Figure Model

by Parker Porter

  "Your carriage, my highness!" Ryker announced, offering a hand inside the tall cab.

  Much to his delight, the brunette accepted his assiWyattce with a clap of skin on skin, hauling himself into the cab. Ryker was a little surprised to watch the shorter and narrower brunette slip into the back seat like he had practiced. Staring after the bend of plump cheeks and the tense red fabric stretched around them, he huffed out a little laugh while his brain struggled to catch up with the present he was somehow experiencing at that very moment.

  "The kingdom must be having some financial difficulties," the pixie murmured wryly, and Ryker tried not to squeal at the very thought that he was playing along.

  "What you talk about?" he demanded in his best Russian accent, tossing his bag of cheeseburgers onto the front seat as he leaned to set his cup on the dashboard. "This traditional royal upholstery. Only ze best."

  Half climbing into his own back seat, Ryker nearly lost a shoe trying to pull the door closed behind him, and was tempted to slap the overhead light off rather than waiting for them to fade out of their own.

  "Oh hey, want background music?" he asked, able to reach the ignition, at least, and to put his keys somewhere they couldn't go missing. "Or your cheeseburger? While it's hot? Huh? Or my mouth on your mouth?" The radio came on with the turn of his key, though Ryker didn't let it turn over. A dead battery in need of a shock was more desirable than drawing the wrong kind of attention to an idling vehicle in a parking lot. It was enough to have the low volume station he was ignoring earlier to come on, muffled from the front seat as he dropped back against the flat excuse for a cushion that was the back of the cab.

  Settled next to a sparkly pink-sprayed twink in the backseat of his truck was the last thing Ryker expected that night, but given his luck, he had to wonder how many other unexpected things he could wring out before he got carried away.

  "You're not really smooth, are you?" his newfound companion asked, a teasing tone to his voice.

  "Hey now," Ryker complained, even as a smile split his cheeks again - utterly destroying any attempt to pout.

  "That’s okay, I’m not either." Suddenly the brunette pushed himself forward, smushing his lips against Ryker’s as if to accept the offer he had made moments ago. Ryker found himself with a lap and two arms full of enthusiastic twink in pink, and he decided right then and there that there was nothing to even play pout about.

  His head tipped to a more inviting angle, hands rising to get a grip around those damn red shorts, or maybe the soft cheeks underneath. A surreal sensation seemed to envelope him, driving the solidity of reality further away as his teeth parted to find the swell of a tongue against his. Breath startling in his chest, Ryker braced his feet against the mount of the front seat, straightening up enough to get his hand under the shorter brunette's knee, dragging him more squarely across his lap.

  "You feel pretty smooth to me," Ryker teased breathlessly, half pressed against soft lips still while he rolled his hips up into the warm vee, his thumbs sliding along that rolled seam. Leaning forward a bit, he managed to knock the fairy against the back of the front seat, diving to lick and suck at the soft, glitter smeared skin of his throat.

  "Thanks," he huffed, responsive and thankfully still super into whatever arrangement had wordlessly crashed over the two of them. Ryker swallowed every breathy moan straight from the source.

  "I'm Peter, by the way," the brunette painted, cheek tucked against the tangle of the Ryker’s hair, arms cinching closer as he rocked his pelvis into insistent hands.

  "Shush!" Ryker grunted, lifting his head to huff an impatient sigh. His head shook minutely, his brows going upwards while he fought off a smile. Hands sliding higher, he aimed for (and missed) the hem of the almost Haydenowing t-shirt, tucked into those damn shorts.

  "You've ruined the excitement of fucking a total stranger for me," he complained, nearly managing to deadpan - or at least, keep a straight face, even as Peter stared at him in shock. "I'm not going to ruin it for you." His grin went wry then, all teeth for a moment as he leaned in again, claiming that already kiss-red mouth once more.

  With the tight quarters in the back half of the cab and his own over long limbs all sorts of inconvenient, Ryker almost doubted that they could move or stretch enough to be perfectly pleased, especially with the unforgiving fabric of his jeans and those fucking red shorts - taut and strong everywhere his fingertips scraped.

  Even if he wanted to rip them, there was no getting through. So, down the legs was his only option. Which meant Peter on his back was the only option. A notion which resounded quite nicely through Ryker's body and had him giddy as his arms went around that small waist, his weight shifting to tip them.

  "Nah, just kidding. My name's Ryker," he bubbled out, catching one arm against the seat as he dropped Peter, half draped over him like the blanket ceiling of a sofa fort, and gasping the whole way down. "I want you to be able to moan it later."

  "I dunno if Ryker is super moan-able," Peter muttered, looking like he was trying very hard to seem put-out.

  "Guess I'll have to be really good," Ryker answered simply, a wry lilt to his tone and tilt to his mouth as he dipped down again. Soft lips tempted him as much as the flushed line of Peter's throat and collarbone - which was just beginning to peek out at him over the stretched shirt.

  Rolling his hips down this time, Ryker went for broke with his lips against the straining tendon in Peter's neck, and nearly gasped out a groan of his own when his already trapped and still hardening dick slid along the length of a barely concealed boner beneath him.

  This was, officially, the best night of his life. Either that, or when Peter came back after his walk of shame the next morning, flashing an orange shirt, per Ryker’s request:

  FUNNY, BI, AND FLYIN’ HIGH

  Chapter 5

  Running a little later than usual for a class he made sure to be early to put Hayden closer and closer to arriving when class was actually supposed to start - which might have been worse than coming in late, because at least then there was an excuse to set up your supplies long after everyone else. An ill-timed nap after his Art History class put him in this self-imposed peril, and now Hayden was quick-footing his way down the hall, faster when he saw the open door of the classroom.

  Much to his relief, he found it still virtually empty, walking inside at a more gradual pace to conceal his rush, though his lips parted on deeper breaths. Virtually empty was actually completely empty, when much to Hayden’s surprise, there was only Wyatt in his robe. He lifted his hand for a short (awkward) wave. It had been a full week since they first spoke, and he could only figure that was enough basis for casual greeting.

  Hayden glanced around again, and realized not even the teacher was there.That wasn't just lucky, it was next to impossible.

  Oh, shit, he remembered, backing out of the door to scan the adjacent walls. Sure enough: "Life Drawing II Is Cancelled for September 19" stared back at him from blocky letters on a white sheet of paper that basically blended into the wall from afar. Not that it mattered, since Hayden had known, and completely forgotten, since Thursday.

  Frustrated, annoyed, ready to turn tail to go home and just go back to sleep, he remembered the model inside, and wondered if they were in the same boat. Edging back through the doorway the only way his bag would fit, Hayden picked Wyatt out easily enough again. Suddenly, he found himself the bearer of bad news.

  "Um, the professor cancelled class," he said, hoping he wasn't stating the obvious, as alternatives of Wyatt being there for some other reason flitted through his head. "Did he not tell you?" Hayden was fairly sure he had already stolen away into the back room by then.

  The normally calm countenance that Wyatt usually presented turned sour, and the artist could only strive to remind himself that this wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t forced Wyatt there. If anything, he had saved him the trouble of staying, and finding out from staff.

  "He did not," the dirty blond murmured, audibly annoyed
. Hayden couldn’t blame him. "Did he not tell you?"

  "He did," Hayden admitted, embarrassment warming his face. "I forgot." Wyatt was here because of a miscommunication. Hayden was here because he was stupid. He could have been enjoying the two hours added to his day, and yet…

  Still, it was awfully ironic that the only people who had shown up were them. Hayden and Wyatt, Wyatt and Hayden. After all the little exchanges, verbal or otherwise, over the past few Tuesdays and Thursdays. Maybe that was a sign from the universe. Not that Hayden believed in those. Maybe just a happy coincidence that he was supposed to take advantage of the only way he knew how.

  "We could sit for a quick session," he offered, one shoulder shrugging up to his chin. "You won't get paid but, just so you didn't come for no reason. And you could put your clothes back on, too."

  Thank God, Wyatt smiled, so the offer wasn’t totally unwarranted. Wasn’t exactly a yes, though.

  "I don't usually pose with my clothes on," he answered. "I'll keep my robe on, if you prefer. I don’t mind either way.” That wasn’t a yes either, but it sure as hell wasn’t a no.

  Hayden had offered because he figured everyone (besides nudists and exhibitionists) generally preferred to be dressed. He probably needed practice drawing fabrics anyway. Maybe Wyatt denied because he was already undressed, but it wasn't like Hayden was going to force him one way or the other if he felt a certain way.

  Shrugging with both shoulders this time, Hayden tried not to feel dumb for offering. There was enough of that from his naptime bout of memory loss. "Whatever makes you more comfortable," he said, perpetuating this courtesy version of a western stand-off. As if in surrender, he moved to pick out his easel.

  Hayden settled in where there was both a good angle and a sturdy structure to put his sketchpad on, a little too self-conscious at the moment to go dragging anything else across the floor. He wasn't sure he needed to unpack everything for this single, probably quick, exercise, but he made sure he had a couple basic sticks of charcoal at the ready, trying not to tap his foot against the floor too much as the nerve wracking reality set in.

  "How many poses would you like?" Wyatt asked sincerely enough, moving toward the designated space in the front of the empty room. Looking up over his thick pad of paper, Hayden found him perched up in a simple sitting position, still clad in the robe, at this point. Which was fine by Hayden. He just assumed the disappointed aww in the back of his head was Ryker's voice polluting his thoughts. After all he'd gotten a whole lot louder since Peter came back.

  "Whatever you want," Hayden said easily, since he knew very little about posing anyway, beyond lighting and stuff like that. "If there's something you're not normally supposed to do, I guess now is the time to try it." The professor always seemed to like the same fifteen positions or so - not that Hayden was quite keen on anything more abstract. This wasn’t that advanced a class.

  "That works for now," he murmured, hoping it would keep Wyatt from moving, as Hayden scratched a blob form about the size of the body he was looking at onto his paper. Tired, if focused, eyes manifested under a slender brow soon enough - a particular quality that Hayden couldn't tell was real or imagined.

  "Let me know when you're ready for me to move.”

  Terry cloth was hard to depict, Hayden realized, brow furrowed in the moments where he tried to convey the tight textures and edges. He was more than a little surprised to find Wyatt's gaze pointed toward him every time he looked up. Though it was easy to discern why, even if he could think of a thousand other reasons why not to look here. With only one person in the room, it at least made some sense.

  Maybe Wyatt wasn't even looking at Hayden at all, he thought, blending in the dark shadows between the lapel of the robe and the dip into Wyatt's pale chest. It might just have suited him to cast his head in that general direction. From a few feet away, Hayden could only imagine the intent attention of maple brown eyes anyway.

  "You can change," he said, quietly at some point, when he decided he had effectively communicated the pose. Absent, he watched Wyatt curl his shoulders forward, the soft fabric of the robe shifting over the curve of pale shoulders, hands folding together between strong legs to rest on the seat. Knees driven apart, the robe opened further, and Hayden had to dip behind his sketchpad again, refusing to wonder why the hell he was fixated on that.

  For a random session like this, Hayden started to think it might echo the normal class format a little too much. He should be taking advantage of something - anything, really.

  Maybe the lack of focus on figure drawing, he decided, almost sneaky (as sneaky as one could be to himself), circling out the shape of Wyatt's face a little bigger on his next sheet of paper.

  Without the series of scratches and creaks and breaths to accompany the sounds of Hayden's own drawing, the room was awfully quiet. He thought maybe he should do something about it, running through conversation topics in his brain. He hesitated a bit, wondering if conversation was unwanted.

  "What do you go to school for?" Hayden asked finally, mapping out a curtain of tight curls as they appeared to him.

  "Business, and accounting" Wyatt answered quietly, responsive, and matter-of-fact more than anything. What on earth was he doing modelling at an art school? "What about you?'

  "Art," Hayden replied, trying not to laugh or chuckle or anything that might resemble making fun. Shouldn’t it have been obvious?

  "I don’t really know what specifically though," he went on, almost thoughtful as his gaze dipped between Wyatt and paper, pausing to consider his point. Eyes wandering back to the relaxed form in front of him, eyes lingering in the negative space between layers of robe that constituted flesh.

  He had seen Wyatt butt naked! Why was he obsessing over slivers of skin now? Maybe it was one of those less is more things. Leave it to the imagination (but then, Hayden wasn't even sure what there was left to imagine).

  Thankfully the artist had an easel to hide the majority of his face behind, struggling to string together a complete thought. What had they been talking about?

  "I'm sure you know the cliche," Hayden said, almost talking to the two-dimensional face in front of him, rather than the real one. "Starving artist, and everything. So I'm a little nervous for after I graduate, but... I dunno. Feels like I'm doing the right thing."

  "Are you starving?" Wyatt asked, sounding coy.

  Hayden considered the question a moment - hand pressed to his charcoal, hesitating in the air. It felt like his strokes were coming at slower and slower rates. Maybe he was shit at talking while drawing, couldn’t double task. He wouldn't know, he had never tried it before. Silence always seemed to descend upon him and his various muses, over the course of his life. Veronica used to say she liked to watch his expression change when he drew her. Not to mention, the silent duration of a normal class period in Life Drawing.

  Hayden contemplated muses, eyes flicking up over the edge of his sketchpad to look at Wyatt - even further down the road to indecency. Now, his entire chest was exposed from clavicle to navel, robe caught in the bends of his elbows. Maybe he just didn't care. Maybe he never did. Wasn't used to posing clothed, after all.

  "Not really," he finally answered, tearing his gaze from the gratuitous display to swallow. Unable to concentrate much, he traced a cursory line down the drawing of Wyatt, from his temple to his chin. Less of realism and more some abstract understanding of lines and edges that demanded his attention in gossamer skin.

  "But I live with three other people, so..." Even with the absence, Peter might as well have filled the third spot when Veronica didn’t, and that was fine, as long as someone was paying rent.

  "You can move if you want."

  "Only three?" Wyatt mocked, wreaking havoc on Hayden’s pulse. In the interim the dirty blond shrugged out of the folds of the robe, the tie holding it loosely around his waist still as he shifted forward off the chair, one foot tapping quietly on the hard floor before he settled - heel resting against the leg of the stool whi
le his other foot held the wrung higher with the curl of his toes. This time, he put his hands behind him, gripping either side of the seat. Vague notions concerning how Wyatt felt about the robe all but confirmed, Hayden had it in him to wonder why he didn’t just strip out of the thing and throw it to the side (not that he was saying he should).

  Following the dangling end of the belt down Wyatt's leg with his eyes, the artist paused briefly in the shadow between toned thighs - and cursed in the silence of his head, because he wouldn't even have looked if Ryker hadn't said anything the other day.

  Wyatt finished by tipping himself a bit to the side, along with a tilt of his head. "Do they all go to school here?"

  "No," Hayden answered diligently, even if it took a moment, distracting himself as he set his pencil case squarely on top of his own jean-clad thighs. "We have an apartment off campus. Most of them work, or do their own thing." But Wyatt probably didn't care much about completely separate people beyond a brief explanation. Hell, he probably didn't care about Hayden beyond this class. Ripping off his last page to set aside, he started on a new one, decidedly going for the entire posture, like he was supposed to.

  In that time, they both managed to fall silent, something heavy and tense filling the air around them while Hayden sketched. There was only so much to talk about when the desire to learn more was less genuine and more of a social covenant. Though the less enigmatic Wyatt became to Hayden, the better he thought he might feel.

  Finally, Wyatt spoke again, but it wasn’t what Hayden expected. "Could you close the door?" Hayden's eyes flew up, turning to look at the wide open door, instead of his subject. It was always wide open, anyone could come by, usually teachers and kids touring for next year, and peek in on the twenty-some students doing their figure exercises. But now, there was one, and the model. Perhaps that was what made the whole element of nudity a little more conscious.

  Perhaps that was what made the whole thing a little more intimate.