[ the peculiar thing about memories is often the way in which they're perceived by the ones who hold them. for some, they're like barnacles, everlasting and clinging to every single nook and cranny . almost as if they were merging and becoming one entity. rafayel would say his memories are much the same. perpetual, and enduring even in his most bitter moments, they have always been difficult for him to part with. opposite to that, rafayel knows just how delicate they are to some. for those people, memories are as fickle as the waves that hit the shore, or as impermanent as writings in the sand.
perhaps, wriothesley's memories were just like that.
dispersing with the next lap of sea foam. or that must have been the case, since he didn't seem to remember him. while it was as painful as a realization as any, rafayel wasn't the type to simply throw in the towel. much like a prized artwork, he kept at it with dogmatic persistence. enough to even become a professor at his university.
as per the college message boards, it's probably clear what kind of instructor rafayel was. but, he didn't actually have as much of an interest in that as much as he was in a particular student. probably one in which he chastised, or suggested to take a seat up front to help him "keep notes." in reality, he knows they probably both knew it was deeper than that. he felt it when their eyes would lock mid-lecture, or when he grabbed his wrist for a second too long when trying to stop him from leaving.
it probably showed in the way he kept him after class. or even now where he's asked him for help on his independent project. they probably both knew he rarely painted people as subjects, and yet here is behind closed doors to his private atelier in which he is sitting across from mister duke college student himself. ]
Hm, I'm not feeling the lighting. [ he reaches to the side of the nearest wall, dimming them, before looking back at wriothesley. when their eyes meet, not unlike the way they do when he's standing behind the podium at the lecture all, he already feels his heart beating in his chest. ... and so, he turns away. ]
[ is love fickle and impermanent, when the tides of fate conspire to sweep it aside, time and again? the bride of the sea god passes once, twice, with every turn of the wheel, and in this life, rafayel finds him younger than he's found him before ā a charming teaching assistant with a bright future ahead of him, instead of a warden of a prison within an unforgiving sea.
in this life, wriothesley finds him again and thinks, oh, what beautiful eyes he has. what a beautiful face. what a sharp tongue and temper, and how charming he can be. he thinks he's known him in another life, the taste of his skin like sea salt and smoke, like forbidden fire. but it must be his imagination, because surely this is the first time.
but attraction leaps between them sure and true, from that grip on his wrist to the ways he keeps him after class. wriothesley's folding up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms and giving him a crooked smile. to him, this is simple: it's a chase, and he means to know if professor rafayel tastes as good as he imagines him to be. )
Like what?
( he doesn't look away, gaze steady before he leans back on the expensive couch, stretching his long legs and laying there like he belongs. like he never left. and if he pops a button on his shirt... well... )
This? Gonna paint me like one of your French girls, Professor?
even when itās just in the corner of his peripherals—
rafayel isnāt impervious to the subtle peek of skin. all the more coming from the subject of his long, withstanding affections. perhaps, thatās why he feels it more intensely than most would have. the show of the taut muscle of his forearm, and even the way he opens yet another buttonā¦
his mouth feels dry for a moment, and he licks his lips just to moisten them before he actually begins stringing his thoughts together. per usual, rafayel is quick to try and regain any sort of mental bearings he may have lost in that moment. in a way, itās similar to how he often lost his train of thought in his lectures, except now it had less to do the artistic chaos of his mind when discussing his passionate pursuits, thenā¦ whatever this was.
he feels overly conscious of everything about wriothesley, including the way his chest rises and falls. he isnāt sure if itās because of the overlap of memories, or if itās another type of desire completely. admittedly, he had his anxieties about finding out which one it was. but, who doesnāt fear vulnerability? ]
As you already know, people arenāt normally the subjects of my work. [ this is the exception. no, heās the exception. but, he doesnāt want to suddenly bring focus to this fact. as if masking a clear weakness heās exposed, he continues. ] You should be asking me to paint you like the sea. [ finally, he feels like he can move in closer. his hand moving on wriothesleyās thighā¦
to pull a piece of paper he left from before from out under him. lol. ]
in the spaces between their words, wriothesley can divine a whole host of expressions in those lovely, lovely eyes. so often, rafayel remains a mystery to him, elusive and just out of his grasp. the moment passes quickly, especially when rafayel is so very skilled at gathering himself and putting that mask back on, but that's enough for him.
how strange, wriothesley thinks. sometimes, he gets the impression that rafayel is looking through him, beyond him, to something long-forgotten. even so, he's still, filled with anticipation when he draws closer, closer, and wriothesley wonders if he'll finally touch him the way he's wanted him to since the moment their eyes met across the classroom.
but āā he doesn't. he can't help a soft noise when he tugs the paper from under him, the crinkle of it filling him with surprise and a touch of amused dismay. still, before rafayel can stray too far, he grabs a hold of his wrist. )
[ the words come out before he can even really think them through. as if the answer had always been pre-established, or as if he read it from some lengthy textbook. the only thing that seems to offset them is the almost playful smile that returns to his lips. especially, as his eyes seem to fall towards where wriothesleyās has grabbed him. despite his initial fluster at their proximity, or within the prospect of his feelings being made obvious— thereās none of that remaining on his features.
still holding the paper within his fingers, he lets them flutter out from his grasp and fall back on wriothesleyās lap. ] But, the sea is also unyielding and unpredictable. As well as an object that many view with both devotion and yearning. [ he tilts his head just slightly, a sort of wry confidence to the way he seems to take comfort in the idea that he may have laid out the perfect bait here. ]
But, I think the real question is, what are you planning on doing with that hand?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
college prof. au...
perhaps, wriothesley's memories were just like that.
dispersing with the next lap of sea foam. or that must have been the case, since he didn't seem to remember him. while it was as painful as a realization as any, rafayel wasn't the type to simply throw in the towel. much like a prized artwork, he kept at it with dogmatic persistence. enough to even become a professor at his university.
as per the college message boards, it's probably clear what kind of instructor rafayel was. but, he didn't actually have as much of an interest in that as much as he was in a particular student. probably one in which he chastised, or suggested to take a seat up front to help him "keep notes." in reality, he knows they probably both knew it was deeper than that. he felt it when their eyes would lock mid-lecture, or when he grabbed his wrist for a second too long when trying to stop him from leaving.
it probably showed in the way he kept him after class. or even now where he's asked him for help on his independent project. they probably both knew he rarely painted people as subjects, and yet here is behind closed doors to his private atelier in which he is sitting across from mister
dukecollege student himself. ]Hm, I'm not feeling the lighting. [ he reaches to the side of the nearest wall, dimming them, before looking back at wriothesley. when their eyes meet, not unlike the way they do when he's standing behind the podium at the lecture all, he already feels his heart beating in his chest. ... and so, he turns away. ]
Maybe you should try a different pose.
no subject
in this life, wriothesley finds him again and thinks, oh, what beautiful eyes he has. what a beautiful face. what a sharp tongue and temper, and how charming he can be. he thinks he's known him in another life, the taste of his skin like sea salt and smoke, like forbidden fire. but it must be his imagination, because surely this is the first time.
but attraction leaps between them sure and true, from that grip on his wrist to the ways he keeps him after class. wriothesley's folding up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms and giving him a crooked smile. to him, this is simple: it's a chase, and he means to know if professor rafayel tastes as good as he imagines him to be. )
Like what?
( he doesn't look away, gaze steady before he leans back on the expensive couch, stretching his long legs and laying there like he belongs. like he never left. and if he pops a button on his shirt... well... )
This? Gonna paint me like one of your French girls, Professor?
no subject
even when itās just in the corner of his peripherals—
rafayel isnāt impervious to the subtle peek of skin. all the more coming from the subject of his long, withstanding affections. perhaps, thatās why he feels it more intensely than most would have. the show of the taut muscle of his forearm, and even the way he opens yet another buttonā¦
his mouth feels dry for a moment, and he licks his lips just to moisten them before he actually begins stringing his thoughts together. per usual, rafayel is quick to try and regain any sort of mental bearings he may have lost in that moment. in a way, itās similar to how he often lost his train of thought in his lectures, except now it had less to do the artistic chaos of his mind when discussing his passionate pursuits, thenā¦ whatever this was.
he feels overly conscious of everything about wriothesley, including the way his chest rises and falls. he isnāt sure if itās because of the overlap of memories, or if itās another type of desire completely. admittedly, he had his anxieties about finding out which one it was. but, who doesnāt fear vulnerability? ]
As you already know, people arenāt normally the subjects of my work. [ this is the exception. no, heās the exception. but, he doesnāt want to suddenly bring focus to this fact. as if masking a clear weakness heās exposed, he continues. ] You should be asking me to paint you like the sea. [ finally, he feels like he can move in closer. his hand moving on wriothesleyās thighā¦
to pull a piece of paper he left from before from out under him. lol. ]
no subject
in the spaces between their words, wriothesley can divine a whole host of expressions in those lovely, lovely eyes. so often, rafayel remains a mystery to him, elusive and just out of his grasp. the moment passes quickly, especially when rafayel is so very skilled at gathering himself and putting that mask back on, but that's enough for him.
how strange, wriothesley thinks. sometimes, he gets the impression that rafayel is looking through him, beyond him, to something long-forgotten. even so, he's still, filled with anticipation when he draws closer, closer, and wriothesley wonders if he'll finally touch him the way he's wanted him to since the moment their eyes met across the classroom.
but āā he doesn't. he can't help a soft noise when he tugs the paper from under him, the crinkle of it filling him with surprise and a touch of amused dismay. still, before rafayel can stray too far, he grabs a hold of his wrist. )
Why the sea?
no subject
[ the words come out before he can even really think them through. as if the answer had always been pre-established, or as if he read it from some lengthy textbook. the only thing that seems to offset them is the almost playful smile that returns to his lips. especially, as his eyes seem to fall towards where wriothesleyās has grabbed him. despite his initial fluster at their proximity, or within the prospect of his feelings being made obvious— thereās none of that remaining on his features.
still holding the paper within his fingers, he lets them flutter out from his grasp and fall back on wriothesleyās lap. ] But, the sea is also unyielding and unpredictable. As well as an object that many view with both devotion and yearning. [ he tilts his head just slightly, a sort of wry confidence to the way he seems to take comfort in the idea that he may have laid out the perfect bait here. ]
But, I think the real question is, what are you planning on doing with that hand?