Midnight Muse

Beatrice breaks the silence by instructing Slate into his first pose before addressing the class. “Alright. Your time begins now.”

I have no idea how I’m able to focus on anything other than the cock draped so prettily across Slate’s thigh.

He looks as relaxed as ever, splayed out against the gray sheet on the mattress with one arm tucked beneath his head. His eyes are shut in bliss, his breathing even as if he might’ve actually fallen asleep.

With the late nights I know he and his roommates tend to have, I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest.

I lose myself in the quiet of the classroom, nothing but the sounds of chalk against paper, the scratch of quick sharp lines being drawn or the drag of long strokes being etched into drawing pads. There’s the occasional murmur of advice or suggestions from Beatrice as she makes her rounds through the classroom, weaving between students spread throughout the room.

Drawing the contours of Slate’s muscle is no easy feat. Packed layer upon layer from years of hard work spent in the gym, I rub the dark soot into the paper. It’s calming: sweeping the charcoal over the white space to create the shadows the lighting paints across his body.

His tattoos take some effort, even though Beatrice had said not to worry about them, that getting his form down is more important, but I can’t help myself. I’m interested in his tattoos and the stories behind them, the significance or possible lack thereof, despite not having any of my own. I draw them with extra care, trying my best not to make up any reasons of why he might have them. Now that we’re trying to be on friendly terms, maybe I’ll have the chance to ask him about them myself.

Eventually, Beatrice’s timer goes off. It’s the same ringtone I use for my alarm in the mornings and when it shrieks loudly throughout the room my body reacts as if it’s this morning again, my stomach twisting in response to its annoying chirp.

I place my charcoal down as Slate sits up, dusting my fingers off and admiring my work, comparing it to the model once more before he slips back into his robe and covers that glorious body up.

Rory stands to stretch, her back popping as she twists around. I snag my water bottle from my bag, allowing the crisp drink to wet my parched throat, eyes trailing Slate as he leaves the room to change back into his clothes.

Reid leans over, his brunet curls bouncing as he does so. He studies my work and I clam up at his intense gaze.

After I’ve almost drained my water to the dregs, he smirks, blue and caramel eyes lighting with a tease. “You have quite the eye for detail.”

I splutter and he bites his lip, trying to smother his smile. He pastes on the most innocent look he can muster, but he doesn’t know that there’s a retort waiting on the tip of my tongue already, just as soon as I stop choking.

“You sound a little jealous there, Reid.”

Rory giggles as he gasps dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest. “Maybe, a little.”

I can’t help but to laugh along with them. It’s nice to now have made as many friends as I have enemies, with Slate extending his apologies.

The class packs up around us while we converse, joking around about little things as if the three of us have known each other our entire lives. It comes naturally, and there’s an openness to Reid’s demeanor that makes him easy to talk to.

I stuff my extra sticks of charcoal back into their case, along with the cloth and eraser. I feel confident in the work I’ve done today. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to find my love for drawing again over the summer when I wasn’t too busy testing out new mediums and working with Rory at the art camp our town has. It feels so much easier to create art that the children ooh and ahh at, a simple mask made out of a paper plate and string and colored like a tiger will do just that.

Flipping my art pad shut, I gather Rory’s for her and walk with Reid to the cubbies we’ve been assigned to store our materials in.

“So, are you an art major?” I ask, waiting for the crowd to disperse.

Reid cuts me a suspicious look, but it’s a playful one. “You obviously didn’t get a good look at my drawing, did you? I suppose I can’t blame you with a model looking like that, but what I drew is entirely awful,” he states and I stare up at him in disbelief.

“Surely, it can’t be that bad,” I argue, and his lips thin a little as he flips open his drawing pad just enough for only me to see. It’s…yeah, it’s exactly as bad as he was hinting at and I have to work to keep my face carefully blank.

He puffs out a breathy laugh that eases my shoulders. “I told you it was shit; your face only confirms it!”

There’s no lying my way out of this one, so I decide to play into it instead.

“Okay, so it’s not great, but I’ve definitely seen worse. You should’ve seen my work from last year.”

Reid rolls his eyes, stepping forward in line. “Oh, I’m sure it was nothing like the gorgeous drawing you’ve managed to pull out of your ass in only two hours today,” he scoffs, and my elbow flies gently into his side. I rear back when I realize that we’ve only just met today, but Reid’s laughing nonetheless. “Your drawing literally looks like a photograph!”

It most definitely doesn’t, but my cheeks heat with the compliment anyway.

I brush off his flattering remark. “I might’ve been doing this a little longer than you have,” I defend. Since I could hold a crayon, to be exact.

He huffs, stuffing his pad into a drawer and offering to help me with Rory’s and my own. Reid pulls the drawer open and I slide the sketchpads inside, stepping out of the way so others can crowd him as he closes the drawer and follows me back to our seats.

“Well, you might have to show me the ropes because I thought that taking a few drawing classes would help me with my rendering for architecture, but those are all straight lines and circles and this is all curved strokes and cock.”