The little, paint covered stool creaks as Grantaire leans forward to examine his canvas. It's blank, aside from a light golden stain he'd decided to prime it with; a mixture of ochre, sienna, and turpentine. He'd been growing fond of warm colors lately. Picasso was allowed to have a blue phase, so why the hell couldn't he have a golden one? Glancing around at the other members of the class he sighs. They'd been waiting for the model for a good fifteen minutes now. The one they had scheduled had ditched and the professor was running around like crazy trying to nab some poor unsuspecting sap. R digs his phone out of his pocket, impatient, swiping at it a few times before it finally unlocks.
R: Fucking bored.
Ponine: What do u want me to do about it?
R: We could use a model in here. I think you'd be a prime candidate ;)
Ponine: In your dreams
R: Is that all I have to do to get you in bed with me? Take a nap?
R: Seriously though
R: Why is it so fucking hard for them to find models?
R: Like, who wouldn't want to stand around naked and get paid for it?
R: Hell, I stand around naked all day. Nobody pays me!
R: And seriously, the guys they do find, it looks like they picked them up off the street. They're practically hobos. Ugh.
Ponine: Are you done ranting now?
R: Am I still sitting in class bored out of my skull?
R: Fuck.
R: Wait.
R: I think they managed to find someone.
R: brb
He clicks off his phone, shoving it in his pocket before the professor notices. With a sigh he begins preparing his palate, smearing on some reds and browns and ochers and just a tiny spec of blue. He's so concerned with his color scheme, he doesn't even notice the tall blonde walk into the room. Well he more like strides actually, which R would have noticed had he been paying any attention. By the time he looked up, the boy was already tugging his shirt over his head. R nearly drops his paintbrush. Nonchalantly, he raises his phone up to snap a picture.
R: You know how I was saying they're shit at picking out models?
R: I take it back.
Ponine: ?
R: I think he may actually be a Greek statue Ponine.
R: Although I kind of hope not. Those statues always have tiny cocks.
Ponine: Wow. Are you ever not thinking about cocks?
R: Is that a serious question?
Ponine: Wait.
Ponine: There's a guy in this school you haven't slept with yet?
R: Haha. Very funny.
Ponine: I thought so :P
Ponine: Pics or it didn't happen.
R: [Loading Image]…
Ponine: Oh! I know him!
Ponine: That's E!
R: ?
Ponine: Enjolras. Leader of that student activist organization?
R: The one you go to so you can gawk at Marius?
Ponine: Stfu.
Ponine: Yes :P
His eyes wander up from his phone occasionally, watching the boy undress between messages. The sound of the professor clearing her throat is enough to get him to snap out of his daze. With a charming wink that makes her roll her eyes, he slips his phone back into his pocket. Brush in hand, he glances up at the boy. God he really does look like a statue. His face is hard as stone, that's for sure. And his body, god it's perfect. With chiseled abs and a tight little ass. And that blonde hair. Jesus Christ. R finds that he's been staring for a good couple of minutes before he remembers he's supposed to be painting, not drooling.
Dabbing his brush onto the palate, he draws up some cadmium red, a bit of lemon yellow, and some titanium white. When he's satisfied with the color, he waters it down with some turpentine, loosely sketching the figure onto the canvas. He watches this boy, this God, as he stands there. It's not only his beauty that has R so captivated, but his presence. Even standing buck-naked in a room full of strangers, he somehow still seems so dignified. R admired that. Light flooded in through the windows that lined the walls, backlighting the boy so he almost looked as if he had a halo. R snuck out his phone again.
R: Apollo
Ponine: …?
R: That's who he looks like.
R: He's fucking Apollo
R: That blonde hair, the light shining off him like that.
R: Also, false alarm. His cock's up to par after all.
Ponine: Pics or it didn't happen ;)
R: [Loading Image]…
Ponine: Christ!
Ponine: If that's what going on, maybe I should take Greek Art next semester.
Another warning from the professor met with a sheepish grin. He sighs, picking up the brush again. This time he actually manages to focus, although Apollo's ass certainly isn't helping with that. He's about 75% of the way done when Apollo decides he needs a break. Stepping off his pedestal, he slips on a robe and begins making his way around the room, eyeing the various renderings of himself. He stops at Grantaire's, staring at the canvas reverently. After a moment, he finally speaks.
"Don't you think you're idealizing the subject just a bit?" He says, expression serious as anything. R shrugs, almost laughing at the statement. "If you don't like it, stop looking like that." He says motioning to the canvas, and he can almost swear he sees Apollo blush. "I never said I didn't like it." The blonde mutters. "Have you got a name?" He asks. "Most people do." Grantaire replies with a smirk. He lets him hang there for a bit before he starts to feel bad. "Grantaire." He says finally, offering a paint-stained hand. "But you can call me R."