[ there's a delay in her reply. the lecture hall opens, people file in; daisy claims her seat in the front left corner of the room, closest to the wall and directly opposite his desk. ]
because the stupid smile you just gave that sophomore with a high ponytail makes me want to get on my knees in front of this class.
[ He doesn't hide his grin as he reads his phone; most people will assume it's a girlfriend, perhaps even a fiance. Certainly not someone in the room. ]
Not that I'm not flattered, but you might want to tame that jealous streak. I'm just being polite.
[ Since he can't smile at Daisy directly, he smiles at his phone again, this time with all the warmth and familiarity that was absent from the smile he gave her classmate. ]
You're right, she's not competition. I don't see a notebook. Are you choosing not to take notes?
[ she smiles — she can't help but smile in return, even if she has to direct it down at her phone rather than back up at him — but she doesn't bother to hide the huff of annoyance at his message either. she does reach down to pull her notebook out, though, dropping it squarely in the center of her desk. ]
don't worry, you always have my complete and undivided attention.
in my defense, it does say in the syllabus that exceptions can be made for pressing matters. and thinking about you pressed against me counts, don't you think?
[ well, if he won't play nice, she'll have to play along. she lets her phone rest atop her desk — a model student, screen face-down and everything, diligently copying dates and details into her spiral bound notebook. even still, there's no denying the way her gaze snaps back up at every opportunity, carefully taking in the sight of him, the way his confidence blooms as he talks.
even if her legs weren't pressed snugly together under the desk, she'd appreciate this view. the neatly pressed chinos, the button up with the sleeves rolled to the elbows... it's a good look.
she does, however, pose one impertinent question, the barest hint of a grin at the corners of her mouth: ] If we're discussing the impact of religion on art, you're leaving out the Spanish Inquisition. [ a pause, fingertips flipping through the text ] What about Goya and la maja?
[ He wonders if Daisy knew that at her mention of La Maja he would imagine her posed just like Goya's muse, the suggestion of a familiar smirk teasing her lips, inviting him to take in all there is to see. He has no doubt about which version of the painting she's referring to, but for the sake of the class, he's grateful she happened to pick a nude with a clothed counterpart. ]
I was getting to the Inquisition, actually, [ he says, sounding a little defensive. Evidently he can't resist rising to the bait.
He manages to quickly shift away from La Maja and onto Goya's later works inspired by the Inquisition, but that doesn't erase the image from his head. One of these days he'll ask her to pose for him. Since she's such a fan of nude portraits, she should have one of her own. He takes a brief pause to pretend he's checking a faculty email that requires immediate response, when in reality, he's texting her that last thought. ]
Sorry for the interruption. [ He says, turning back to the class and slipping his phone into his pocket. ] Now, where were we?
[ she knows. she knows because she's spent off hours in the last few weeks trailing through the color reproductions of art in their text, considering which she likes and which she doesn't in the hopes that she might be able to talk about them one day with even a fraction of the passion that lights up his face when he lectures the class — because while he's objectively attractive and functionally capable of making her delirious from pleasure, it hadn't been his looks or his touch that had drawn her back in.
there were a million and one undergraduates with perfectly suitable libidos if all she wanted was a series of one-night stands, after all.
but she doesn't intend to derail the class entirely, and so she lets him redirect the lecture back to the topic at hand, to clothed women and then to tribunals and witches' sabbaths, dark paintings of a man haunted by religious persecution. decidedly unsexy topics. an opportunity for daisy's eyes to drop away from their intentful gaze and to lift the screen of her phone, where his message lays waiting beyond her lockscreen.
though she doesn't know if he's looking at her or not, she flushes at the message all the same, an almost bashful smile breaking the smug grin that had lingered before. ]
i would let you, if you wanted to.
[ and then, as promised, she sets her phone down. she's capable of listening sometimes. ]
[ He feels his phone buzz in his pocket but he can't justify pulling it out again now that he's already exhausted his most plausible excuse. Maybe if he'd pretended to have a loved one in crisis, but that would invite more curiosity about his personal life, which is the last thing he needs. Anyway, it's for the best that he get through this lecture before he entertains the all-consuming idea of sketching Daisy any further.
By the time he dismisses the class, he's managed to put Daisy as far out of his mind as she ever allows herself to be, which isn't very far at all. She hovers at the edge of every thought, demanding to be acknowledged, recognized, appreciated as thoroughly as she deserves. And he is more than willing to abide, just as soon as her fellow students complete their leisurely departure.
There are still a few stragglers gathering their things, taking their sweet time, and it would be too suspicious to rush them. He turns to his phone again, biting his lip to conceal the bright grin that wants to cover his face when he reads Daisy's response. Not everyone is comfortable submitting to the technical scrutiny of an artist studying their every physical feature. That she's willing to pose for him means more than he can say without showing all his cards. ]
I do. I've wanted to draw you since I've known you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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i'm starting to regret wearing anything under my skirt.
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you know that's my favorite part.
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I'll make sure you're rewarded for that.
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it'd be so easy to just send out an email, tell everyone you came down with something...
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because the stupid smile you just gave that sophomore with a high ponytail makes me want to get on my knees in front of this class.
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Not that I'm not flattered, but you might want to tame that jealous streak. I'm just being polite.
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i just like your smile.
[ weird..... that almost sounded like emotions and not pure lust. ]
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You're right, she's not competition.
I don't see a notebook. Are you choosing not to take notes?
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don't worry, you always have my complete and undivided attention.
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[ He can feel the weight of her gaze already; it's going to be a long class for both of them. ]
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[ he doesn't need one, but daisy does shift a little in her seat, not quite outright squirming but an uncomfortable adjustment. ]
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and thinking about you pressed against me counts, don't you think?
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[ that’s not an answer but there’s only so much he can take before he’s forced to give his lecture from behind a desk ]
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even if her legs weren't pressed snugly together under the desk, she'd appreciate this view. the neatly pressed chinos, the button up with the sleeves rolled to the elbows... it's a good look.
she does, however, pose one impertinent question, the barest hint of a grin at the corners of her mouth: ] If we're discussing the impact of religion on art, you're leaving out the Spanish Inquisition. [ a pause, fingertips flipping through the text ] What about Goya and la maja?
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I was getting to the Inquisition, actually, [ he says, sounding a little defensive. Evidently he can't resist rising to the bait.
He manages to quickly shift away from La Maja and onto Goya's later works inspired by the Inquisition, but that doesn't erase the image from his head. One of these days he'll ask her to pose for him. Since she's such a fan of nude portraits, she should have one of her own. He takes a brief pause to pretend he's checking a faculty email that requires immediate response, when in reality, he's texting her that last thought. ]
Sorry for the interruption. [ He says, turning back to the class and slipping his phone into his pocket. ] Now, where were we?
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there were a million and one undergraduates with perfectly suitable libidos if all she wanted was a series of one-night stands, after all.
but she doesn't intend to derail the class entirely, and so she lets him redirect the lecture back to the topic at hand, to clothed women and then to tribunals and witches' sabbaths, dark paintings of a man haunted by religious persecution. decidedly unsexy topics. an opportunity for daisy's eyes to drop away from their intentful gaze and to lift the screen of her phone, where his message lays waiting beyond her lockscreen.
though she doesn't know if he's looking at her or not, she flushes at the message all the same, an almost bashful smile breaking the smug grin that had lingered before. ]
i would let you, if you wanted to.
[ and then, as promised, she sets her phone down. she's capable of listening sometimes. ]
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By the time he dismisses the class, he's managed to put Daisy as far out of his mind as she ever allows herself to be, which isn't very far at all. She hovers at the edge of every thought, demanding to be acknowledged, recognized, appreciated as thoroughly as she deserves. And he is more than willing to abide, just as soon as her fellow students complete their leisurely departure.
There are still a few stragglers gathering their things, taking their sweet time, and it would be too suspicious to rush them. He turns to his phone again, biting his lip to conceal the bright grin that wants to cover his face when he reads Daisy's response. Not everyone is comfortable submitting to the technical scrutiny of an artist studying their every physical feature. That she's willing to pose for him means more than he can say without showing all his cards. ]
I do. I've wanted to draw you since I've known you.