The Art Of Love

John chewed on his pencil as he stared at his art teacher, Mr. Hart. Bret Hart was a gorgeous man in John's eyes. Sure, there was an age difference but he didn't care. John couldn't help but be attracted to his handsome professor. He tried to focus on what the older man was teaching but... he couldn't.

john had a crush on his professor. Well, maybe it was more than a crush. He sighed and looked down at his sketch notebook. He hadn't even realized it, but he had drawn a picture of Bret. "Damn..." He murmured and quickly flipped the page, hoping no one, especially Bret, saw his little drawing.

John's goal was to be an artist. Either sculpting or painting. He learned a lot from Bret. But John wanted more from the elder man than just an educational lesson...

Bret taught various art classes on campus, and three of them happened to contain a student who had caught his eye this year--not for his talent as an artist, but because of his perfect good looks. There was something else, John often reminded him of a student he had taught years ago at a prestigious art school. The hot relationship they had together was revealed in a very messy situation, which had left Bret banned from that school. The rumor had been that he was exchanging the highest grades for sexual favors, but it was far from the truth.

After years of trying to get over that failure, and trying to get back to what he loved to do, he was finally able to teach once more at this school. Here he'd been for a few years now, and history was attempting to repeat itself. He found himself watching John in inappropriate ways, admiring his gorgeous body, paying special attention to him over the other students. Even now, despite all that had happened, his feet were moving him towards John who was sketching from one of the models posed on a stool.

He leaned in towards John, closer too him than was necessary.

"Your lines are a little too harsh. She's a woman, she's soft and curvy...like this." His hand covered John's and moved it, John's fingers clutching the pencil, a fluid motion which caused the lead to leave a curvy line that followed the shape of the models back. "See?"

John bit his lip, resisting the urge to shiver from the closeness. "Yeah... I was just.. thinking of something else." He murmured, looking down at Bret's hand on his rather than the paper she should be focused on. He wanted so badly to turn around and press his lips to Bret's.

But that was a fantasy. Not reality. He could never have Bret the way he wanted. Bret was older, and jOhn was only 21. Barely legal. Plus, it would be considered cradle robbing anyway... he sighed sadly and went back to sketching the model. Though he wished he could sketch someone else...

Bret let go of John's hand, immediately missing how it fit into his. Ridiculous--just what the hell was he thinking? He glanced at the clock. This class was nearly over, and after that he'd gather his things and move to a room at the end of the hallway where he would teach an art history course on ancient art. John was in that too, but at least in that class Bret used a lot of slides to go along with his lecture so the room was dark. That meant he didn't get as distracted watching John, who would be nothing more than another shadow until the lights came back on.

For now he walked around the room, looking at the sketches his select students were doing. Many of them were very talented, and some gave it their all but drew things that looked like they'd came straight off of a third grade doodle. It didn't really matter though, art was about seeing things differently. Art was different for each person, that's what made it so interesting, were the varying interpretations. Each of his students were sketching the same model, but because they were fanned around the room seeing her from different angles, and drawing in their own style, each finished work would be highly unique.

"Okay guys. I'll see ya all tomorrow. Everyone's doin' a great job...keep up the good work."

The flap of pages sounded as students closed their sketchbooks.

John gathered his things and made his way to his Art History class. Even in the dark, John found himself staring at the shadow of his professor. He sighed. He needed to focus on school. He loved art. Hell, he loved all arts. He had a dance class after this. Then he'd go to his dorm and rest. He partied, but not as much. He preferred to focus and achieve.

He walked into the classroom, taking his usual front seat. He twirled his hair after he pulled out his notebook. It was a habit he had. Playing and fiddling with his silky locks. He flipped to the page where he had drawn Bret and continued to sketch. His tongue pressed against his teeth as he was determined to get every angle of the man's face right in his sketch.

He drew Bret a lot. He couldn't get the man off his mind. He sighed. He's have to though. Bret would never love a kid like him.

The last few lectures focused on the art of ancient Egypt. The Egyptians had been a very advanced civilization and they had left behind many beautiful pieces of art work from carved canopic jars, gold and jewel encrusted sarcophagi, thrones, crowns, ornate jewelry, pottery--the list went on and on. Many of their artworks were used for specific purposes, to tell stories, to honor their deities, etc. The Pharaoh himself was considered a god, and the mounds and mounds of beautiful gold and jewels, or gold and jewel encrusted objects, found in royal tombs, was a showcase to the grandeur in which they lived and adorned themselves.

Bret spoke as he went through some of the slides, speaking specifically about how what materials were used and how certain pieces would have been created, and what they meant. Everything was symbolic from the jewels and metals used, the colors, the animal depictions, all of it.

He found his mind wandering from his lecture as he saw a shadow in the front row move. He knew exactly what it was, John was playing with his hair again. It was a habit Bret had often observed, though he couldn't fault John for constantly bothering the pretty locks. They looked so soft, silky even.

Bret's words began to go onto autopilot. He was passionate about art, but he had given many of his lectures so many times and was so familiar with the subject matter, that he really had to concentrate little thought on it as he spoke.

His thoughts were taking him elsewhere as he flashed slides. John's captivating brown eyes were rimmed with flowing lines of black as was the popular Egyptian style. His skin was painted a shimmering gold, something royalty would often do to liken themselves to gods. His beautiful dark hair fell over his bare, toned shoulders, as he removed the tall crown that sat upon his royal head. A large, ornate breastplate hung from his neck and laid against his naked and chiseled chest. The vibrant colors of turquoise, lapiz lasuli, and red jasper. The colors stood out against John's shimmering, painted skin. His wrists were cuffed in thick gold cuffs, his waist was barely swathed in a swirl of white clothe, and beneath that, his beautiful curvy legs. John was Egyptian royalty, a god...he was Pharaoh of Lower Egypt. Bret was Pharaoh of Upper Egypt. Both deities were meeting under the dark cover of night to break boundaries, to unite their crowns and for a night become one.

Bret came out of his fantasy when he realized how quiet things were. He had stopped talking, his lecture had trailed off as he was explaining the intricate construction of the pyramids and their many hidden, booby-trapped chambers. How long had he been standing there, caught up in a fantasy about one of his own students, hanging in mid air on an awkward lull of silence...god.

He turned back to his slides, and tried to clear his flustered head. He looked out over the sea of students, but all he saw were John's eyes twinkling in the dimness of the lecture hall.

John looked deep into Brets eyes. His eyes were green, like two emeralds had taken the place of his iris's... perfect for capturing one's gaze. Distracting them... making them pay attention. And even through the dimness of the room, he still managed to lock Bret's stare, make him forget everything else.

John always forgot everything when he met eyes wit the elder man. His iris's always trailed down that toned body. He could see the perfect muscles under his blue dress shirt. John trailed lower, eating up the muscled thighs. He wondered what it feel like to have them push against him... have Bret buried deep inside him.

He sucked in a breath as his eyes ate up every plane, ever square inch of Bret's body. He let his ears soak up the gruff, yet smooth as silk voice. He wanted to know what it would sound like, whispering provocative things in his ear.

Then, he looked at Bret's hands. He wondered what it'd be like to have those strong hands caress him... have him squeeze his hips and and brush his silky hair out of his face.

John looked down, realizing he had been getting turned on. he shifted slightly and sighed, hoping it would go down by the end of the class. He simply listened tot he lecture while at the same time, working on his detailed sketch of his object of affection.

Bret finished his lecture, flipped on the lights, and dismissed his class. He stood near the door, watching the college students file out. But when he saw John, his hand gently touched John's shoulder.

"If ya have time...stay a minute or two. Somethin' I wanted to talk to you about."

John smiled softly at Bret, flushing red a little when the elder man touch him. "S-Sure." He said, cursing himself for sounding like a crushing school boy. Well... he sort of was. But that wasn't the point.

"What do you wanna talk about?' He asked, playing with a strand of his hair like he always did.

"Uh...well, thought we could talk about your art. You've got a lot of potential. Hmm...do ya have time right now or do ya have another class? We could go talk about this over lunch." Bret offered, leaning back against his desk a little.

"Oh I have time. I don't have any more classes for the rest of the day." John said, eager to spend time with his teacher. He never really got one on one time with Bret because the other students in his class were so damn needy. But he'd skip a meeting with the president to be wit Bret.

Bret took John to a small cafe just outside of campus. It was a local favorite and college students were sitting at tables, drinking coffee drinks, grabbing a bite to eat, studying, or playing around on their laptops. In the corner on a small stage, a young girl with fiery red hair and torn jeans played her battered guitar and sang lowly in a smoky sounding voice. The brick walls had murals painted all over them, and patrons were fond of signing their names or leaving quotes or messages on the walls with marker.

Bret ordered himself a plain coffee and cup of soup with a sandwich. He was more interested in John than eating, but he didn't want to come off pushy or awkward, and in the back of his mind were thoughts of what had happened last time, those years ago, when he had fallen under the snare of another attractive student. The fire of that long dissolved relationship still burned him sometimes even now, mostly in the dark night, when he woke up from dreams and remembered that he was alone.

"John...you're a very good artist. Have you um...ever thought of displaying your work at one of the local galleries, maybe an art fair? I'm sure it would get a lot of attention."

A lot of attention...just like I wanna give to you...

John shrugged slightly, looking down at his coffee so he wouldn't stare at Bret like a freak. "I thought about it... I just never thought I was good enough. I try to balance my dancing and art equally." He said.

John also danced, as well as took art. This was a school of the arts, and John was balancing the dance and art in both hands. He loved dancing, but he also loved painting and drawing. He wanted both. Which was why he was here. He could dance while at the same time, pursue art.

He looked around the cafe. He came here a lot. And he also had many breakups here. John had enough with men his own age. They played games, used him. John was done with that. He wanted something real... and he felt something real fir Bret.