Drabblefic: Color Theorists
Title: Color Theorists
Rating: G
Word Count: 556
Disclaimer: This is not to be used for commercial purposes, because I don't own the characters, Ryan Muphy does.
Author's Notes: I was pleased to find out that “smattering” is indeed a word. *smug grin*
Summary: Colors, colors, paint, paint. Of every guilty and pure pleasure, there is nothing more wonderful in this world than paint-on-skin-on-skin contact.
Sam felt awfully jilted when she found out the creative writing class she had planned on taking was full. Brooke felt the same when her music theory class had been canceled due to lack of interest. Their simultaneous disappointment transformed into a less potent feeling- something bittersweet- when they found themselves funneled into a Principles of Color Theory class together. Sure, neither had ever particularly excelled at the visual arts, and neither had quite gotten to the point of admitting that they enjoyed sitting next to each other in class, but expanding creative outlets was always a good thing. And the teacher was easy. Very artsy, very liberal, very open minded. A textbook hippie art teacher.
And today, “to get their bodies and minds working together to really feel the color”, they were finger painting. Sam was working big smears of a summer field into her paper, while Brooke delicately detailed a portrait of an owl. It was fun, of course, but so much tactile stimulation had them both a bit worked up. They might not have been entirely enlightened as to the origin of their urges, but any excuse to have their hands on each other was a good one, as prior food/tickle/padded bat fights had taught them.
All it took was a sly provocation from Sam (so, maybe Brooke’s owl looked kind of like a salamander, not a big deal), and they had their excuse. Brooke paused, swirling some white into her nightshade blue, a pastel calm before the storm- a storm that hit seconds later in a wide splatter of deep blue across the right side of Sam’s face and a smug grin on Brooke’s lips. The wide eyed disbelief plastered on Sam’s face melted down to her palms, which she dragged through a smattering of yellow, then reached out and not-so-gently cupped Brooke’s cheeks, coating them in semi-liquid sunshine. Everything after that was a whirl of color schemes, red and ochre arcing through the air, tetrads dancing across the floor and desks in a chaotic waltz, analogous wheels rolling across their abdomens.
Minutes later, and there they sat in the cherry stained chairs of Kennedy High’s administrative office, awaiting an arraignment from the authorities- Brooke a collage of sunflower yellows and greens, Sam dripping violet and blue mystery. They were supposed to be angry at each other; or at least figuring out how to explain why they had just redecorated the art room (and several fellow students) like they were Jackson Pollack incarnate, but every turn of their inquisitor’s back only yielded stolen glances and secretive smiles.
The secret those glances held was as irrepressible as all the great theories and philosophies of the world - universal and intuitively understood, but escaping any definition by the pens of the most eloquent creatures. And yet, it governed every move and thought, every rise and fall of the seasons, every society's wars and treaties. A secret lauded and explored by every notable thinker since history began, now trapped in a spark between the brushing of the fingers of two girls as they walked shoulder-to-shoulder out the office door. Each finger of Brooke flashed complimentary to those on Sam’s, a memory, a tribute to color theorists from years gone by.
Yellow and violet, red and green, blue and orange, Sam and Brooke- opposites on the color wheel, both intense and a little bit discordant, but nothing else fit the composition so right.