The Gemini - The Rumor

Author's Note

Hey readers! This one's a bit of a deviation from my usual pace and format. The idea struck me while I was watching something recently, and I couldn't resist running with it. You'll notice there's not a lot of buildup, and intentionally so, as the pressure cooker of the situation builds the story, and doing anything before, would ruin the effect. The nature of this story lends itself to a quicker dive into the "good stuff" than my typical slow-burn approach. Or at least that's how it felt while writing it!

That said, I had a lot of fun crafting the dialogue and the dynamic between the characters. Hopefully it's notjustme and those exchanges hit the mark for you, too. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and ratings are always appreciated as a silent way of what you thought.

I'm curious if there's interest in seeing this become a full series, and if so, even better. I think I could have fun with this. To really understand where it's headed if it were to become one, you'll want to read all the way to the end.

Anyway, I'll stop rambling now, and thanks for checking out whatever random thing I've cooked up this time. Hope you enjoy!

The knock came softly.

Erik Holloway glanced up from his desk, already knowing who it would be. Ms. Atwell, one of the admin assistants, stood just inside the office door with a clipboard tucked against her chest and a curious look she didn't bother hiding.

"She's here," she said lightly, then stepped aside.

Mia walked in with the calm assurance of someone who didn't get called into unexpected meetings. Her uniform of a pleated black and blue skirt just above her knees, and a crisp blouse, resting neatly over her slender frame, was all in perfect order. Auburn bangs framed her face neatly, and her glasses sat low on her nose, having slipped down. A common occurrence she was used to from so many years with her nose buried in books. She didn't smile, but there was a trace of amusement in her eyes.

"Ms Delaney," Erik said, standing as she entered. He gestured toward the seat opposite his desk. "Thanks for coming."

"I didn't realize I had a choice," she replied, settling into the chair.

Ms. Atwell lingered a moment too long at the threshold, glancing between them. It wasn't until Erik turned and gave her a look as though asking why she were still there, that she turned and left.

He waited a few seconds before moving to gently to close the door behind her. This wasn't a hallway conversation. He returned to his chair, keeping a measured expression.

"I know I don't usually close the door when we meet," he said, watching her expression. "But given the nature of what we need to discuss today, rumors, questions about your reputation, I thought it was only fair to offer you a bit of privacy."

She tilted her head. "Rumors? Reputation? The usual character assassination from other valedictorian candidates?"

He didn't smile. "Mia, you've always been one of the strongest students here. Debate team, drama, top of your class. You know I'm not here to police your life. But when there are repeated concerns about behavior-"

"Behavior," she repeated questioningly, as if tasting the word.

"Well... yes, behavior that's being gossiped about," he said uncomfortable with the topic at hand. "And about how that behavior reflects on you, and by extension, the school," he continued, "I have to step in. Especially with who your father is."

Her lips twitched. "There it is."

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "You know I'm required to report certain things to him. If I believe there's something going on that could compromise your academic standing or the school's reputation... I have an obligation to you, and to him."

"Yeah, you'd tell him," she said dismissively. "Right."

Erik hesitated. "Have you talked to your father recently?"

"Last night," she said breezily. "He was reviewing scholarship applications and griping about an applicants' grammar. Why?"

"Because if even half of what I've been hearing is true, he'd be... mortified."

She stared at him, deadpan, looking right into his eyes, letting the words hang. Her eyebrows raised. After a moment, she gave the slightest shake of her head and a tiny shrug, as though she were waiting for something more.

Realizing he was waiting for her to say something, she crossed one leg over the other, looking at a picture of his children on his desk. "You know," she said lightly, "you talk a lot about reputations for someone who has one of his own."

His brow tightened. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on, Mr. Holloway. You think students don't talk? This is a boarding school. The place practically runs on rumors." She smiled smugly. "And from what I've heard, I'm not the only one who's been getting... attention."

His jaw tensed. "We're not here to talk about me."

"No," she said, voice still playful, "you're here to lecture me about my choices. But maybe you should spend a little more time thinking about yours."

"Mia-"

She ignored him, tilting her head in mock curiosity. "The version I heard is that you've been sending naughty little pics of your... winky" she dragged the last word out with exaggerated sweetness, "to one of the girls here. That doesn't sound very professional, does it? Sounds to me like you've been taking advantage of the students you're supposed to be helping."

His mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out at first. Then his expression hardened.

"Be careful, Mia," he said, his tone tightening. "Allegations like that can ruin people's lives. Even hinting at something like that... it's not just inappropriate, it's dangerous."

She didn't flinch. "I'm not making allegations," she said with a shrug. "Just saying what's already making the rounds."

His brow furrowed. "What's making the rounds, exactly?"

"You really don't know?" She leaned back, giving him an almost pitying look, bouncing her top leg. "There's a photo going around. Kind of... revealing. Word is it came from your number."

He exhaled sharply. "If something like that is being passed around, then it's doctored. Or just being passed off as me. Either way, it's not what you think."

She smiled. "Of course it's not. It never is, is it?"

"This isn't a game, Mia," he continued, his expression becoming sterner as he looked at her. "You may be eighteen, but you're still a student and your father's my supervisor. I don't know what you think you're doing right now, but you're on thin ice."

She tilted her head at him, amused. "You sound nervous."

"I sound serious," he replied. "You're deflecting. This conversation is about your conduct, not mine."

"But that's the thing, Mr. Holloway," she said, leaning forward just enough to cut the space between them in half. "I don't think you're in any position to judge mine."

"You're making assumptions based on gossip." He kept his voice even, but his posture had stiffened. "That's not like you."

"Isn't it?" She smiled; lips pressed together like she was holding back a laugh. "Feels like everyone's always assuming things about me. Sweet little Mia. Model student. Drama nerd. Dean's daughter." Her eyes drifted toward the edge of the desk, then back to him. "But we both know people aren't always what they seem."

"I have no idea what you're trying to accomplish here," he said, sitting back slightly.

"That's okay," she said calmly. "You will."

Then, with an almost theatrical calm, she reached into her bag, and pulled out her phone. She tapped at the screen, casually thumbing through screens and apps, scrolling slowly. Her mouth curled with a big grin, for a moment before giving way to a look resembling appreciation. She tilted her head, studying whatever she'd found.

Then she turned the phone toward him.

"You know," she said, as if offering an honest compliment, "it's nicer than I would've given you credit for."

Erik's eyes snapped to the screen. His body went rigid.

The image wasn't subtle. A hand, wrapped around a hard cock - full, the head almost purple it was so swollen, unmistakably aroused.

"That's not me." He stood halfway from his chair, voice sharper now. "You're way out of line, Mia. You shouldn't even have a picture like that on your phone, much less be showing it to your high school guidance counselor."

She turned the phone back toward herself, letting her eyes linger on the image. She licked her upper lip slowly, then caught the bottom one gently between her teeth, gaze drifting toward his hand on the desk.

"So it's just a coincidence," she said, "that the guy in the picture Amelia sent me, has the exact same scar... right here."

She turned the phone back to him and nodded toward his hand, her tone soft, almost curious, like she was still deciding whether to play dumb or press the advantage. His fingers curled instinctively, but the damage was done. The mark was obvious and they both knew it, causing him to sink back down into his chair.

"Funny how small the world is," she said, tapping the edge of the phone with her nail. "One little scar, and suddenly everything feels a lot less hypothetical."

She stood, then slowly, like she had all the time in the world, stepped around the side of his desk. Leaning into the edge of the desk and bracing herself with a delicate looking hand. She looked at his, with the scar again.

"I wonder," she said, eyes moving to his groin, "if there's any other identifying marks we'd find if we were to take a peek around."

"Mia." His voice held warning now, but it also had a bit of a waiver to it, making it sound a touch less threatening. "This stops here. I'm not going to-"

"You're not going to what?" She cut him off, and looked up at him, feigning innocence. "Take advantage of a student? Be unprofessional?" Her mouth curved. "Little late for that, don't you think?"

"You don't actually know that that's me. I haven't touched anyone," he said, backing his chair up slightly, so he could turn it as she stood at the side of his desk. "I haven't done anything."

"You've thought about it, though." Her voice dropped to something almost intimate. "I've seen it. The way your eyes linger. The little hesitations when I sit too close. You think you're subtle, but you're not."

He shook his head, jaw clenched. "You're reading into things that aren't there."

"No," she said, stepping in close now, taking advantage of the room he created when he moved his chair to turn towards her. Close enough for her skirt to brush his knee. "You forget how good I am at paying attention. I don't have the GPA I do because I'm some kinda fucking idiot, that isn't aware of what's going on around me. The way that you and half my teachers look at me and my big doe eyes," she finished making an exaggerated pouty look and batting her eye lashes.

He didn't answer, but his jaw moved as though he were chewing at the inside of his cheek now.

"You act like this is some big shock," she went on, turning halfway and sliding herself up onto the edge of his desk. "Like you haven't looked. It's okay to admit it. You wouldn't be the first faculty member who has. Hell, even a few minutes ago, the janitor just happened to drop his mop, so he had to bend down, right next to my cute little butt, to get it, while I was standing in the waiting area, right outside here."

She crossed one leg over the other towards him as she sat on the edge of his desk, the movement deliberate, as it caused the hem of her skirt to inch higher over her thigh. Her fingers toyed loosely with the edge.

"I've even caught a woman or two blushing when their eyes wandered a little too long," she added, giving a small, knowing smile. "It's not that secret. I know what people fantasize about, when they look at the smart girl. The one with the pristine reputation that makes her seem like she thinks she's above everyone else."

"Mia," he said, voice tight. "You need to stop this."

"Why?" She tilted her head. "Because you can't honestly deny that you look at me? That you don't think about the same things as everyone else around here that knows me?"

He stood then, pushing back from his chair, but standing his ground in an attempt to regain control of the conversation.

"This isn't you," he said. "Whatever this is, this... game you're playing at, or I don't know... You don't really want to do this."

"I'm not a little girl," she said, eyes locking with his. "And if you're not that guy in the picture, then what are you getting so worked up about?"

He stared at her.

"Prove it," she said, a challenge in her voice now. "Pull it out. Show me it's not the same one."

His expression cracked for a second in surprise and disbelief.

"Mia-"

"You're already in the deep end, Mr. Holloway." Placing her hands on the edge of the desk underneath her, she leaned forward, her body tilted toward him. "So, either you're him... or you're not. One of those options means I owe you an apology. The other means I was right, and you have no place lecturing me on reputations and what's proper behavior."

"I-" he started, but she cut him off before he could find his footing.

"Or," she said, her voice calm and easy, "you can refuse. And I'll just show the picture to my dad."

He blinked, his breath caught mid-syllable, the rebuttal he was trying to find just coming out as a strangled sound.

She shrugged lightly, glancing back at her phone that had been abandoned on the desk in front of the now empty chair she'd previously sat in.

"I know you're feeling a little stressed right now, but you can still remember him, right? You know, your boss, the Dean of Students? Pretty sure he'd love to have a sit-down of his own about this with you. Maybe you could prove it's not you tohim."

"I-" he started, but she cut him off again, using a more matter-of-fact tone.

"You can try to talk your way out of this, Erk," she said, now using his first name and lifting her eyes to meet his, "but by now, you've got to know how this looks. If I were anyone else, you'd already be done."

His lips parted, but she still didn't give him a chance to speak.

"But that's the problem, isn't it?" she added, her voice almost thoughtful. "You're not worried about how it looks, or whether it's true. You're worried that no one would care either way."

He stared at her, flustered. The tension around his eyes deepened as she sat there on his desk, calm as ever, legs crossed, fingernails idly tapping at the underside of the desk where her fingers still curled around the edge.

"You say it's not you?" she asked, tilting her head. "Then show me. If you're so worried about what even the implication of a rumor would do to your career here, hellanywhere, with the way something like this follows you, then let me see it, and if I'm wrong, I still owe you that apology."

"Mia - Jesus." He took a step back, hand running through his hair, color rising to his face. "You don't know what you're saying. Anything about this would ruin my life. This is insane," he muttered. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm dead serious," she said, legs swinging idly now where she sat. "All you have to do is prove me wrong."

He looked at her, really looked at her. Her expression didn't waver. She wasn't bluffing. Or if she was, she was doing a terrifyingly good job of it.

"You don't have to do anything," she added softly, eyes meeting his. "But if you don't... we both know what happens next."

She let the words hang as she glanced to the side. Her gaze landed on the small silver frame at the corner of his desk holding a photo of him and his two kids. It looked like it was taken on what looked like a beach trip. They all looked happy, wearing matching hats, and making funny faces for the camera.

She reached for it, turning the frame toward her and studying it for a moment, like she was trying to guess their ages. She didn't smile, or comment on what she observed. Just traced the edge of the frame with her index finger.

"What do you think happens if you lose your job over this?" she asked finally, voice soft and genuinely curious, looking at the joy in the photo. "Do you just... move? Find work somewhere else...? Do you think you'd be able to? Probably going to have to switch careers, huh? I hope you've already paid off that psychology degree of yours, 'cause times could get tough."

She didn't look at him when she said it. Just kept her eyes on the picture, the weight of the moment resting on how he would respond.

When she set the frame back down, she turned her head back up to him, waiting.

His jaw was tight, and his breath appeared to be coming in shallow gulps. For a moment, he didn't speak as he looked at her with would could only be described as honest fear of her. Then, quietly, almost under his breath, broke.

"Okay," he said

She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Yes," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's me. I sent it. You're right, and you obviously already know that."

Her eyes were still staring into his soul from over the top of her glasses.

"You got what you wanted, alright? Isn't that enough?" He adjusted his tie trying to find his ability to swallow.

She didn't move.

"What do you want from me, Mia?" he asked, his voice cracking just slightly as he finally looked at her in desperation from her lack of any responses.

"I already told you what I want," she said calmly, her eyes still fixed on him over the top of her glasses. "You just keep choosing to live in denial."

He shook his head faintly, as if trying to clear it, but didn't speak.

"I want you to show me," she said, voice softer now that he was starting to capitulate, patient, almost like she was explaining something to someone slow to catch on. "I want to see it. Or I go to my dad."

He stared at her, eyes wide, as his hand went to his tie again, loosening it now, as if the room had suddenly gotten too warm. He looked down, then up, but still frozen in place.

"I'm not asking again." She tilted her head slightly, watching him.

He swallowed hard, his hand still clutching the loosened tie at his neck. Then, slowly, as if almost mechanical, he moved.

She broke eye contact so she could follow as they reached lower, until his hands and her eyes both came to stop at his groin.

A slow, salacious smile spread across her lips as she watched him hesitate. She didn't say anything, just caught her bottom lip gently between her teeth, a soft "Mmm" escaping as the tension crackled between them like a live wire.

He paused, frozen there, waiting, maybe hoping she'd say something, do something, to stop this. But she didn't.

Instead, she uncrossed her legs with a fluid ease, leaving them parted just enough to leave room for her hands. Her fingers drifted idly to the inside of her thigh, just above the knee, scratching lightly at the skin as though she wasn't even aware she was doing it.

Her eyes never left the place where his hand still hovered.

"Well?" she asked, her voice coming out breathy now, giving away her own excitement. "Are you going to keep making me wait, or have you just changed your mind?"

His breath shuddered as he looked down, his hand finally moving again. With stiff, reluctant fingers, he grabbed the little tab and lowered the fly. Gravity did the rest as his slacks loosened, parting just enough to give her a peek.

There was no fabric beneath.

For the briefest moment, she caught a glimpse of dark pubic hair, coarse and unexpected. Her brows lifted subtly with curiosity, as if this little detail of him going sans underwear intrigued her more than anything else.

Then it was gone. His hand blocking her view as reached inside, fingers fumbling for a second before he drew himself free.

He wasn't fully hard, just heavy, half-awake, the kind of slow rise that suggested the tension of the situation was inhibiting his desire. It hung forward from his hand, the soft weight of it swinging slightly in the still air before he let go and let it rest, exposed.