A/N:
This popped into my head and I had to write it. This will be a sexy, fun ride. Feel free to tell me what you think! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do NOT own Stranger Things or any of its characters.
Mike Wheeler was late for art class again. He ran as fast as he could across the campus of New York University. His messenger bag bounced against his hips as he dashed through a crowd of photography students who were setting up tripods on the lawn.
"Sorry! Excuse me! Coming through!" They huffed in annoyance as Mike broke up their little photo group.
He finally reached the tall, brick building that housed the art classes on campus. The art students nicknamed it "The Tower," due to its medieval-looking towers and stained glass windows. Mike pulled open the heavy wooden door and flew down the hallway to room 113. He checked his watch and felt rather smug about the time.
Heh. Only five minutes late.
"Michael Wheeler," his professor said as he stumbled into room 113. "So glad you could join us. Please take your seat next to Mr. Byers and we can begin."
"Sorry, Mr. Moss."
Out of breath, Mike made his way to where his friend was sitting in the back corner of the room. Will gave a weak wave and a small smile. The other students had already set up their canvases and materials. They rolled their eyes as Mike shoved his way between desks. He was almost always late to class.
"Wow Mike," Will teased. "Late again? Who would have thought?"
"I know, I know." Mike sat down and quickly pulled out his art supplies. He dug into his bag for a charcoal pencil and began to sharpen its point. "It's impossible to get over here in time from the business school across campus. Remember, I'm taking this class as a favor to you so be grateful I'm even here."
"Hey, don't blame me," Will said innocently. "Your business degree requires an art credit, so there you go."
In the beginning of the school year, Mike was reluctant to take an art course but he found he actually quite enjoyed it. And he had even learned a lot – how to create depth, how to use color to convey emotion, and how to use different mediums to create different effects on a canvas.
Mr. Moss clapped his hands in the front of the room, regaining the attention of the class. "Alright people, we have a special treat for you today. We have some volunteers who are willing to model for us. This will help you to learn how to create an anatomically correct human form. Feel free to use your own personal style on this work as the models will vary in age, shape, and size."
The professor picked up a small basket from his desk and began to pass it out to the students. "Everyone take a piece of paper from this basket and split up into pairs. The number you draw from the basket will correspond to the model you'll be drawing today. We started doing this when students started fighting over the so-called 'conventionally pretty' models. There are just enough models for each group to have one. You get who you get, no trades. And remember to maintain the art standards that NYU enforces on a daily basis. That is, treat this as a professional learning opportunity. Okay everyone, find your partners for this activity."
"Wanna be my partner, partner?" Will asked jokingly. Mike smiled. They were always partners in class.
One by one, the students picked out the slips of paper from the basket. Mike eyed the basket as it went around the room.
"What if we get some old hairy fat guy?" Mike joked. "Or some old lady?"
"He did say the models will vary in age," Will said seriously. "I bet the only people with enough self-confidence to model nude are old people anyway." He giggled at the grossed out look Mike had on his face.
The basket finally came to the two friends and only had one slip of paper left. Mike picked it up and read it.
"Number Eleven?" He wondered who that was.
Mr. Moss took the empty basket away and set it back on his desk. "Alright, does every group have a number? Good. Models, come in please!" A door on the other side of the room opened and several people walked in, wearing numbered silk robes. Mike craned his head, looking for Number Eleven.
Indeed, there were several elderly volunteers. Some groups hid their disappointment at being stuck with the old models.
"Forty-two…Twenty-nine…Eighteen…Five…" Mike counted the models he saw, feeling more and more nervous. "Where is Eleven!?"
Will pointed to the last model who walked in slowly, clutching her silk robe. "There she is!"
Mike's eyes focused on Number Eleven. He was speechless.
Shoulder-length brown hair twirled softly as she looked around the room. Her movements were so graceful, as if she was floating in the air. The exposed peachy skin on her neck promised a creamy complexion hid underneath the robe. A small button nose and rose lips adorned her delicate face. Her big brown eyes met Mike's eyes from across the room.
"Call her over," Will whispered to his clearly awestruck friend.
"El-El-eleven," Mike croaked, his throat suddenly bone-dry. "Eleven?"
She heard her number and walked over to the two friends, causing jealous stares in their direction from the other art students who were clearly wishing they had drawn a different number.
"Dude, wanna trade?" A shaggy-haired kid leaned over and whispered to Mike.
"Fuck you, James. No trades!" Mike hissed, feeling a surge of protectiveness over a woman he hadn't even met properly yet.
She now stood in front of them and Mike released a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding.
"H-Hi, Number El-Eleven," he stammered, hopelessly fixated on the model in front of him like a deer in headlights.
"Alright everyone, get working!" Mr. Moss called to the class. "You have the rest of the class hour to create your art piece."
Silently, Number Eleven let the robe fall slowly to the floor and Mike felt like he had been hit with a ton of bricks.
…Holy fuck…
He drank in the sight of her exquisite curves, the perky bare breasts, the long legs... His head was swimming like he was drunk. Mike tried to hide the fact that his jeans now seemed unusually tight. His eyes became dry as he refused to close his eyelids, for fear that she would vanish in front of him.
...Wow...
Will cleared his throat and politely tried not to stare at the poor girl, who his friend was eyeing hungrily. "Alright, let's get started. Would you mind moving just a tad to the left?"
The model shifted slightly, to where the light hit her form the best.
"Perfect," said Will, as he began to sketch an outline on his canvas.
Mike seemed to snap out of his trance and remembered that he actually had to complete the assignment, instead of just staring at this otherworldly woman in front of him. His eyes traced the delicate dimples on her milky skin, her slender thighs...
She's already a fucking masterpiece…How am I supposed to do her justice?
Mike's stomach tightened with nerves. His fingers trembled. There was a tingling in his crotch that wouldn't go away. The model's lips twisted into a tantalizing smirk...She knew the affect she had on him. Worse, she was enjoying this, his agony!
Her warm honey-brown eyes were fixated on him. Emotion washed over him like warm bath water. He wouldn't let her down. Ever. He took a deep breath, steadied his hand, and pressed his pencil to the canvas. "I can do this..."
Mike began to sketch the beautiful woman's body – he began with a loose outline of her form, as he was taught in class. Glancing up at the model as often as he could without giving off a creep vibe, he slowly added more detail…her head…her legs…her hair…her face…
He wanted to concentrate on her face, her most expressive feature. He drew two almond-shaped eyes, a small nose, pouty lips, round cheeks… He looked back to admire his work. Mike was disappointed; something was missing from his drawing. It seemed too…superficial.
Mike looked deeper. In his artwork, he tried to capture not only how the models looked, but who they were. Obviously, this model was extremely attractive. But there was something else reflected in her eyes, a certain distant sadness that was hauntingly beautiful. She was surrounded by mystery, shrouded in secrets. Mike's head spun with the intensity of seeing into the very depths of her soul.
The model's eyes continued to bore into his. They seemed to speak to him with a gentle vulnerability.
"Don't hurt me."
Mike shivered, chills running along his spine. Never before had he experienced such emotion, such intensity, such –
"Okay everyone, time's up!"
"What?!" Mike thought, dumbfounded. "That's it?!" Mike couldn't believe how fast the hour went. He stupidly looked down at his canvas. Those familiar beautiful eyes stared back at him. He sketched the delicate features of her face with so much detail!
Mr. Moss stood in front of the room with his hands folded. "Models, thank you so much for volunteering. We are grateful you could be here."
The art students clapped to show their appreciation. Model Number Eleven stood up and donned her silk robe, silently slinking out of the room without so much as a backwards glance in his direction. Mike watched her leave the room, as if he was waking up from a beautiful dream. He looked over at Will's easel.
He had drawn the model standing straight and tall, looking triumphant with a superhero cape billowing behind her. The number "011" was written on her chest. She was vanquishing an evil villain with her arm outstretched, using what appeared to be telekinetic powers. She looked like a sketch right out of a comic book.
"What do you think?" Will asked, shyly. "Mr. Moss said we could give it our own personal style…"
Mike smiled and clapped a hand on Will's shoulder. Both boys had always been a big fan of comic books. "I love it!"
Will beamed happily and began to pack up his art supplies, shoving Superhero Number Eleven into his black canvas bag. The other art students were packing up too; some had already cleared out of the classroom. A few stragglers remained behind to chat with the professor.
"Come on, Mike!" Will called, heading towards the door. "We're supposed to meet Dustin and Lucas for lunch in the dining hall."
"Coming!" Mike began to pack up his supplies, still in a daze. He rubbed his thumb gently along the jaw line of the drawing that was still set up in front of him. He could almost hear her gentle moan echoing through his mind.
I have to find her. I need to see her again.
