Lines and Curves
The Doctor gulps down the air, letting him choke him as his head clears and he can see rolling fields of crimson grass, a sky of burnt orange and, more intriguing still, tantalising flashes of creamy peach curves and crevices. And a voice; the most beautiful voice he has ever heard. It wraps around the words like silk; delicate, yet protective…
"Draw what you see…"
~*~
"But I see you…"
"So?"
"So I can't draw you…I won't be able to do you justice…"
Koschei prods the flesh on his hip, the slight puppy fat of childhood that still lingers moulding to his touch. His finger is pointing to a silvery white scar that arches along his hipbone.
"You see?" he asks. "From when I fell out of our tree." He pauses to let Theta process his words whilst he contemplates his next avowal. "I won't always look like this, Thet. You've heard them talking in the Value of Life lectures…regeneration is still a death when all's said and done. You might not want me if I change."
Theta opens his mouth to protest but no sound came out; he can't envisage any Koschei other than the one sitting naked in front of him. Anything else would be a false coin; a pretender.
"I want to know how you see me."
"But why can't I just tell you?" Theta asks, puzzled.
"Because you have an irritating habit of embellishment. I want to see what you see when you look at me now, without all the flowery sentences and clichés. I want honesty, not poetry."
Theta wants to tell Koschei that every single word he has ever uttered about perfection and bliss and all those other idioms about days without light and putting diamonds to shame are all true, but he can't think of how to explain it.
Instead, he picks up the stick of charcoal and places it on the rough, dimpled page of his leather-bound notebook. The lines are smooth and clean, denoting the sharp angles of Koschei's cheekbones and the tiny indentation in his chin. He pays careful attention to the shadowy hollow at the centre of his collarbone; shading with perfect precision until it is just the right hue of lightly smudged grey and the unrefined sketch continues. The curves of Koschei's thighs are Theta's favourite; while they first appear simple when the charcoal touches the paper again and he draws a smooth semi-circular line, he realises that they are so much more complicated. They curve into his pelvis, curling slightly but while the line appears effortless, it crinkles where it touches a fold of Koschei's skin as it creases into another area of his body; a frown behind his knee, a crinkle along his hip.
Theta leaves Koschei's eyes until last. They are a soft, constant blue, like swimming water; deceptively deep and dark. He has to be careful not to drown in those irises as he sketches, shades and smudges until he feels that he might have done some modicum of justice to the perfection he sees in them.
When he has finished he holds it out to Koschei brusquely, as if he is somehow annoyed that he has been forced to study him all afternoon; the truth is, he is frustrated that he has been forced to spend the time drawing him when he could have been exploring all that beautiful peach cream flesh. Koschei is silent for a while, studying the sketch and then he looks up at Theta, his mouth twisted down into a slight scowl.
"You've made me…beautiful…" He says the word as if it is something filthy; the ultimate insult.
"That's how I see you, Kos…" Theta's voice is hushed, timid with the air of quiet confidence of someone who knew that they are telling the truth.
"…Really…?"
"Of course! You did tell me to draw what I saw…" There is a slight accusation in the repetition of Koschei's order.
"It's…"
"Yeah."
"Thank you."
"Yeah."
"What's wrong?" Koschei asks.
"I spent all that time just…looking…it's infuriating, Kos!" Theta bursts out suddenly.
Koschei is silent for a moment and then he pouts slightly before complaining, "It's cold, Thet."
More silence and then Theta's voice breaks through, barely a whisper.
"I could do something about that…if you want…"
~*~
The Doctor remembers that day with a painful precision; the smooth cream curves of Koschei's young body, displayed to him because he wanted the truth. The trust between them was unbreakable and eternal.
With a jolt, the scene shifts and everything goes dark; a blackness of nothingness that he wonders for a second if this is the Void, or maybe just the Darkness of death, but lightening crackles in his mind and suddenly he knows. He has been here before...