Author: NoChristmasJokesPlz PM
Kenny Adelais is not your traditional type of artist. He can't sit and paint a bowl of fruit for hours. He's not that patient. So why the hell does he have to attend a nude drawing class at his college on a Saturday? Warning: Contains some slight BL!Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Humor - Words: 2,637 - Reviews: 10 - Favs: 14 - Follows: 2 - Published: 10-12-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2960431
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Hey there! So! My first independent story posted is based on mine and the wonderful A Nameless Traveler's joint story, titled One Moment. A link to our joint profile, if you haven't read it, is on my profile. :3
Rating: T for swearing on Kenny's part. The pottymouth.
Warnings: Contains preslash! Two men with romantic intentions. There's not even kissing though. It's pretty tame BL. :3 So no bitching.
Summary: Kenny Adelais is not your traditional type of artist. He can't sit and paint a bowl of fruit for hours. He's not that patient. So why the hell does he have to attend a nude drawing class at his college on a Saturday? Well... Maybe it isn't so bad...
The characters, plot, and even the location are of my own creation, so no using without my permission! :D Happy slashing!
Kendall Adelais was an artistic young man. Not artistic by traditional standards, but artistic nonetheless. He wasn't the type of person who could sit for hours and just draw a bowl of fruit, or spend months staring at some rich old lady with some rat of a dog in her lap so he could paint her, or mold something amazing and meaningful out of a lump of wet dirt, or anything like that. He didn't have the patience for that sort of thing. If he did something artistic, it was something that meant a lot to him. Something that would keep him glued to its side until it was perfect as he could possibly get it. He was the artist in the sense that he could take an old scrap heap of a junker car and turn into a shiny, sleek, droolworthy masterpiece of car kind. Sadly, neither his mother nor his younger brother, the traditionally artistic types, had any real interest in his car restoration hobby, and neither would stop pestering him until he went out and took a formal art class instead of spending all his time in the garage, or hanging around the local mechanic's shop. Not only did he have to attend the aforementioned formal art class, but he had to come back with something to show for it.
So he decided to sign up for a nude drawing class. At least he'd get his mother and brother off his back, and snigger over drawing someone's naughty bits. They would see it as art, he'd see it as doodling some random naked guy.
At least he hoped it was a guy.
He slammed the back door of his mother's old Volkswagen micro bus, tucking his sketchbook and pencil box (gifts from his oh so wonderful little brother) under his arm, and looking up at the tall, old, ivy-covered red brick buildings of Crimson Valley University. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "Why am I here?" he moaned. Honestly, who wanted to be in school on a Saturday? He could be at home, working on his beautiful baby. He almost began to drool as he recalled images of his gorgeous baby, the hottest piece on four wheels. She was a 1979 Chevelle Super Sport, and the only female he'd ever consider being inside. She was still up on blocks (he'd blown all his savings on her shiny new engine, and was still scraping together money at the mechanic's to pay for rims and tires), but he'd just given her a new paint job, and the way she sparkled made him ache to be behind her wheel.
Kendall shook his head to clear his mind, looking down to see the person who had spoken. He found himself speechless as he stared down into a pair of big, sweet brown eyes that sent his thoughts skittering away from his baby like nothing else ever had. He blushed a brighter shade ofpink than his wild mop of hair (which just thismorning he had thought looked sexily disheleved, but he now felt looked ratty and unkempt) as an unintelligent, "Wuh?" slipped past his lips.
The pretty blond boy in front of him got a strange look on his face, as if he suddenly understood something, and smiled indulgently. "Are you lost, sweetie? Do you need help finding someone?"
For a moment, Kendall just stared at him blankly, and let the blond take his hand and lead him towards the building. "There's a phone inside. Do you know anyone's number that can take you home?"
The pink-haired student blushed brilliant, candy-apple red suddenly, and tugged his hand free with a bit more force than he intended to use, making the other stagger a bit in surprise. "Wait! I'm not… I'm not retarded!"
The stranger gave him an odd look, then blushed himself, looking horrified by his mistake. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I just… I thought… Stupid, stupid, stupid!" His face was a similar vivid red to Kendall's own, and he almost looked as if he was going to cry. He hurried into the building before Kendall even had a chance to reply. He just watched him go, blinking, blushing, and his mouth half-open in shock.
No wonder he thought you were retarded, he berated himself. You were standing there drooling on yourself like a moron! Now he just wished he could go after the boy and apologize himself, for looking so… Well, as Sasha would say, "derpy." But then he'd probably come off as even more idiotic and hopeless.
This is why you're single, Kenny, old boy. Remember it well.
The classroom was a pretty big one, as were most college classrooms. The professor's desk and the tables the were pushed out of the way, against the walls, and there was a circle of drafting tables and stools around the middle of the room. In the center of the circle was another stool draped in some sort of dark fabric, to make it look more elegant, Kenny surmised. Not many people had shown up yet, and the few that had drifted about, talking quietly or setting up their stations. Kendall took his things to a drafting table across from the ones nearest the door, so he could watch who came in (he was a bit of a people watcher, and would have liked to see what sort of people came to these classes), and began to set up. He opened his sketchbook to the first flawlessly white page, grabbed a pencil, and waited for the rest of the class and the model to show up.
About two minutes of waiting later, and he was doodling cars on the once flawlessly white paper. His cheek rested on his palm while he scratched and scribbled, first his precious baby, then a few old muscle cars, and then some newer sports cars that he'd love to get his hands on. A little absently, he glanced up towards the door, just in time to see the same pretty blond student from earlier. He was carrying his own large sketchbook as well as a couple heavy-looking textbooks. Kendall ducked down behind his drafting table as the young man looked up, peeking over the edge only when he was sure it was safe.
Damn, was he cute. He was tall (not nearly as tall as Kendall, of course, but decently tall) and had soft-looking, sunshine blond hair that curled just a little at the ends and reached just to his chin, and fine-boned, fair-skinned features. His eyes were a tad on the large side, and a warm cocoa brown, framed by thick, dark eyelashes. Kenny felt his heard thudding in his chest.
He thought you were retarded! He snapped at himself. No way he'd look twice at you now! Of course, that didn't stop him from looking himself. The blond was impossibly pretty, for a guy. Almost girlish, but not quite to the same degree as Kenny's own younger brother (who, thankfully, was not a mind reader, so would never know that Kenny thought he was absolutely adorable and so very girly, and that's why Kenny protected him so ferociously, and Kenny would get to keep his testicles another day), with that slender, graceful-looking build that a dancer would posses.
Suddenly, brown eyes turned in his direction, and he ducked behind the drafting table again. But, apparently, his vivid hair was visible, since he heard the blond squeak and looked up in time to see him blush a bit, those big, brown eyes doggedly avoiding his gaze. By now, most of the tables were full, and the classroom door was being closed, so the pretty blond had no choice but to take a seat beside the pink-haired man, who squirmed in a mixture of giddy pleasure and discomfort. He wasn't sure whether to be excited or mortified.
A tall, dusky-skinned woman with colorful streaks in her hair and multiple piercings announced the purpose of the class, which was to provide a relaxed environment in which students could draw the human form any way they wished: realistically, abstract, or cartoon. There was no limitation, as there was no grade. But if Kendall wanted to get out of this stupid "serious art" kick his mother and brother were on, he couldn't bring home a cartoon rendering of someone's dangly bits.
"Ah, here's your model," the woman, Catalina, said, motioning to a woman coming through one of the other doors in a short, satin robe. "Class, this is Diedre, she'll be modeling for you." The young model smiled warmly and shed her robe, climbing onto the stool. Kendall wanted to bang his head against the desk. Of course, he'd have to draw a naked chick. Fantastic. His eyes flickered over to the blond beside him, who was politely averting his eyes from the nude model, and looking as if he'd much rather be somewhere else. Maybe he was gay? He was more than pretty enough to qualify.
Wouldn't mind drawing him naked, the pink-haired man couldn't help but think, smirking faintly to himself.
"Alright, class. You may begin," Catalina said, moving to another drafting table to begin a sketch of her own. Kendall settled down, reluctantly looking up to study the lines and curves of the woman's nude form, of which he had a nice profile view, without blushing. Once he had finished his sketch (a lot sooner than anyone else, it seemed) he found himself iddly tapping his pencil on his desk. Apparently, the noise was louder in the quiet room, the only sound aside from the scratching of pencils and the occasional crumbling of an inadquate drawing being the tap, tap, tap of his pencil on the wooden tabletop, than it seemed to his own ears, as he earned several annoyed glares and an irritated hiss of "Would you stop that?" from the gothy-looking girl with a ring in her nose to his right. He stopped, but, barely twenty seconds later, he was at it again, and, this time, the gothy girl kicked his stool, almost sending him tumbling to the floor. He glowered at her and kicked her stool right back. She gave an indignant huff and a warning growl, but he just glared steadily until she turned back to her own sketch. "Dick…" she muttered under her breath.
"Dyke," he muttered right back. To his right, he heard a little chuckle, but when he glanced over, the blond teen was sketching industriously, labeling as he went. For a brief moment before that, however, Kenny fancied he saw those soulful brown eyes lock with his own, like in a movie or something.
Hardly a minute later, he was tearing a piece of paper from the last page of his sketchbook, and scribbling a little note to his pretty blond neighbor. He folded it into a tiny paper airplane and sent it crash-landing into a pretty realistic sketch of side-boob, and the blond looked to him, perplexed, before he opened the paper. He snorted a bit at the simplistic message within.
Quickly glancing about, as if they were in middle school and he was making sure the teacher's back was turned before he passed a note to his friend, he jotted down a reply and re-folded the plane. He tossed it back awkwardly, and Kenny had to catch it out of the air, accidentally crumpling it a bit. He opened the message and smoothed out the paper. The reply was a stark contrast to his own untidy, grade-school scrawl. It was neat, straight, and absolutely tiny.
'Hi. I'm sorry I thought you were special.'
Kendall felt himself blush a faint pink, before scrawling a message and returning it.
'Could we never ever ever bring it up again?'
'Okay. What's your name, anyway?'
It went on like this for a while, with them passing notes back and forth like children in school, and Kenny came to know that Sam was pre-med, that he was taking this class on a recommendation from one of his more eccentric professors, who wanted him to have a better understanding of anatomy, and that he had graduated from high school early. From him, Sam had learned that Kenny was a car enthusiast, that he was forced here by his artist mother and brother, and that he had started dyeing his hair pink when he was ten. When Sam had asked his natural hair color, Kendall had gotten oddly flirtatious (usually, he was too caught up in thinking up new customizations for his precious baby, and perhaps even a name to even think to flirt; not to mention the fact he was awful at it anyway), and replied with a little winking smiley face and the comment 'Wouldn't you like to know.'
Still running on his flirtatious streak, Kenny replied to Sam's next message (an answer to the question of which medical field he could see himself in, the answer being pediatrics) with something so immature and dorky that he was almost sure Sam was going to end their interaction there. Still, he had to do it, had to see if it would work.
So he scribbled a little note, a simple little question, with little boxes drawn underneath marked "Yes", "No", and "Never, you freak, leave me alone". The question was "Will you go out with me?"
Kendall watched Sam read the message, watched his face turn vaguely pink, and watched, his insides squirming restlessly as if he was going to be sick, those brown eyes flicker to him, then to the note, then back again, before biting his lip and writing down something that was definitely more than a little check.
When Kendall got the message back, he leapt off his stool (effectively knocking it over with a crash he couldn't hear, but was surely deafening) with a jubilant cry of "FUCK YES!" that made everyone turn to him and stare as if he'd lost his mind, and made Sam give a short, bright laugh, before he had to duck his head behind the drafting table to hide his blush and his giggles.
Clenched in Kendall's victoriously upraised fist was the note, bearing a new box, checked, under which the words "I'd love to. How does next Saturday sound?" were written in neat, tiny script.
A/N: Yes, I am fully aware that Kendall is very politically incorrect. So, if that offended you, I'm very sorry. :D Kenny isn't, but I am.