The Shape of Art

March College of Natural History- Ashfern, Belleterre

October 1 - Sophomore year

Scene 1: The Devil's Tongue

Dr. Valerina March stood near the stone balustrade of the campus courtyard, sipping espresso from a tiny cup like it was sacrament. Her heels clicked once on the flagstones as she shifted her weight and tilted her head toward Dr. Lucien Fontenay, art teacher.

Also, her longtime friend and fellow fossil-obsessed Francophone.

The sun had dipped low behind the ivy-covered tower. Students milled about in the distance, but Valerina? She barely noticed them.

Except one.

Bear.

He was a lazy silhouette on a bench nearby, arms spread wide across the back like he owned the whole damn thing, purple ball cap pulled low, boots still dusty from the stables.

Supposedly waiting for a teammate.

Supposedly not paying attention.

She pulled her eyes off the young man with an effort and let her voice drop as she turned to Lucien.

"Tu le vois?" she said, just above a whisper. ("Do you see him?")

Lucien followed her gaze, then raised a brow. "L'athlète? Magnifique. Trop jeune pour toi." ("The athlete? Gorgeous. Too young for you.")

Valerina lifted one shoulder in a silent, 'what can I do?', smirked, swirling her coffee.

"Ils sont tous trop jeunes. Mais celui-là? Il me regarde comme un loup affamé." ("They're all too young. But that one? He looks at me like a hungry wolf.")

Lucien chuckled. "Et tu aimes ça." ("And you like it.")

Her thoughts went back to the summer in Louisiana. Hot days. Hotter nights. Horses. Sweat. Human sweat. Worship. Tears.

And a huge young man with a body of a god and the heart larger than his impressive physique.

Unfortunately, the summer ended. So did the fling.

She was a March, and this was March College. Her name wasn't just on the door -- it was etched in the foundation.

He was a student.

Their paths had not once passed since their tearful goodbyes in September.

Yes, she stalked him from afar, like now, but when she went to actually talk with him? The man ghosted her.

All for the best, she supposed, sipping her drink.

"Mmm?" Lucien encouraged her with the small sound.

Vale blinked and then chuckled, rolling her eyes. "I shouldn't."

"Non." The voice, achingly familiar, made the hairs along her arms and neck stand up and pay attention. A heat bloomed between her thighs. As though all the weeks and months that separated them were nothing.

Bear.

"But damn if it ain't mutual, chère."

Valerina turned.

Sharp. Stiff.

Bear stood behind them. Grinning like the goddamn sun.

Cap in hand, eyes full of wicked delight.

"Don't worry," he added, stepping closer, voice all smooth bayou velvet. "I ain't offended. I am hungry. But I ain't no wolf. Wolves wait in packs. I ain't waitin' for nothin'."

Lucien blinked. "He speaks French?"

Bear gave a shrug so casual it ought to be illegal. "Grew up listenin'. Mama cussed us out in it. Daddy prayed over pigs in it. And my grand-mère? She sang lullabies with teeth in 'em."

Valerina's mouth parted, just slightly. Her clit was pulsing out an SOS of desperation in counter beat to his heartbeat.

Need.

He leaned in. Close enough for her to feel the heat off his skin.

"Next time you wanna talk about me, Doc," he whispered, Cajun lilt thick and sinful, "you should do it somewhere I ain't dreamin' of bitin' you on the neck."

Then he slipped his hat back on, backwards, flashed that broad, devastating smile again, and walked off.

Whistling.

Wildfire.

The song crooned through her soul.

'And the pony she named Wildfire

Busted down his stall

In a blizzard, he was lost

She ran calling Wildfire

Wildfire'

Lucien looked at her, eyes wide.

"You are so fucked."

Valerina took a sip of her coffee, hands just barely trembling.

"I know," Vale breathed, trembling with need.

- * -

Scene 2: An Different Kind of Art Heist

Bear was as jumpy as a cat in a room of rocking chairs.

Nah, that was a tired southernisms.

He was fucking hot. Fucking bothered.

And broke.

Ever since he'd caught the Professor looking his way.

She remembered as well as he did. He was sure of it.

He'd not slept a good night since the last time he had her nestled against his chest. Couldn't seem to get comfortable with a pillow, a cat or a teddybear.

Cat was a lot like the Doc.

Left him bleeding.

Scratched.

Bitten.

Fuck!

He missed that woman.

Hearing her sweet-talk him in French?

Damn.

His heart nearly cracked out of his ribs.

Since then, he'd been torn between walking on air, and dying inside. She could summon him real nice and easy:

"Bear, please cum to the Head Mistress's office.'

He'd be on his knees before her in a breath. Cheek against her knee, begging her to keep him.

Begging!

Because she didn't, and she had the power to, he was just waiting.

But even after that little talk, she didn't summon him.

Quite annoying, actually.

He wasn't going to come running without call.

Nah.

So, he'd torn a page off the bulletin asking for models.

Art models to stand for having students do some drawing.

He was feeling full of spit and vinegar from her strange mixed signals.

And he needed the coin.

Not for booze this year. He had to eat. And money didn't grow on trees.

And that's why he found himself across from Dr. Fontenay again, filling out a damn waiver with a borrowed pen and trying not to blush like a boy.

"Are you okay with posing nude?" Dr. Lucien asked, looking him over like she were internally measuring his bone to muscle ratio.

It made him think of Professor March.

"Yes, sir. That's quite fine. What's that price?"

"It doubles the fee. And we really could use a change of form. You don't have to decide now, you can email me."

"Nah. I'm good. I'll do it. You let me know."

He signed the papers without a second thought, mind only on the dollars and the boiled shrimp he was craving.

Wasn't like home, but maybe it'd patch a bit of homesick.

For the heartsick? That'd require a side of beef probably.

- * -

Scene 3: I Want Muscles

Vibe: "Now this... this right here is where you let the brush linger. Just a touch." ~Bob Ross

Dr. Vale, hair pulled up in a neat, tight twist, settled into one of the seats.

She was really looking forward to playing with a bit of art for the afternoon.

With homecoming so close, she barely had time to breathe let alone enjoy some creative time.

Thankfully, Dr. Lucien always let her know when a fun class was happening and she could sneak in, so long as there was an empty seat. Given the number of seats set up, she suspected this was a very special class.

Then again, every live model class had an allure.

A flavor.

A vibe.

The room was arranged with a single row of chairs and easels circled around the central stage. There were pillows and a blue velvet settee arranged.

The mode had yet to enter.

"Holy shit... the Cobra walks among us today?" one of the students excitedly whispered to a classmate.

"What's this?" Vale asked, unable to stop smiling at the nickname.

The young woman blushed and stammered. "The model. The Cobra."

As though that clarified everything, she turned back to arranging her space, dropping her brushes more than once before settling.

"Protein Papí.."

"Thighs of The Apocalypse!"

"I don't know how I'm going to do this. I think I might faint."

"Don't worry. I'm sure he won't be fully naked."

"Students, please settle," Dr. Lucien Fontenay said before the man himself came gliding out from the side room.

He wore a long art coat, giving it a flip before tying the sash closed.

"This is an art class, not a porno. If you're only here for a peep show, you can get up and leave now. Once the model is out here, there will be no whispering and snickering. It takes courage to pose for us and we are very lucky for this model. Am I making myself clear?"

For some reason, Dr. Lucien gave Vale a long look.

The longest!

She put a hand to her chest and looked around. "I would never," Vale breathed, a little offended.

Did he think she was some tawdry trollop who came to art sittings to ogle the models.

Rude!

Her friend narrowed his eyes, gave one last warning look, zeroed on her. Then walked the room, checking that students were ready.

Smiling to herself, Vale arranged her pencils and pad, the watercolors, brushes and canvas. She imagined the lovely woman from the last sitting and hoped the model wouldn't be quite so shy.

There was nothing wrong with modesty, but the proud human form would be a nice change.

"All right, Monsieur. We are ready for you."

The class fidgeted and then went quiet.

Vale adjusted her glasses and fussed with her sketchpad angle, not bothering to look up.

"Let me see, let's have you stand here. Robe can go over the arm of the settee. How is the temperature, darling? Good good. You'll get breaks. Get yourself situated where it's comfortable. Second posture we'll do sitting, or lounging. Like a panther."

Like a panther?

She looked up, smiling to herself, and the whole world skittered sideways.

Sweet merciful Darwin, take me now.

There he was.

At the dais, fussing with a pillow in one big fist, was Bear.

"Sounds fine, sir." The big man drawled like he was here for tea.

Not naked as the day he was born.

In all of his magnificent glory.

All six-foot-too-much of Bear, gleaming like he was carved by the horny hand of Zeus and slathered in Southern sin.

His tanned skin was burnished with an oil that brought out all the lines and dips and curves of that beautiful body.

No. Absolutely not. This could not be happening.

He was not here. Naked. In front of her.

This was a stress dream. A fever vision. A punishment from the Academic Integrity Office for that one incident in Nice.

His eyes moved across the room and found hers.

Found her.

The air left the room.

The pencil she'd been spinning between her fingers went flying.

"Doctor March. You have been warned."

The girl beside her leaned in, blushing furiously. "The Cobra."

She could only flash the young woman what she hoped was a smile.

Bear had his eyes on her, his expression one of practiced stillness. One powerful hand fisted that pillow.

"Let us get into the mood. Hhmmm?"

I Want Muscles" by Diana Ross swells in the background.

Sultry, triumphant, and completely unbothered.

"Stay with me, you won't regret it.

Take this love, so deep to swim in

Come to me, and let my love int!"

His broad chest swelled, expending and then slowly deflated as the breath moved from him. Then a cat-in-the-cream slowly curved his full lips and he struck his pose.

As Bear settled into a pose that was definitely illegal in some states, Vale heard the soft ghost of a voice in her head:

"This is your world. You can do anything you want here."

This is no longer just anatomical study.

With every stroke of charcoal, she rendered him down to his atoms.

Veins. Shadows. Power. Temptation.

His body seduces her without a sound. No movement. Just memory.

She's conquered with each caress of black over the page.

One hard line at a time.

- * -

Bare Muscles

This must be what Lord Jesus felt like on the cross.

Oh, don't be a fool, boy, you're standing for a room full of art students.

No I ain't! I am standing before the only woman on God's earth that I give a spit about. The woman I would like break me down to ash and pray she'll rebuild me.

I'm going to loose it.

Do not loose it.

He focused on the middle distance, refusing to see her.

Steady boy. You got this.

Things he kept in mind to keep his body from responding.

The smell of the pigs.

Burnt bacon grease from Daddy's bad morning fry.

That thick perfume of some'tn grand-mère had been boiling for protection.

The way his mother would look at him if she knew he was flapping his cock around strangers.

His brain helpfully supplied a family peanut gallery. Daddy, mama, both grand-mère:

'I needed the money, mama.'

"Woe! My son is a giggilo. SHowing his body for money.'

'That's a stripper, daughter. Ain't no shame him showing the world what he got.'

'And he got some pride to show.'

'Mother! I can't believe you.'

'Maybe he can make some money if one of those pictures got to the intarwebs. What they call that? Virus? It goes all... virus.'

'We could be rich.'

Imagining it made him grin to himself. He tried not to, but damnit.

That was fucking funny.

Then, she went and crushed him.

That woman.

That vixen.

His curse.

His angel.

His.

"I see you haven't forgotten how we spent our summer."

His body leaped to life like she'd just tossed a torch into the hayloft.

Biting his tongue couldn't stop it, Clawing his blunt fingers into his palm did no good.

Bad cock.

Bad.

Stop it.

Someone's stool creaks violently.

A brush drops into someone's water cup with a plop.

Even if he bit his damn tongue clean off he couldn't stop his body from awakening to her.

A flower to her sunlight.

He groaned and closed his eyes.

Someone whispered, not quietly. "Is that legal?"

"I thought that was a myth."

"The Cobra!"

His shoulders shook with the laughter he was trying to hold back. This couldn't be happening.

He saw one brave soul keep drawing, eyes flicking from his paper to Bear's crotch and back again. At least until the charcoal shattered.

Bear was on the verge of doing that too!

Shattering.

He swung his eyes to Dr. Valerina March and bore down upon her with all of his spirit. If he was going to loose it, she would know it was ALL her fault.

And he wasn't ashamed of that.

Doc Lucien though? Might not pay him.

Well.... Bear was only a man. And he had not been touched in almost two months.

"Let us remember: all bodies are beautiful." Dr. Lucien called out. "We can just... OH MON DIEU."

Dr. Lucien staggered back a step, one hand over his heart, the other flung toward Bear like he was warding off a demon. "No! Non non non! I said sensual, not... not phallic thunder!"

A collective gasp rippled through the class like a rogue wave.

Sketchpads dropped.

One poor student made the sign of the cross.

Another whispered reverently, "I can draw from memory. I'm fine. I'm good. I'm... blessed."

Bear didn't move.

Couldn't.

His jaw was locked, every muscle straining with the tension of holding still while his body quite literally betrayed him.

He refused to look at Vale.

But he felt her.

Her eyes. Her heat. Her delightfully wicked silence.

Then...

A chair scraped the floor.

High heels clicked against concrete.

Every eye turned as Dr. Valerina March rose, slowly, gloriously, like the goddess of academic sin she was.

Calm.

Collected.

Lethal.

She approached the dais with the serenity of judgment day.

"Lucien," she said, voice a purr dressed in pearls. "If this model is too advanced for your class, I'd be happy to take over instruction for the afternoon."

Dr. Lucien blinked. "But, but the syllabus..."

Vale didn't spare him a glance. She was already walking a slow, precise circle around Bear.

Appraising.

Studying.

Savoring.

"I think we could all benefit," she said sweetly, "from a demonstration in anatomical accuracy."

Bear felt heat crawl up his neck. Not just blush.

Fire.

"Doc..." he said, low and warning.

"Oh no," she murmured. "This is your world. I'm just sketching in it."

A whimper came from somewhere in the back row.

Vale gestured toward the nearest stool and raised her brow. "You may sit, Mr. Beauregard."

Beauregard.

He didn't move.

Couldn't.

She'd used his name. His real name.

Beauregard!

Her smile was a slow detonation. "Or... lounge. Like a panther."

Lucien dropped a sketchpad. "I must go... rearrange some paints."

And he ran.

Vale turned back to Bear, now so very close he could count the freckles across her nose.

"Still worried about the lighting, sugar?" she whispered.

Bear's control snapped like an overstretched canvas frame.

He grabbed the pillow he'd been clenching, shoved it in front of himself, and growled, "This class is over."

"No," she said, catching his wrist. "This class? Has only just begun."

That touch was all it took.

Bear was lost!

* -

Scene 4: phallic thunder!

Bear flung the pillow over his shoulder. "Oh, you going to higher learn me, mon petit sauvage?"

"Yes. Yes I am!"

"In front of all these innocent students?" He didn't look away from her though. The big man shifted his powerful body, still standing, cock arching proudly upright, nearly touching his navel with that aching curve.

As she watched, a trickle of heat ran down the underside of his length.

"The students can leave. If they want. I'm not shy, sugar."

"No? You got over that, mmm? A shame. I really like how you pink up like a sunburn when I talk filthy to you."

Students hastily packed up their equipment, footsteps padded for the door.

"I'm mad at you, Bear."

"Moi?"

"Yes!" She used the tip of one finger to poke right in the center of his broad chest and pushed.

He didn't fight it, just let her stab him with the fingernail. And slowly, willingly, fell back, ass naked, onto the settee. "What I do? Tell your Beauregard how he do better, ya?"

"Well, you've been avoiding me." She stepped in closer and he spread his thighs wide to accept her.

"Naaaah. Nah! Beauregard been waiting all nice and sweet for you to come calling. Why you make at me wait? You got all the power." His eyes twinkled. "All dem cards, chère."

"Stop that!"

"Psh, you tease me until I nearly explode over my own belly and you mad. Look what you do to me. Look."

He leaned back, spreading his arms and his thighs more, watching her with burning heat in his gaze.

"Everyone in this room saw you. Naked. Aroused. Aching."

He moaned low, shivering and writhing under her words. Her fury.

How could she be so angry and so turned on at the same time?

"You did this to me. You. Only you." Reaching forward, he grasped the tie of her artist apron and gave a quick flick of the knot.

"I don't like them seeing what's mine."

"No. They did not see. No one sees what you see, Valerina."

Not Doc. Professor. Cher. Chère. Vale.

Valerina.

Heat flooded her core. Her heart. Her very soul.

"I want you," she breathed. "But I'm afraid."

He gave her such a dazzling smile. "You mad at your own Beauregard because you are afraid? Ssshhh... You come to me. I take care of you. Laisse-moi t'montrer."

Her head tipped, damn him and that sexy Cajun.

"Let me show you, mon petit sauvage."

She gave a shake of her head. "Oh no. I'm not done with you." She pressed two fingers under his chin and tipped his head up so his face was turned to her.

He followed her demand, docile but something hungry burned in his eyes. She felt it then. How starved he was for her. There was nothing defiant in his posture. Even his cocky smile faded and he watched her. Waiting.

He really had been waiting for her to make the first move.

To decide.

She pressed her thighs together and whimpered.

"Yeah. Dat right." He purred out the words. The honey in his voice filled places in her she had not realized where sore and aching.

"Stretch out your arms. Hands up here on the back of this settee." Slowly, she stroked her thumb over his full lower lip. His teeth had pierced the skin and the lower was swollen and specked with blood.

He did as demanded, watching her, breath catching.

His cock pulsed and slapped against his lower stomach when she pinched his lower lip.

"I thought you were avoiding me," she whispered.

The room emptied. The door slammed closed and they were alone.

Finally!

He gave a small shake of his head and licked her thumb when it passed over the bite.

"My heart ached every time I went into the stables and you weren't there. You 'just left'. Over and over again."

A low moan rose from him and he squirmed on his seat. His hands flexed, moving into fists and then out of them.

"I see now what you needed. My big, sexy, impossible Beauregard."

She liked the taste of his name on her tongue. The way his breath caught and his eyelids grew heavy when she said it.

Vale ran her finger down his chin, his throat, circled his adam's apple and then his collarbone with light scratches.

The big man groaned and leaned into her touches. He didn't need to say anything. His breathing said everything. The way his muscled tightened under her as she raked her fingernails over his chest from left to right and then right to left.

Leaving red marks in his oiled bronzed skin.

"Write your name on my body, chère."

And she did. Her name. Oaths. Spells. Magic. It felt like it poured from her fingertips with moonlight, stars, and all the heavenly host. Then she kissed him, to seal it with fate.

She brushed her lips over his, just sharing breath, kissing the upper and the lower, then kissed the tip of his nose, between his eyes, each eyelid, his cheek and then returned to his mouth.

Cupping his face, she kissed him. Hard.

He moaned out her name into her and arched toward her but his hands stayed firm on the back of the settee.

Valerina!

They kissed like it was the air they needed. Like the only thing that mattered. Like coming home. She lost herself in it, sliding her hands through his inky black hair, gathering both fists full to hold him in place.

When she felt his fingers threading through her hair, she broke the kiss, jerking back, breathless.

"I said hands on the headboard, cowboy."

Eyes glazed, he did as she demanded but writhed under her. She swung a leg over his thigh and pressed her aching pussy against his bare knee and ground herself against his hot flesh.

Gasping and whimpering, she rode him to an orgasm. Hands on his power shoulders, rocking back and forth from knee to upper thigh and back again until her whole body fell to pieces and she sobbed out his name.

His cock wept against his abs, the pre-cum making a sweet mess of him.

But her man was strong.

He didn't break.

Vale tossed the painting apron behind her and then her shirt and stood gracefully to tease him with how wet her slacks were. Yes, the dove grey slacks were soaked. Her climax writ plain in the dark watercolor.

A Rorschach test for her desires. And she knew he could read them.

She put a heeled foot on the settee at his hip and rubbed her hand between her thighs, delighting at the way his eyes followed her movement.

And how his hips jerked upward.

"Chère, I'm beggin'. Please ruin me good." His voice trembled, breathless, Gripping onto the back of the settee so hard his knuckles were white as bone.

"Yes, sugar. I plan to."

She stood straight and unfastened her delicate gold belt and slid the cloth over the swell of her hips and down her thighs.

For a moment she wasn't sure. Standing there in just her heels, matching coral bra and bikini panties. Fifty years of life left marks on her. Stretch marks, a full lower stomach and extra meat on her bones.

Not for the first time, doubt made her pause.

This man. This gladiator, could have anyone he wanted. Any time.

"Don't you dare hide that from me," he whispered. "You are carved like prayer. Let me worship. I haven't been with anyone else you, Valerina," he whispered. "And some time before you as well, goddess. Look at me. Mmmm, glorious. You are what I want. You."

His cock pulsed as he said the words and his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Fuck! Even when you torture me. Especially when you do."

Unfastening her bra, she gave him a view of her big breasts first. Her nipples were achingly hard and grew even tighter when the cool air kissed their pink peaks.

"Let me have your pretty gumdrops. You magnificent beauty. If I had my hands..."

"But you don't." Hooking her fingers into her panties, she draw them down, showing off the ginger thatch of hair neatly trimmed above her slick pussy. Her thighs were glossy with her need.

She was a mess.

Tossing those aside as well, she returned to him, pushing her breasts into his face as she climbs into his lap, straddling his broad hips.

A growling purr vibrating through her body as he nuzzled her breasts and then found her nipple, full lips wrapping the bud and suckling slow, sweet and careful. Now and then the scrape of his teeth made her gasp and she loved it.

Loved it.

She ran hands through his hair and then slid one down his body, finding his huge, swollen cock between them.

He was huge. Long, thick, arched just so. And it was pain and pleasure to be stretched by him. When she stroked the head of him through her heat, he snarled around her nipple and shuddered.

Moving with him, she positioned him at her entrance and he went still. His eyes lifted to her first before her nipple slipped from the suction of his mouth with a liquid pop.

"Condoms?" he rasped, trembling.

She shook her head.

He watched her, brows drawn together.

"I haven't been with anyone but you in years. I want you raw. I.... need you raw."

He moaned. "Never have.... had.... without..."

"Mmmm..." She whispered and kissed him as she lowered herself down on his shaft. His groan of pleasure filled her and she echoed it.

The thickness of him spread her. Stretched her, inch by inch he filled her until she whimpered and squirmed to accommodate more.

Taking him bare was unlike anything she'd felt before. Skin on skin. Nothing between them but friction. His heartbeat pulsed through his cock, deep in her pussy.

Vale wasn't going to last long.

Not after their teasing.

Drawing him.

Knowing what she really wanted.

Taking what she wanted.

She rose back, breaking the kiss so she could ride him, long and slow, and look into his eyes as she took what she wanted. Rising high, letting his cock escape before dropping her full weight onto him with a wet slap.

Bear rose under her like the tide, plunging deeper with a snarl and whip of his hips.

"Monte-moi," He whispered, voice breaking into a low snarl of delicious pleasure.

They moved together as one. Her hand in his hair, the other on his chest, over his heart.

"Mine," she whispered, holding his gaze. "Mine."

Moaning, he arched upward, giving her just what she wanted.

"Yes. That's right. I feel you. I see you. Viens, bébé."

Valerina rode him faster, he followed her movements. Harder. The slapping of their bodies filling the art work. The scent of sex and sweat, adoration, desire and something deeper.

Soul and heart deep.

A claiming of more than bodies.

She screamed when she reached her peak, Fingers digging into his shoulder as he pumped into her from below.

His roar of release followed and she swore she could feel every hot gush of his cum filling her. Hot sprays shooting into her body in the same tempo of her pulse.

Falling into him, she sobbed out his name, burring her face in his neck as she lost herself around him.

Strong arms went around her. One hand threaded into her sweaty hair, undoing the once carefully twisted knot. He whispered filthy words to her as he continued to move under her.

"I love you," came muffled against her throat between kisses, nibbles and suckling of her sweaty skin. "OOohhh.... You are mine. Tell me."

"Yours. Mmm... fuck." SHe was so full of him. His cock and his cum. "I am yours, sugar. Don't you dare ignore me again."

"Never, my heart. Never again. You aint never be free of me. mon petit sauvage."

- * -

Final Scene: The Aftermath (Post-Cobra Meltdown)

Location: Student Lounge, and hour and 23 minutes later

- * -

"I can't draw hands anymore," one student whispered, rocking gently in a chair that was probably not rated for this kind of psychological damage. "Every time I try, they just turn into... veins."

Another stood at the vending machine, still holding a half-snapped charcoal stick like a cigarette. "That was not a banana. I just, I want to be very clear."

"I'm dropping out," the third muttered into a bottle of vitamin water. "I'm switching to marine biology. Fish don't do that to people."

Over in the corner, someone had attempted to draw Bear from memory on the whiteboard. It had started respectful. It had ended... uncensored. The marker squeaked as one brave soul added a halo and flames. Another stuck a post-it beside it:

"Cobra. Class of 2025. Never Forget."

Dr. Lucien stormed into the room, fanning himself with a folded course catalog. "He lounged! Did you see the way he lounged! Like a nude thunder god who'd lost a bet."

A student peeked over her laptop, eyes wide. "Will there be... a makeup session?"

Lucien froze. "You think I'm inviting that man back?! My walls are still vibrating with testosterone!"

At that moment, Vale breezed past the doorway, hair mussed, blouse untucked, one earring missing.

Lucien stopped her with a glare.

She didn't stop walking.

Just winked.

"Anatomically accurate," she purred. "Ten out of ten."

The class applauded.

Someone started sobbing again.

And from the hallway, a very deep, very Southern voice rumbled:

"Y'all got any baby oil left? I left my boots in the staff lounge."

Lucien screamed into a decorative pillow.

Tagline on the chalkboard later that night:

Art 212: Figure Drawing--Extra Credit... Optional.

Trauma?

Inevitable.