Chris's mind was blank as he stared at his sketch pad.
"Not straight."
"Huh?"
"Your lines...they're not straight" said the boy from his art class who pointed at his paper. Chris was in love with this boy.
"Oh yea. I know that, thanks." He didn't know that.
The boy smirked as he watched Chris erase.
"Almost perfect."
"What?"
"Your circle. It's round...but Mr. Truss wants a perfect circle." The boy flicked his hair out of his eyes and leaned over to scratch his knee.
"Um...I like it the way it is" Chris replied, though when the boy wasn't looking he tried to fix it.
"You really don't have to do that" he said as Chris redrew the lines.
"Then why did you say it?"
"I dunno." The boy stared at the floor.
Chris scoffed before turning back to his paper, frustrated because now he was thinking about the boy instead of his sketch. 'Stop it' he told himself before bringing his pencil back to his paper, 'straight lines and perfect circles, asshole...not boy.' His strokes were starting to look curiously like strands of hair. Strands of golden blond hair that sometimes fall into boys' eyes. 'Fuck.'
"Hey!" Chris said as the boy reached across his lap, "What are you doing?"
"I dropped my pencil."
"Uh...so why didn't you just ask me to get it for you?" God he wanted to touch him.
"Oh. Sorry."
The bell rang and the boy leaned over to grab his bag. His t-shirt rode up a little exposing his slender hips.
'Jesus Christ.' Chris tried to calm down. 'Road kill, vomit, moldy bread, rotten eggs, yellow bile, yellow...hair, pouty...lips, long...eyelashes, hard...' He stopped himself. 'Fuck.'
"WAIT!" The boy yelled as he caught up with Chris in the hallway. He was panting.
Chris turned around and saw the boy's chest rising and falling rhythmically in front of him. 'Somebody up there fuckin hates me' he thought as he pictured, for the millionth time, devouring the boy whole. His lips were like those cherry red lollipops that stain your mouth. He wanted to taste them.
"You dropped this," The boy said, handing him a folded piece of paper.
"Uh...thanks man." He didn't remember having anything to drop.
"Yea...uh, anytime." The boy looked at him with ice blue eyes.
'How is it possible for something to be so fucking beautiful' Chris thought, feeling physical pain as he pictured the boy. He indulged for a few moments longer than usual before finally telling himself to shut the fuck up. He walked home with two things on his mind. They were ice blue.
Later that night as he was changing for bed, the folded piece of paper fell out of his pocket. He opened it.
"I want you"
Chris stared at it for a second before crumpling it up and throwing it away. 'Weird,' he thought, and went to sleep.
The next day in art class Chris, as usual, felt his eyes moving toward the boy. Because they weren't in the same row, he could get away with spending entire periods staring at the back of his head.
'Look at me.' Chris thought, his eyes meeting with the boy's golden hair. 'Look at me.' Chris thought again, staring so hard his eyes started to hurt. 'Fucking look at...'
Suddenly, the beautiful boy that he loved so much turned his head around and pierced Chris with his ice blue eyes. Chris felt himself shiver as he snapped his head forward. 'Fuck.'
He pondered this for a moment before his mind started to wander. 'Did he see me?' Chris shifted slightly in his chair. The legs dragged across the floor and made a screeching noise. 'Of course he saw you asshole...you were looking right at him.' He looked nervously at the clock, wondering if the boy knew how much time he actually spent staring at him...or if he even cared. 'Cut it out you fucking stalker.'
Chris was grateful for the bell and tried not to watch as the boy bent over to pick up his bag. No such luck.
"WAIT!" He heard again from behind him as he saw the boy jogging down the hall. His hair was kind of messy from running and Chris just wanted to grab it and smell it and touch it and hold him forever.
"Uh...I think you dropped this." It was another folded piece of paper. Chris looked at him incredulously.
"Um...ok. Thanks?"
"Anytime." The boy waited until Chris finally turned around and walked away. There was nothing else to say.
As Chris walked to his locker he thought about opening the note...which made him think about opening the boy's shirt, button by button, and running his tongue up and down his chest. He thought about what it might feel like to drag his hands through the boy's hair, or touch those sweet lips with his own. Walking home, he thought of only two things. They were cherry red.
Chris's house was cold when walked in so he picked up his mail and turned the heat to 72. He smiled to himself as he saw the familiar note on the thermostat: "Never turn above 72, never turn below 65." His mom was so neurotic.
He sorted through the mail inside his room, discarding coupons and tearing envelopes. As he unfolded a flier, he remembered the note inside his pocket. He took it out and opened it.
"I want you"
Chris stared at the paper. He tried turning it over but it was blank. 'What the fuck is this kid doing?' Chris wondered. 'If he wants me to do something for him he should just fucking ask me.' Chris crumpled the note and tossed it in the garbage.
The first thing Chris noticed when he walked into art class the next day was golden hair, followed by ice blue eyes, followed by cherry red lips, followed by slender hips...all of which were planted in Chris's seat.
"Uh...hey" Chris said. He tried to smell the boy's shampoo from where he was standing.
"Hey Chris." The boy started to bite his lower lip out of habit. Chris continued to stare at him.
"Oh, sorry...is this your seat?"
"Uh...yea." 'Is he serious?'
The boy looked up at him hopefully, but saw no sign of recognition. He finally got up and walked back to his desk, dragging his feet against the floor as he went.
'Weird,' Chris thought as he took a seat. He moved around in the chair and tried to sense any intangible remnants of the boy.
The bell rang and Chris was staring again. As the boy bent over to grab his bag, he seemed to linger in that position a little longer than usual. Noticing the slight, blond hairs on the boy's lower back, Chris wanted to feel their downy softness as he pictured moving his hands from his hips, to his chest, to his arms, to his stomach, and finally to his face before kissing him all over.
Chris adjusted himself and left the classroom.
"WAIT!" Chris stopped walking because he already knew who it was. A blond head atop a lithe body was hurrying its way down the hall toward him. The middle button of the boy's shirt was hanging off and part of his chest was exposed. Chris almost broke his neck trying to see a nipple.
"You dropped something again...here." Another note.
The boy shook his hair out of his eyes and put the paper in Chris's hand. Their fingers brushed. After the boy walked away, Chris brought his hand to his mouth and kissed it. He still felt the boy's touch as he finally told himself, 'You have to stop this.'
Walking home, Chris carried his books with his right hand and the folded note with his left. He opened it with his teeth.
"I want you"
'Um.' Chris couldn't figure out what the boy could possibly want that was taking him so long to say. Frustrated, he dragged his well worn converses over the ground as he walked; the pavement scratched against the rubber soles. Chris crumpled the note into a ball and began kicking it down the street. He kept it in front of him until they both arrived at his house. As he walked up the stairs to his front porch, only one thing was on his mind. And it wanted something from him.
The next week in art class there was a new assignment. Pick a partner. One will draw the other.
Chris scanned his eyes across the room.
"Hey Chris, can I draw you?" Chris's breath caught in his throat.
"Huh?" Chris looked up and the boy was staring at him. 'Maybe if we're both naked,' Chris thought.
He knew it would probably be impossible for him to sit still as the boy he loved tried to sketch him, but the prospect of staring into his gorgeous face for an hour proved too tempting.
"Uh...sure. I'm...uh...not really much of a model though."
"Yeah right." The boy turned around, not wanting Chris to see him blush.
'Weird,' Chris thought, before sitting down in front of him.
The boy turned back around and Chris noticed the red in his cheeks. 'Oh God. He's fucking blushing.' He quietly thought that if only the boy only knew how beautiful he was when he blushed, he'd probably do it more often. Chris wouldn't mind wearing longer shirts.
As the period wore on, Chris began noticing the strange way the boy looked at him. It was seductive and mysterious, and as he slowly made his strokes on the paper, he'd glance up at Chris with casual smiles. Every so often he'd adjust Chris's position, touching him softly on his shoulder or brushing his hands across his cheeks to turn his face. The boy delicately dragged his fingers through Chris's hair, looking into his eyes and saying how it would look better this way for the sketch. 'I love you' Chris thought, his heart beating so hard he thought the entire class would hear it. And with each line the boy traced across the paper, Chris pictured tracing it across the boy. 'He's so perfect.'
The bell rang and Chris reluctantly gathered his things. He still felt the boy's fingers in his hair.
"Bye Chris" he said as he bent over to grab his bag. Chris wondered if he should confront him, but not wanting to screw anything up, he decided against it. If he said nothing, he couldn't ruin it.
"Uh...bye.' Chris watched the slender hips walk out of the classroom. Tearing his eyes away, he finally looked down and noticed the sketch from last week sitting graded on his desk. "D." 'Shit.'
"Um, Mr. Truss?" The room was now empty except for them.
"Yes Chris?"
"Uh, why did you give me a 'D' on this thing?" He looked at his teacher uncomfortably.
"Because that's the grade you deserved."
"But...you said draw lines and circles...and I drew lines and circles."
"No, what I said was to draw straight lines and perfect circles. You drew crooked lines and ovals."
"Oh. But...uh...I just thought that it looked better this way. Cause like you also said to make art, and this is art." He didn't know if it was art, but he wanted a better grade.
His teacher looked at him skeptically before getting up to leave. "That's debatable."
Chris walked home with his head down, thinking about what his teacher had said. 'What the fuck does he know about art?' His sketch was a bit messy, but there was undeniable character in the rough lines and the slightly less than perfect circles. 'What is perfect?' Chris finally wondered as he reached his house. When he walked up to his porch, he was pretty sure it was staring at him.
"Hey," the boy said.
"Uh, hey." Chris felt a cold breeze hit the side of his face. He zippered his jacket and sat down next to him on the steps.
"Um...did you get my notes?" The boy absentmindedly traced circles on his jeans. Chris wondered how many of them, if any, were perfect.
"Uh...yea dude, you fuckin handed them to me."
"And...?" The boy looked at him expectantly.
"And what?"
"And...what do you think?"
"Uh...What do I think?" Chris repeated him, not really understanding how to answer the question.
"Yea...about the notes...what do you think about the notes?" Chris sensed the frustration in the boy's voice and decided to just be honest.
"Uh...I think that if you want me to do something for you dude, you should just fuckin ask me." The boy looked at him disbelievingly.
"Um...I don't want you to do anything."
Chris shifted around uncomfortably. He wondered why he wouldn't just ask for what he wanted already.
"Uh...ok...were there supposed to be more then?"
"Um no...that was all of them..."
"Ok so...you want me...to what?"
Chris started shaking his leg, waiting for the boy to say something and wondering why this whole thing had to be so complicated.
"I thought I made it pretty obvious." He stared at Chris's blank face and seeing no sign of recognition, finally said, "I don't want you TO anything! I just WANT you. Period." Chris looked up as the boy softly whispered, "I want you, Chris."
Chris's heart was racing as he looked down at his faded sneakers. He was too scared to answer because he might say he loved him, or that he was beautiful, or that he couldn't breathe when he was around him, or something equally as lame. 'Kiss him," he thought, 'just fucking kiss him so you don't have to say anything.' He looked over to the boy who sat there silently.
"Oh. I...uh..." Chris wanted this moment to last forever like a movie. It was perfect the way it was, he finally decided. It wouldn't be fair to ruin it. "I...I should probably go inside." Chris felt like an idiot for not being able to profess his true feelings to the boy who had been so candid with his own. But, as he started to get up, he felt something grab him and pull him back down. The boy forced his shoulders into the ground as he climbed on top of him and pressed his mouth roughly into his. His hair fell over their heads. Chris reached up and grabbed him, pulling him tighter to his face and grinding their bodies together. The boy pushed his tongue between Chris's lips, who willingly opened his mouth to reciprocate. Devouring each other's faces, they passionately made out on Chris' front porch, oblivious to the fact that they were in public and caring only about feeling the other against him. They continued to kiss...and kiss...and deeply kiss before the boy finally pulled himself off. Chris wanted him back on his mouth.
"I was right," the boy panted.
"About what?" 'Put your mouth back on mine.'
"You're an amazing kisser," he whispered into his ear before licking it.
"Um..." Chris finally relented as he looked into the boy's beautiful eyes. He was going to take a risk and he didn't even care. "I...uh...guess I was right too, then."
"Oh yea?" the boy whispered sexily, a hint of laughter in his voice as he ran his tongue down Chris' neck, "what were you right about?"
"Uh...about that I love you." 'Fuck.'
The boy picked his head up and stared at Chris with those suddenly serious ice blue eyes. "Um," he said, the laughter completely gone from his voice, "I love you so much it hurts."
'This can't be happening to me' Chris thought as they pushed their lips together again. 'It's way too perfect.'
They broke apart.
"I can't believe this is really happening" The boy said reading his thoughts.
"Me neither."
Chris suddenly felt guilty about not figuring it out sooner. The boy had literally spelled it out for him. "Uh...I'm really sorry, you know...that it took me so long to figure out."
"It's ok," the boy said knowingly, "Nobody's perfect."
As they pressed their lips back together, their merging bodies created a line that wasn't straight, and wasn't perfect, but was beautiful and brilliant because of it. Hand in hand, they walked into Chris's house wanting each other, and loving each other, and not caring about the repercussions. It was art, the two of them together...a fucking masterpiece.
THE END. ________________________________________________________________________
Author's Note: I originally sent this story from my friend's email address, but have decided to repost it under mine. This is my third story including "Simple Questions," which is also in the high school section, and "Whole," which is in the relationships section. This is a bit different from my other two, but as I said before, I'm still trying to figure out this whole writing process. I can't thank you enough for the emails I've received in regards to my other posts, though, and please don't hesitate to email me at Doveglion@gmail.com with anything you have to say; the comments and criticism have really been invaluable, and I'll always be grateful for suggestions. Thanks for reading! -LW