An Array of Color

Dean scrutinized the scene in front of him. From his perch in a tiny corner of the dormitory, through his telescope he could spy two figures in the windswept courtyard below. His hands moved lightly over the paper-skimming like a hawk over water. He was quite oblivious to what the two people were actually saying; he was alone in a world that was entirely monochrome, a world made of lines and shading.

What he was aware of was the simple beauty of it, the way the figures moved with passion and intensity. The two bodies were entwined, moving sinuously over and around each other, the blond hair falling into dangerously grey eyes, across hair as dark as midnight with eyes the color of... my god, he thought.

Those eyes. He was quite certain--yes! He scrambled around in his pack, pulling out the packet of colored pencils he'd brought with him. He flipped open the tab and looked at the array of rainbow colors.

My god, yes. He'd never had an opportunity to use cobra green before; the pencil's tip was still as sharp and perfect as the day he'd bought it at the dingy corner stop near his house. Nothing he had ever seen had quite lived up to the intense shade--until now. He could have almost squealed in joy.

Ripping off the rough cream paper he marveled at the way their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly, like a lock meeting its key.

Grabbing a black pencil, he began to sketch quickly, first the hands, delicately running through blonde hair and tugging at the roots sunk in deep. He could almost feel the silky texture of the individual strands of hair wrapped around his fingers... pants riding dangerously low and exposing a pale moonlike expanse of skin, soft and sweet to the touch. Yes... Lips, pressed to one ear, gently tracing a series of kisses along the arch of the neck. He pressed his pencil down slightly harder. The emotion was coming now, overwhelming him as he pressed down even harder, as if that would allow the energy to be transferred onto the blank page.

The eyebrows were sharp dashes: one set furrowed set over slanting slate eyes, another set at a cynical angle above pools of emerald green. Dean was aware that his thoughts had begun to take on almost lyrical proportions, but still--the bodies continued to slide together and apart, almost as if dancing to the speeding rhythm of his heartbeat.

He smudged the line, delicate shading in the area just below in the hollow of an arched neck; a thin powerful line here as hands glided over what was clearly familiar territory.

He finally stopped, panting, as the two figures drew in for a brief kiss and then withdrew, each donning their black cloaks and whirling away. The leaves in the quadrangle that had been disturbed swirled aimlessly in the air and came to a rest. The pencil was limp between Dean's fingers, as he stared and stared.

He put out a small finger and traced the outline, hovering millimeters off the lead. This, this was... was... perfection. But he wouldn't show it to anyone, he decided quickly with a nod--he owed his muses that, at the least.

It would be a memento, a keepsake, a self-given accreditation of his own talent. Dean smiled, and slid the paper into his portfolio. He kicked it under his bed and flopped down, enjoying the bouncy spring. Bouncing up, he grabbed the book from under Seamus's pillow and pretended to read it, eyes half shut, recalling the feeling of the pencil between his fingers.

The door to the dormitory flew open and a figure stepped out of the shadows. Dean looked up at his messy haired dorm-mate, and gave him a slight grin and a two fingered salute "Hey Harry."