was his student, he her professor, forbidden fruit that had never tasted sweeter to any two lonely adults.

They went to the same place every Thursday afternoon. Her artist eye appreciated the beauty of their secret rendezvous in the Catskills, the way the pine and fir trees, tall sentinels guarding them and allowing them their privacy, formed a lush, deep green blanket around their delicate existence, the way the clouds touched down to reach them as if they were a part of the milky, never ending abyss of the skies themselves, the way the pristine snow from the previous winter still hung onto the rocks of the frosty peaks as if it were a warm and welcoming receiving blanket. She liked to think of it as Mother Nature painting a live portrait for her to experience once a week, as if the landscape was created just for her. On the other hand, his practical eye appreciated the sensibility of their secret rendezvous in the Catskills, the way no one else traveled to the top of the cliffs any longer simply because it wasn't convenient, the way the sounds of the mountains cloaked their sensual and passionate chords of pleasure from the rest of the world, the way time ceased to exist in the lofty, frozen climate, allowing him to slip away from reality and lose himself in the woman he craved more than the air he breathed.

Parking the car, he simply left the keys in the ignition, turning to her with the naked, painful desire he felt for her raw in his gaze. This was their routine, their pattern, their foreplay, the joining of their bodies physically freeing their minds and allowing them to connect on a deeper, more intimate level once they were entwined in each others naked, glistening bodies in the back seat of his modest, unnoticeable car. How they reached that point of familiarity and closeness though was different every week.

God bless the daylight,
The sugary smell of springtime,
Remembering when you were mine,
In a still suburban town.
When every Thursday,
I'd brave those mountain passes,
And you'd skip your early classes,
And we'd learn how our bodies worked.

Reaching for his body, she took control, simply moving his palm to her chest to rest over her already racing heart, and, within seconds, their pulses were matching each others beat for beat. With her other hand, she cupped the tanned, slightly rough skin of his jaw, her simple motion bringing him into her body and drawing him to her. Together, they lowered their bodies down unto the seat, moving as one, until her back was firmly resting against the cool leather and his torso was pressed possessively into her own.

He went to kiss her, dipping his mouth down to meet hers, but she pulled away, shaking her head in an agonizingly seductive way; still, they said nothing. Instead, she guided his hand which was placed against her breast down her body until it came to sit upon the firm, taunt warmth of her stomach, its heat burning through her cotton shirt and singeing his callused palm. Her actions told him to undress her while her eyes begged him to.

His attentions to her body were slow and deliberate, and, with each new reveal of her supple skin, he savored her with his hands, touching, caressing, massaging, possessing her as if he needed her to survive. However, their eyes never parted. She watched him just as intently as he watched her, while their want for the other moved them to levels of passion they had only experienced together, and their locked, intense gaze only served to heighten the erotic nature of their forbidden coupling.

Her shirt was the first piece of clothing to melt away under the tender touches of his gentle, practiced hands, and it was then slowly joined by the rest of her clothes, her jeans, her sandals, and finally her deliciously naughty purple, silk lingerie, the various articles of dress falling effortlessly to the floor of his otherwise spotless car. Then it was his turn, and her smaller, daintier, more nimble hands worked to remove his clothes from his stronger, masculine body, his dependable, some would even say boring, attire of a leather jacket, jeans, a simple t-shirt, and boots disappearing into the hidden confines of the backseat. And then, finally, she let him taste her.

His lips were everywhere as he frantically whispered embraces all along her lithe body, drinking in her essence and savoring her taste. It was as if he was desperate to have her, to consume and capture every nuance of her being, and, as his mouth danced along her body, its rhythm smooth and gentle, kissing, sucking, licking, feeling, biting, sipping, relishing, nibbling, and possessing her, he lost himself in her arms and the world stopped as he simply lived with her, inside of her, a part of her.

She returned his embraces, the velvety smooth skin of her feminine lips gliding over the lean muscles of his potent chest, abdomen, and neck before capturing his mouth with hers, their palates mingling and blending together to form one sweet, abandoned sense of obsession and adoration. Her body moved with his, their coupling perfectly timed and precise as if they were made to be with each other, and their pleasure slowly, tauntingly, blissfully grew in measure until they erupted together in deep, passionate waves of pure, beautiful ecstasy. Skin slick with glistening moisture from their arduous coupling, he helped her into the backseat, pulling her still quivering body on top of his and curling his own around her to keep her warm and safe. With a hand running through her thick, slightly damp locks of rich chocolate brown waves while the other traced lazy, content patterns along the expanse of her smooth, creamy back, she easily fell asleep in his arms, pleased, satisfied, and happy, while the night quickly set in and surrounded them in an inky, haunting darkness.

Goddamn the black night,
With all its foul temptations,
I've become what I've always hated,
When I was with you there.
We looked like giants,
In the back of my grey sub-compact,
Fumbling to make contact,
As the others slept inside.

And together there,
In the shroud of frost,
The mountain air began to pass,
Through every pane of weathered glass,
And I held you closer,
than anyone would ever get.

Soon, too soon for his liking, they would have to return, ending their weekly tryst and completing the illicit pattern they had set in motion months before. He would drive them back, while she sat as close to him as possible, her hands moving along his body in an attempt to maintain the contact and closeness that only came to them when they were alone in the mountains. Appetites sated, they would talk during the 35 minute drive, she would tell him about her latest painting or the many crazy things she had done that week, making him laugh – she was the only one who could make him laugh – and smile, while he would share with her the latest details of his summer traveling plans he had finalized over the past week, asking her opinion and attempting to forget the fact that she would not be with him in Europe, that he would be without her for four months.

Then they'd get back to campus, leaving behind the crisp frost of the higher altitudes for the dewy softness of spring. As soon as his car was parked in the staff lot, she would disentangle her body from his own, avert her eyes from his, and get out of the vehicle without even so much as a goodbye kiss. He didn't blame her; he knew she behaved in the aloof, disinterested manner for him. It was her way to protect him, to keep him safe and secure, because, if they were caught, he would lose his job. Once her door was quietly shut, she would disappear into the night fog and from his sight, running quickly towards the student center where she'd grab a magazine, a cup of coffee, and pretend to have been there all evening.

Several minutes later, he would join her, his own magazine and coffee in hand, but he would act as if he was merely relaxing for a few brief moments before his night class, preparing for his lecture. However, there was nothing relaxing about the tense, nerve wracking minutes he would sit in the students' company. She was all around him, her scent invading his senses, her touch burned into his skin, her form etched into the permanent recesses of his vision, and he knew that everyone else around him could sense her, too. How could they not? And, while the thought of getting caught was what made them hide their relationship in the first place, sometimes he just wished someone would discover their connection, expose them, and eliminate his reasons to keep his feelings for her a secret. Anything would be better than denying her and what she made him feel.

Do you remember the JAMC?
And reading aloud from magazines?
Well, I don't know about you,
But I swear on my name,
They could smell it on me,
And I've never been too good with secrets.

But no one ever did. So their lies and secrets continued, torturing him, every second he spent with her, every taste of her body, every look of desire and complete trust she granted him only serving to increase his need to be with her, his want for her, his desire to possess her. As they lay there together in the back of his car, her petite frame nestled securely into his strong, protective one, he knew that being with her and denying it was slowly killing him, but his body could not turn her away, his mind could not refuse her, and his heart could not survive without her. Needing her again, he slowly woke her up the best way he knew how: by seducing her. With thoughts of making love to her in his mind, he felt his body stiffen inside of her, reawakening his desire and want once again, and started to drop butterfly light kisses along the silky skin of her neck and jaw. She awoke, just as he knew she would, her wide, shining eyes fluttering open to reveal her own longing and affection reserved just for him. Elizabeth's allure was all consuming, astounding, devastating, and it was everything Jason Morgan had ever wanted.

All together there,
In the shroud of frost,
The mountain air began to pass,
Through every pane of weathered glass,
And I held you closer...

A/N2: The song used was "We Looked Like Giants" by Deathcab for Cutie.