Disclaimer: I don't own The 100. Also, I'm not in college. I don't know how professors tell people to take their clothes off! Sorry if everything the professor says is awkward and unnatural.
"Today, we will be studying the female form."
Clarke took a sharp inhale - this could only mean one thing. Nude models. Well, that wasn't a definite, but it was a very real possibility.
"This female form," her professor continued, "Is full of curves and edges, hills and plains, soft and hard. We have a volunteer model who is a perfect example of these contrasts. She is a student here and captain of the womens' soccer team. I would like you to welcome, Ms. Lexa Woods."
And the most beautiful woman Clarke had ever laid eyes on stepped through the doorway. Lexa was tall, most of it in her legs, and covered in (presumably) nothing but a terry cloth half robe. Her hair was intricately braided and her eyes were the color of tree tops. When she smiled shyly at the small class, Clarke had to look away for a fear of blinding herself.
The professor's voice tore her away from her wandering mind, "Alright, Ms. Woods. You may disrobe and position yourself comfortably. You may be there a while."
The brunette untied her sash and tossed the garment away. Clarke heard her professor speaking and the other students beginning to shuffle their pencils. All she could pay attention to was Lexa sat in a chair and twisted slightly, giving a profile of her pushed out chest and razor - sharp jawline. The tan skin that was revealed was not marked by a single blemish. Her woven hair shone in the natural light streaming in through the windows. Clarke was shaken out of her reverie when emerald eyes connected with her ocean blue ones. She could feel heat rising in her cheeks, so she snapped her gaze down at the blank paper, picked up a charcoal pencil, and began to trace Lexa's gorgeous figure.
An hour and a half later, the professor called pencils down. Clarke was just finishing blending in a shadow. She was proud of her work, felt it to be an accurate interpretation - but something was missing.
"The class will be critiquing each of your sketches. Lexa, you can go ahead and put that robe on. And feel free to stick around for the critique." The brunette stood gracefully and sauntered over to the chair her robe was draped over. Clarke almost pouted when Lexa tied the robe around herself and took a seat.
"Clarke," the professor called her attention, "How 'bout you start us off?"
The blonde was caught slightly off guard. She never tried to call much attention to herself. She knew her art was good, but it was a part of her and was personal. This, however, was very simply a nude sketch - no personal connection.
She slowly stood and slid her sketchbook under the projector. A beautifully realistic image of the soccer captain appeared overhead on the wall.
"Wow," the professor stared at the projection, dumbstruck, "This is amazing."
Clarke gave a quiet thank you and glanced at Lexa. The tan woman was staring, open-mouthed, at her likeness. Her eyes shown with appreciation, admiration, probably a couple other 'tions'.
"So, Ms. Griffin," the professor said, tearing Clarke's gaze away from the other woman, "How do you think you did?"
Clarke looked up at her drawing, then at Lexa - and realized that the brunette's gaze was fixed on her, waiting. There was no way Clarke could capture this woman's beauty, the way her eyes shown, her smooth skin, her sharp cheekbones. Clarke couldn't help but flash the gorgeous woman a small smile, her bisexuality showing.
"I don't think I do her justice."