Solvents and Cigarettes_Part 2
Solvents and Cigarettes
Chapter: 2/?
Pairing: Tora x Saga
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Genre: AU, Romance
Warnings: AU, male x male, adult themes, age difference, coarse language.
Summary: Saga is an art student. Tora teaches painting. Sparks fly.
Comment: So here is chapter 2! I've been really busy lately, but from the amazing response the first chapter received, I decided to go on and continue this as soon as possible, and here it is! I hope you guys enjoy this…
***
There is a bit of an awkward silence, and then a hand is thrust in Saga's downcast vision. He grabs it hesitantly, blushing because that hand is soft and warm, and he doesn't want to let go. He submits to the handshake, and feels bereft when those fingers slide out of his own.
"Hi there, Sakamoto Takashi?"
"Saga."
His head tilts to the side a fraction, puzzled, a well-groomed eyebrow quirked.
"Pardon me?"
"My friends call me Saga. I answer to it more than my own name…"
And his voice is getting lower and lower as he explains, afraid of sounding childish, his cheeks burning. But those jade eyes across the table are soft and encouraging, fond even, with no obvious signs of amusement.
"Alright then, Saga-kun. Saga…I love it, it just rolls off the tongue so easily…Your artist name I presume?"
Saga smiles, encouraged by the smooth, easy going attitude of the man across him.
"Childhood nickname from my mother actually. I don't consider myself quite the artist yet…I still have work to do to become one, that's why I'm here."
Tora nods, the corners of his mouth tilting up slightly.
"I like your attitude, very refreshing. A lot of scholarship students usually come in thinking they're hot stuff already…"
And Saga is back on unsteady grounds, his heart speeding up.
"How did you know I was on a scholarship?"
"Its in your file. The reports in there about you are absolutely stellar, a lot of your old teachers recommended you on your skill and creativity."
That little tidbit of information makes a little piece of Saga's heart ache. He hadn't known about his teachers being so supportive of his scholarship application.
"I'll have to go and thank them then, because I wouldn't be here otherwise."
"How so?"
"How can I say this? My parents were always very supportive of my artistic ambitions, but we were never rich. Not that I lacked of anything as a child, but they could've never afforded to help me with the tuition here. I needed that scholarship otherwise I wouldn't have been able to come here with my part-time job salary."
Tora looks genuinely surprised.
"Oh. It was wrong of me to assume that you would be one of those arrogant scholarship kids then, I'm sorry."
"Its okay."
Another silence, and oddly enough, Tora is starting to look a little flustered himself.
"Lets talk about art, shall we?"
Saga smirks.
"Okay."
***
Tora's handwriting was meticulous.
Small, precise strokes, a tad slanted on the lines of the notebook pages. He'd printed his name at the top of the page, neatly, and then the group number, and the major he was in, and the rest was little notes in point form.
Favours oils over acrylics.
Took a photography class.
Likes to draw every day.
Figuration over abstraction.
Little notes as they spoke, of his studies and art practice, and somehow the fact that Tora was really trying to get to know him properly made him a little more comfortable in his skin as the conversation progressed.
"Artists that influence your practice?"
"Hmm, probably early Damien Hirst, Jeff Koons, Chuck Close…Francesca DiMattio, I love her abstract work…and, hmm…Oh probably the most influential would be Jenny Saville. Its her works that had me interested in figuration. I love her disgusting yet beautiful aesthetic approach. Her obsession with flesh, with those bodies that we look after so much yet betray us…I love that about her work, immensely."
Tora chuckles at the enumeration, removing his glasses to wipe the lens with the edge of his tee, looking at him from underneath the net of his lashes. His eyes are a little unfocused, like the lazy glance of a sleepy cat reclining in a strand of sunlight, and he wonders why that only makes him sexier.
"Interesting sources. Lots of younger, british and american contemporary artists. I love that. Any japanese artists?"
Saga snorts, tries very hard not to roll his eyes over-dramatically.
"Oh dear, I can't get away from it can I? Endless patriotism, even in the more creative fields. Well, if I must…" his tirade brings a lovely smile to that gorgeous mouth, a sliver of small, even teeth, "I rather like Sato Hiroshi."
Tora laughs. Not that subterranean chuckle that made his stomach twist into knots of conflicted desire, but that pure, loud, amused chortling sound that usually ends up being contagious. He slips his glasses back on his nose and nods, still laughing, eyes full of mirth, and he notices those two dimples underneath his cheekbones. A hint of tender boyishness in that angular, masculine face.
"A japanese artist based in San-Francisco…That's…that's extremely clever actually. I like your attitude, and your take on painting. Its very refreshing."
He feels so elated at the praise that he loses his mind for a few seconds and blurts out what had been on his mind from the beginning of their conversation on artists.
"I really like your work too, you know."
Its out before his brain has the time to filter whatever he says, and there he goes again, on unsteady ground that only gets worse when the man across from him lifts an amused eyebrow. That mouth lifts at a corner, devious, playful, and if only that lead weight in his stomach could drag him right through the floor and out of sight, he would be thankful. No such luck.
"Ah, so you know of my work?"
"I saw one of your paintings, at the Mizuma gallery this summer…"
He nods with a smile.
"The hands right? My father's hands actually, he really hated posing…" he responds with an amused snort.
If anything, that makes the painting even more poignant, and its author more desirable , and he just doesn't know how he's gonna manage an entire year of this.
"I really loved the work. I even enquired about buying it," a wry smile, despite himself, "but it was a little out of my range to say the least. Did it sell?"
"Last week actually, to a collector of japanese art in Los Angeles. His collection is public though, maybe you'll get to see it again…"
"I would like that. A lot."
Saga realizes that his voice sounded ridiculously fond and lovestruck and he just wishes he could disappear, his cheeks burning. There's a silence then, only broken by the rustle of pencil against paper and hushed conversation.
"I usually don't like to talk about my own art practice, I think its counterproductive in a teaching situation. I wouldn't want my students to alter the way they work just to please me. But since the cat is out of the bag, I'll just ask you this one thing: Be yourself. I don't think you would necessarily alter your way to work just to get on my good side, you obviously have a very personal approach to art and I doubt you would change it for anyone. All I want is to help you go in the direction you want to take, and guide you in that process. Okay?"
"Okay. Thank you, Amano-sensei."
Tora snorts as he closes his notebook, looks up to him over the rim of his glasses, eyes aglow.
"Tora. Just call me Tora."
***
Saga comes home to find his roommate, Shou, completely passed out on the couch in his pyjamas, the tv still on. He carelessly shoves his legs out of the way, earning himself a groan from his ash-blonde friend as he claims the end of the couch as his own. He lays back and closes his eyes, lets out a deep sigh of relief before reaching in his jacket pocket for his cigarettes.
"So…who were you fucking this time?" he asks Shou as he lights up, earning himself another groan.
"Ever heard of leaving a hangover guy passed out on a couch alone?"
"Not when its three in the afternoon, and said guy woke me up at dawn trying to fuck some slutty boy through the wall. Oh and when said guy totally neglected to buy coffee when he said he would…"
"Pffft."
Shou pushes himself to a sitting position, his hair spiking randomly. Even sleep deprived and hangover he manages to be good looking. Clear skin, wide brown eyes, straight arrow of a nose. A smooth jawline and a heart shaped mouth. A face to make girls, and boys, cry. And he's tall, and slender and graceful and suave and pretty much everything that Saga wishes he was. He's an art history major, minoring in poetry, and that pretty much ensures that he has the whole package to seduce pretty much anything. Good looks and sharp intellect, a deadly combination.
"I fucked this guy…don't remember his name all too well. I met him at the student bar I went to check out…nothing crazy, he was an absolute bore, I just wanted to get in his pants really."
Saga sighs, takes a long drag of his cigarette.
"You are such a slut." he chortles.
"I know. Its tons of fun, you should try it."
Saga shrugs. He's had his share of no-strings-attached sex, with boys and girls alike, but the game got old for him fast. He likes the chase, the seduction process, and yes the actual sex is satisfying, but leaves an ashy taste in his mouth when the morning comes. Bleak and full of his alcohol induced lack of judgement.
"I've been plenty of a slut before, I'm just aspiring to something a little more meaningful, I don't know. I'm sure the sex is more satisfying that way."
Shou eyes him as if he'd grown a second head.
"What the fuck are you smoking? Did you fall on your head or something? Meaningful sex?"
Saga feels his cheeks getting red and his face is getting hot as Shou's mouth quirks up in a positively evil grin.
"You met somebody? You totally met somebody! Tell me!" Shou shouts excitedly, hangover forgotten as he starts bouncing on the couch excitedly.
"Don't be silly." Saga groans, thinking of Tora's mouth and eyes, of his slender frame, his flush only getting deeper as he shrugs out of his jacket.
"Awww those pink cheeks don't lie! Come on…what's the name?"
"Okay okay…I may have a bit of a crush on my painting teacher."
Shou's eyes widen, his mouth comically falling open.
"Oh no way! Your teacher? That is all kinds of wrong..."
Saga wants to hide underneath the couch cushions.
"Its not my fault okay! The guy…the guy is so fucking gorgeous Shou! Even you would get flustered…"
"Tell me."
"Six feet, slender but muscular, stylish as fuck. Raven hair, hazel-green eyes, the face of an angel. Pale skin. Not pasty, but milky, translucent and perfect…"
"Oh wow…wow that sounds really fucking hot. How old?"
Saga shrugs, lighting another cigarette.
"I don't know, thirty-something…probably? I'd say 31 or 32, something like that…I'm so fucked!"
"What do you mean?"
"You should've seen me today. I could hardly even put two and two together I was too fucking flustered, it was borderline embarrassing. And this is a six credit class, so yeah, stuck there all year…"
Shou shrugs, reaching over to pluck the cigarette from Saga's hand, bringing it to his own mouth to pull a long drag. He doesn't really smoke but has occasional cravings.
"See it this way, its your once in a lifetime occasion to fulfill that hot teacher fantasy…" he snorts, exhaling smoke.
"You're an idiot. Wanna get ramen?"
"Hell yeah."
***
Tora is distracted.
All week, the only thing he has been able to think about is that painting major in class A. That shy, unassuming, fucking gorgeous boy with beautiful influences and teeming potential. Saga. He thinks of his heart shaped face framed with smooth whiskey hair and his golden skin, and those liquid black eyes, at once full of innocence yet lambent, heated, just a hint malicious. And he thinks that if it wasn't highly improper of a teacher-student relationship, he would probably beg the boy to pose for him. He wants to capture the dark light of those midnight irises.
He's gone through his file, feeling rather stalkerish as he did so despite the fact that he was entitled to it as a teacher, committing those tidbits of information to his mind, cataloguing them. His school grades, and his teacher's comments, and how he was really good at soccer and baseball, played for the school teams. His birthday.
He subtracts the years. 18 years old.
So young. So very young yet so mature and well read. With such fascinating tastes.
He tells himself that he should be careful, because the line between admiration and infatuation is thinner than the edge of a blade. And he can already picture himself falling, slipping down the infatuation slope. Which ends in heartache, and denial, painful desire forever unfulfilled.
He picks up his model at five, drives him to his loft, small talk. Masato is 27, a former runway model turned fashion consultant. A beautiful tall reed of a boy, with silky ash hair and brown eyes, angular features, his skin matte and smooth, perfect.
His loft is a huge, completely renovated industrial warehouse that once housed car parts. It had been abandoned for years, over a thousand square meters of empty space in the harbour district, left to rot until he laid hands on it. All of it open space. Its not like he needs walls when he lives on his own. Concrete and steel walls, huge windows, and a smooth hardwood floor that he'd had installed at ludicrous costs.
Most of it is studio space, easels and stainless steel tables, racks full of canvasses and wooden frames, rolls of drawing paper. Shelves filled with paint tubes, pots full of brushes. Its an organized mess he calls home.
The further end is the living space. An open kitchen, a wooden table big enough to sit six people, and further back a leather couch, coffee table and tv set into the wall. All the way at the end is the sleeping area. A huge bed, on a low frame, resting on a thick rug, a nightstand and a dresser, and not much else really. The bathroom is the only separate room.
He's moved there the second he could afford the property, five years ago, and wouldn't sell it for all the money in the world.
He takes off his jacket, drops the keys on a table. Masato follows him in, at ease. Its not his first time, they have been close friends for years, and his model for even longer. Tora lights up a cigarette, holds it between his lips as he shrugs out of his cardigan.
"You wanna eat something?" he asks Masato, who's removing his boots.
"Nah, I had late lunch. Maybe later? Wouldn't say no to a beer though."
"Coming right up…"
"So, how was Los Angeles?" Masato asks, shuffling over to the couch where he crashes unceremoniously.
"It was beautiful. Sunny, bright, everyone looked good. And the events my agent booked were great, I got to meet plenty of fellow artists, japanese expats. I finally got some rest too, went down to mexico for a week."
He takes two beers out of the fridge, walks over to the couch and hands over a slick bottle to Masato, settling comfortably beside him, propping his feet on the table.
"Mexico eh? Where did you go?"
"Tulum. Rented a little beach house in a secluded area and spent a week with my phone off, lying in the sun in my own little private portion of white beach and turquoise water…heaven!"
"That sounds dreamy, you definitely deserved it. You hadn't had a real vacation in what? Five years?"
"Pffft! More like seven…I'm not making that mistake again. Yearly vacations it is from now on, I can afford them."
There's comfortable silence as the two men sip their beers.
"Do you want to work on the big painting today?" Masato asks, referring to the large scale work they started two months ago and didn't have much time to progress on.
Tora shrugs.
"Not really, I'm in a drawing mood. How about we do maybe half an hour of short poses as a warm up and then two or three longer ones?"
"Sounds good to me."
"I'll go set up. Is the studio warm enough?"
Masato snorts as he takes off his socks, starts unbuttoning his jeans.
"I'm used to your icy-cold abodes. Besides, if ever I get cold, you know what to do…"
Much later, when Masato is arching and bucking above him, riding him to completion, blazing heat encasing his flesh, he finds himself thinking of that beautiful boy again. Of that delicate face, almost-too-long nose and doe eyes, of that full mouth. And much to his dismay, its the thought of him that sends him overboard as he submits to his orgasm, drowning in bliss.
***
Masato is getting dressed while Tora is smoking in bed, his naked body tangled in the pale sheets.
"You were different tonight."
Tora exhales a long stream of grey smoke, eyebrow quirked.
"How so?"
Masato is hopping from one foot to the other, trying to put on his socks.
"Well, it felt like your mind wasn't really there, like your thoughts were elsewhere."
Masato had known him long enough to see he was distracted, there was no point in denying it.
"They were actually. There's this boy in my monday morning class…Saga. He's…he's quite something."
"A boy? You mean a first year student?" he asks, zipping up his jeans.
"Yeah…18 years old."
Masato snorts, looking around for his tee.
"Wow…what a perv."
"Aw come on! Its not like anything would ever happen, he's my student for god's sake. I think that's the number one rule in the teacher's handbook: don't date, fuck, or do anything remotely intimate with your students. Its just worded in politically correct terms. But that boy is just fascinating. Extremely beautiful, and very, very attractively smart, and well-spoken."
"And you totally have a crush on him…" Masato remarks, snorting, sliding his tee over his head.
"I've only seen him once, lets no go crazy, shall we? Besides, he has great potential, and I really want to push him in a proper direction, not get him into my bed asap."
Masato locates his sweater and shrugs it on as well.
"It sounds like you're trying to convince yourself."
Was he? He couldn't deny that most of his thoughts for the past few days had revolved about the young man and his stunning beauty.
"I don't know. I hardly know him, but he made an impression, a really good impression."
"Be careful sweetheart. You know how you are when you want something, you stop at nothing to have it. But there's more than sex at stake here."
"I know. I'll be careful, besides, like I said, he's my student. I'm not jeopardizing my reputation as a teacher for an inappropriate crush…Hey you want me to drive you home?"
Masato pockets his wallet, nodding.
"No its fine, I'll call myself a cab, you look too comfortable."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'll let myself out. See you next week?"
"Thursday as usual."
"Alright, take care."
"You too."
The studio becomes quiet as Masato exits through the front door. Tora finishes his cigarette, crushing it in the ashtray before standing up from the unmade bed. He needs a shower, and then sleep, lots of it.
Maybe sleep will help him make sense of the mess in his mind. But he doubts it.
***
Did you guys enjoy the Shou cameo XD Don't worry you'll see him again, I just love to write him, especially when I make him all slutty XD Just to clarify if it wasn't obvious, Tora and Masato have a strictly friends-with-benefits arrangement here, so don't worry it wont get in the way of the eventual pairing ;) How did you guys like this one? I'm really loving this premise so far, I can't wait to see where its gonna go. I'm gonna try to update once a week, although I'm awfully busy right now which is why I've been neglecting everyone, very sorry about that -____- Let me know how you enjoyed this one in the comments down below ;) See you soon my sweets, love y'all xoxo