Chapter Text
Eddie mutters under his breath. He hates being late in general and most of all to this nude drawing class he's been taking.
Twenty four years old, just out of the army and finally able to go to college thanks to his service (yeah, he's told people before that he never had the desire to attend, but that's what you say when you don't have the money to do so), this is Eddie's favorite class, if for no other reason than the teacher, Ms. Wilson. Where a lot of art professors turned out to be little more than pompous dicks who seem to think their affinity to art is some sort of affirmation of their superiority as humans (it's not), she's someone who's honestly passionate about art. When she talks about it, she absolutely comes alive. Eddie doesn't say much in class, but her genuine love for it is feeding his soul after too many years spent in the company of people who would either frown at him for sharing his passion for art, try to put him down for it, or would straight up call him 'sissy'.
Which means the last thing he wants to do is be late and unintentionally disruptive, but he obviously can't leave his newborn baby, Christopher, alone and by the time his Tia showed up that morning, apologizing profusely and explaining there was an accident on the highway she was taking to get to their house, his punctuality was out of his hands and all he can do now is offer his own sincere apologies as he's running into the classroom, breathless. He lets the door that he has urgently pushed through swing closed behind him instead of shutting it himself, as he's a bit shocked by coming almost face to crotch with a very naked male model. The guy is sitting on the elevated stage at the front of the class, his body turned towards the entrance, his thighs spread wide and his knees bent at two artistically diverging angles.
With the model's legs spread and in Eddie's direct line of sight, it's impossible for him to miss that he's staring at someone who's incredibly well endowed. Well, that's the first inescapable and embarrassing thought that hits him. The man was gorgeous to a ridiculous degree - that's the second one which bewilders Eddie. This is not the first nude model he's come across in this class. He shouldn't be having these thoughts or be so dumbly frozen in place, staring at the guy's crotch in front of the whole class. And when Eddie tries to remedy the situation by quickly raising his head up, he's caught in the man's eyes. They're blue to a startling degree, with just a touch of morning clouds hovering over a mountain lake in them. In the corner above one of them is a birthmark, a splash of soft pink that only serves to contrast the blue and bring it out more.
Eddie can feel his throat constricting in a feeble attempt to gulp, but his mouth is too dry and refuses to cooperate. He grabs at the bag he's carrying and holds it in front of him, almost like a shield, as if that's going to somehow save him from the awkwardness of the situation. He finally turns his head away from the stage to the class itself, in search of Ms. Wilson, when he realizes she's been speaking to him all along.
"...don't mind explaining your tardiness..." the meaning of her speech finally registers and he hurriedly offers the explanation and apology that were on the tip of his tongue a second before he burst in through the classroom door.
"I'm so sorry, Ms. Wilson. My son's babysitter was running late because of an accident on the highway..." he sees the disapproving look on her face softening a bit at the mention of Chris, though he doesn't expect her sympathy to be reflected in any other way.
"Accidents sadly happen constantly, Mr. Diaz. We can't have you running late that often." She pauses and adds, "Take your seat and let's resume the class." As he guessed it would be, her voice is no less dismayed than it was before he spoke, but she could have grilled him some more and didn't. He's spoken privately to her about the struggle of raising a newborn with chronic health problems as a single parent, so no matter how she reacts in front of the rest of the class, he's confident that she understands.
He quickly makes his way to the chair in front of his easel, puts down his bag and turns the sheets on his pad of paper to a new one. This is his favorite moment with every drawing. The page is so white and clean, virginal one might say. It holds every possibility in the world and contains no mistakes yet. In a sense, it's almost a pity to start drawing on it, taking away from all that potential the page holds and narrowing it down to the one final sketch that will take up residence there. Whenever Eddie starts thinking like that, his solution is to strike, rush out the first line of the drawing with an assuredness he doesn't really possess. Once that's out there, the rest will fall into place. The result might be more to his satisfaction or less, but once that first line is on the paper, the hesitation and doubts are gone.
He picks up his charcoal and looks to the stage at the front of the class, his hand hovering above the paper of its own accord, locating the right spot to land that first line and, in doing so, echo the image Eddie is trying to capture.
He freezes mid-motion. The nude model up on the stage still has his body turned in the same direction he did before, Eddie can definitely see his impressive manhood, but even though their eyes shouldn't meet, they do. That isn't meant to happen because the models that pose for the class aren't supposed to move at all. Yet, this one's eyes are on Eddie. And that's far too unnerving for him to be able to concentrate. After a few minutes of completely lacking the capacity to produce anything on paper, he goes to ask another student a question and while conversing, he glances over at the stage. His gaze and the man's meet again. Eddie returns to his station and, as he stares up from the easel, the same thing happens. It gets under his skin, because there's something about it which resembles a Mona Lisa effect: no matter where he moves to, he's always being watched. And not once does the stoic expression on the model's face falter.
Eddie lets it linger this time. He can sense the gaze focused on him running across his skin like water, at once flowing and clinging to him, vibrating at the same tempo as his quickened heartbeat, and this time when his charcoal-grasping fingers approach the paper, they don't stop. The strokes rain down and blend into each other so swiftly and easily that he can't follow his own process, just blinks at the paper here and there, barely catching what he's doing, between long gazes at the beautiful model on stage. At the man who, without changing his posture, somehow now seems more comfortable, as well as prouder, like he can tell that he's currently providing actual inspiration and not just body curves for the tracing.
Maybe it's because Eddie was late or it could be due to the time he lost even after he had arrived, but Ms. Wilson's announcement that class is over catches him by surprise. He inspects the creation in front of him as if it's the first time he's seeing it. There's a figure there, scorched into the whiteness, with its leftovers and edges smeared all over his own fingertips. Maybe he's not being objective, but he suspects it's the best drawing he's created so far, the body lines are unexpectedly smooth and in harmony, capturing a physique that's remarkable on several planes, while the facial features observe Eddie from the paper with that unknowable expression that's been following him this entire while. The likeness to the real man is uncanny. The sketched pair of eyes is stormy and veiled, the jawline determined, the lips full of promise for an outburst of laughter as much as for a disappointed frown, and the birthmark seals it all together in a way that feels, by now, almost familiar. It's as if every little detail insisted on making its way onto the paper and all of them, now joined together, were examining Eddie and waiting for him to catch up with something.
He puts the charcoal down, closes the pad and hesitantly looks to the front of the class. The stage is empty. Their model for the day must have put on the robe that's usually placed to the side at the beginning of the modeling session and walked into the back room to put his clothes back on.
The moment of truth is now, Eddie supposes. Should he stick around and satisfy his curiosity by talking to the model? Or rather flee before this guy has the chance to interest him even more?
Ms. Wilson, making her way to the front of the class, is about to pass by him as he's wiping the charcoal off his fingers. It occurs to him that maybe she can help. Whoever this guy is, she must know him, even superficially, which is a starting point. Eddie turns to her and, without stopping to consider anything, draws her attention.
"Ms. Wilson?" He doesn't have a prepared question that will get him the information he's after, though. He hasn't exactly thought this through, just acted on instinct. She glares at him, making it obvious that she's unhappy he's keeping her from whatever she was about to do, her impatience most likely amplified by his earlier tardiness and disruption of her class. So he simply blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. "The model today, is his, you know... physique..." Eddie's not the best with talking about things like that even when he means to, let alone when they slip out of his mouth without thought and especially when it involves his art teacher. He can feel the burning blush in his cheeks giving his mortification away, "- the reason why you booked this guy for our class?"
"Huh." She practically spits that sound out and even the noise of the air leaving her lungs is screaming, 'I am a lesbian, child. Please do not insult me.' But then she says, "He's the only one of the first year students that doesn't show up for this nude modeling gig late, drunk or both. The rest is a bonus." With that, she proceeds on her way without waiting for his reaction.
Which is good, because the whole exchange horrifies him enough to shake him out of whatever stupor he must have sunken into. It doesn't matter how intriguing her answer is, he must be losing his goddamn mind and needs to get out of here while he still can.
He grabs his bag and heads out.
* * *
A week and a half pass uneventfully, only sporadically marked by thoughts of that gorgeous model and the gnawing sense of a missed opportunity. And if the completed sketch of that guy makes its way to Eddie's home instead of remaining at his station in Ms. Wilson's class, it's fine. He's made sure to hang it up on the inside of his closet door, where no surprise guests, like certain family members, can possibly come across the nude drawing by mistake. Plus, it's temporary. Until he gets the memory of the actual person out of his system and he's reduced to lines on paper and a pleasing aesthetic image, nothing more. After all, nobody can fantasize about any unattainable person, no matter how gorgeous, for too long. Can they?
The sun is pleasantly caressing Eddie while he's seated by one of the outdoor tables that belong to the student cafeteria. He's lazily chewing on a bite of his sandwich, happy that one of his classes got canceled so that, for once, he doesn't have to rush from one place to another during the so-called breaks. It's a small win, but he'll take it, eyes closed to soak up the warmth.
"Hey, is this seat taken?" a voice jolts him out of his reverie, pleasant enough that, for a second, it's as if the sound of it is a continuation of the sunlight he was basking in.
Not that he gets a lot of time to reflect on that, because as soon as his eyes are open and looking up, he recognizes the model that's been infiltrating his mind. "Ummm, yeah." He finds himself replying to the question of whether he likes this turn of events, before he catches himself and, flustered, corrects himself as quickly as he can. "I mean, no. It's not taken. You're free to sit down if you want to."
"Thanks," the guy raises a leg to straddle one end of the half occupied bench. Not that Eddie hadn't noticed how long those legs were - he's recreated them on paper and in his mind quite a few times - but witnessing them up close and in action has his brain short circuit for a few terrifying seconds.
"I'm Buck, by the way. If you're going to stare at me, I might as well introduce myself..."
"Eddie. And I wasn't..."
"You were and don't worry about it. Just mentally sketching stuff and people constantly, right?" The guy... Buck smiles and it's sincere in a way Eddie wouldn't have expected, clean of any belittlement. "If I could do that, then maybe I'd be taking art as more than an elective."
"You study art, too?"
"This one course, Beginning Painting. It's mostly drawing still life. I really suck at it." He laughs at his own open admission.
"So why do you take it?"
He shrugs. "To have an experience? I figured it can't hurt and besides, I love art. Being around it and people who are good at it. I really enjoy that," he says, staring into Eddie's eyes. "Plus, Ms. Wilson teaches that class and she's a legend around campus for being an awesome teacher."
"Isn't she great?" Eddie smiles back. He notices that during this whole conversation, he's been turning his body more and more towards Buck, trying to match the way that this guy was straddling the bench, fully facing Eddie. It gives him a bit of a buzz, because that's right. Most people would sit down at one side of the table the way he has, turned to its surface and not towards each other. Not Buck, though. So maybe he was looking to start a conversation more than he was for a place to sit. Maybe those eyes that Eddie felt locked on him during the class saw something that they liked.
"Absolutely amazing. I suck at drawing, but her suggestions are always so insightful, I'm actually kinda improving. Not by much, but I'll take it. Plus, she suggested I come model for this class and I can't say no to some extra cash."
Eddie wants to comment on that, say he's happy she did, but it seems too forward. Buck might be interested, but there's still no telling in what exactly. Friendship, help with his drawing... something more? Better not make any assumptions. "So if it's not art, what's your major?"
Buck cocks his head to the side, like he's considering making Eddie guess it, but instead he then replies, "Psychology."
"You major in Psychology?" Eddie doesn't mean to sound as surprised as he does, but it comes out before he can stop himself, "I wouldn't have pegged you for that."
"Oh?" Buck raises an eyebrow and his tone is far too low and sexy. "What would you have... pegged me for?"
Eddie blushes profusely, aware that his embarrassment is, in fact, the telling part. Normally, he doesn't fluster this easily and he's wondering at the effect that this guy has on him. One thing's for sure, though. Eddie's gut feeling was right - the more he's learning about Buck, the more he wants to know. "I guess maybe something to do with business or economics?" He doesn't add, 'you have that air of confidence about you.' Again it feels too revealing.
"Nah, that's for people who enjoy making money. I like figuring out how things work. Especially complicated things. And there's nothing more complicated than people, is there?" Buck looks at him and smiles with just a hint of suggestiveness. It makes Eddie feel like he's the one who's being observed in the nude, seen for exactly everything that he is, with no possibility of covering himself up. It makes him nervous and, at the same time, sends an almost imperceptible but delightful shiver down his spine.
He wants to bask in it, because Buck is definitely flirting. Eddie may be a little rusty, but he can identify it very well when it happens, thank you, and enjoy it as well, but he has to be responsible and not let either one of them be led on.
"Ummm... you heard me mentioning my kid in class the other day, right? I mean..."
"Hey," Buck cuts him off, "I love kids."
That tickles some soft spot inside Eddie, on a deeper level than any flirting can get, and without thinking, he pulls out his phone and shows Buck a picture of baby Christopher, grinning with his big, beautiful eyes at the camera. "I love this one," he says.
"He's adorable." Buck's smile down at the camera is big and genuine, maybe even a bit brighter than the afternoon sun shining down on them.
It makes Eddie want. A hunger unfurls in his gut that he hasn't allowed himself to acknowledge until now and he has to admit, it's nice just to give it its space and not push things down. And maybe it's all of that, in addition to Buck's eyes, that's making him brave, because the next thing out of his mouth is, "Hey, would you maybe like to grab a coffee together sometime? There's a nice little cafe I know not too far from campus..."
For one instant, Buck's face goes horribly serious, but in the next his responding smile is even more radiant than before and it makes Eddie sure he's made the right choice when joy spreads through every cell in his body in response. This is the first line, drawn boldly across the white paper, chasing all doubts away.