Feb. 10th, 2005 09:02 pm
ficlet: Orlando. lotruni verse.
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fox_confessorA departure from regular verse for just a moment. Kiltie said, and I quote, "Someone needs to write an au of him [Orlando] as a bookish student of art history, with glasses and skinny ties and a fetish for red Stratocaster guitars." So, I did. She promises to love him. Putting it here as it doesn't really belong there.
Orlando has sat in the back of Professor Boyd's class for almost an entire quarter before he gathers the courage to raise his hand and answer a question. While he talks, he feels his cheeks burn with nervousness.
He likes this class. Particularly, he likes Professor Boyd. Small, compact and brilliant, Professor Boyd has taken the place of his previous favorite professor, Monsieur Gorbeneau, a older gentleman who had taught the history of Buddist Art before he got a grant to study in Borneo. Even now, Orlando gets a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thinks of Monsieur's last lecture on the Kamakura period when the Great Kamakura Buddha statue was constructed in the Kotokuin Temple.
It's that same feeling he gets now as Professor Boyd directs one of his kind smiles towards him, and says that it's a good answer. Orlando sighs, relaxing now that the attention of the class has gone back towards the front.
Orlando reaches for his glasses, taken off while he was talking. He doesn't like to wear them but must if he's to see the board. It's rather a dilemma: sit in the back and wear his glasses to avoid drawing attention to himself, or sit in the front and be able to see the board but risk being called on more often. He doesn't realize that it doesn't matter where he sits; he will always draw attention to himself.
He wishes that he could be more like Dominic Monaghan, sitting in the front of the class or posing nude for an art class. Orlando blushes to remember how at ease Dominic's had seemed stripping off his robe and posing. Well, it's not Dominic's ease which has him blushing now but the memory of Dominic's body.
Orlando raises his eyes from his notebook, his pen suspended in mid-air, and looks to where Dominic sits in the first row. Dominic, unaware that anyone is watching him, chews on the end of his pen, taps his fingers on the desk, and bounces his leg. It's the kind of nervous energy that Orlando is familiar with. Orlando grins, pleased to have caught Dominic in such an unguarded moment and convinced that now he'll actually be able to stop Dominic and ask him out for drinks tonight.
Or maybe tomorrow night.
Either way, Orlando begins to daydream about dating Dominic. He's never dated a man before. Never even admited to anyone that he's attraced to men, but for Dominic he's willing to stick one foot out of the closet and test the waters, so to speak.
So enthralled is Orlando with his daydream he almost misses when the professor turns away from the board and begins to walk around the room, still lecturing. Almost, but not quite, or only the briefest of a touch from the professor to Dominic's shoulder and Dominic stills himself completely.
Orlando quickly lowers his eyes, feeling as if he's seen something wholely too private to be witnessed by other than the participants and yet, ashamed of himself for thinking that Professor Boyd would ever engage in such a relationship with a student. Still, the images are burned to his brain as if he had a private viewing at a peep show. Stupid imagination, he grumbles to himself. Stop thinking about it.
As the professor makes his slow way up the aisle, Orlando can feel the tip of his ears burn as he busies himself with his thin, blue tie as if it's become the most interesting thing in the world. His own remonstrations are completely ignored as he closes his eyes and imagines Dominic and the professor engaged in acts that are probably illegal--images which are helped along by his intimate (but wholesomely gained) knowledge of Dominic's body.
It's only the titterings and nudges he receives from those seated around him that make Orlando realize that Professor Boyd has asked him a question. His eyes fly open and his head snaps up, meeting (of their own accord) Dominic's across the room. "I'm sorry, professor," he mumbles, reaching for his glasses and pulling them from his face. "I was... I was distracted. M'sorry."
The amusement, rather than irritation, on the professor's face goes a long way to calm Orlando's nerve, which is to say he's still quite rattled.
"We were discussing, Mister Bloom, Hanover's theories on compulsion and obsessions. The idolization of objects until they almost become fetishes, if you follow his thoughts. I was asking, if you don't mind sharing, about your most prized possession. Your..."
Orlando follows the path of the professor's long fingers as they flutter in the air as if to pull the word he's searching for. "My obsession?" Orlando squeaks out, a little less louder than a mouse getting his tail stepped on. The professor's nod and the wave of laughter that follows around the room makes him clear his throat, hoping that this time he doesn't sound like a--sound like a what? A student imagining another student and the professor fucking like rabbits?
"Um." Orlando searches his scattered thoughts, trying to find one that will stand still long enough to be thrown out of his mouth. Finally, after what seems like an eternity with the whole of Christiandom staring at him (and in reality is less than fifteen seconds with over half of the class already focusing on the slow tick of the second hand towards the end of class), Orlando blurts out, "red Stratocaster guitars.
"Interesting," the professor says, cocking his head to the side. "Why?"
"I like their shape," Orlando mumbles, shrugging his shoulder, and then as that begins to replace the thought of Dominic and the professor, he warms to the subject. "They've a long neck and are thin, kind of, so they fit snug in my arm and I like the color. Red, like cherries or tulips. No, not tulips, more like the red in Georgia O'Keaffe's painting Red Amaryllis. Have you seen that? It's amazing. Absolutely amazing. It's this red amarlyllis on a yellow background, which makes the red just amazing."
Again, it's the giggles and shifting of his classmates that bring Orlando back to himself. He blushes. Again. And drops his hands to his lap from where they've been held high, gesturing in his excitement. He's grateful when the professor claps him on the back and dismisses the room.
Orlando is halfway across campus when he remembers that he was going to ask Dominic out. He decides that it's probably for the best, since he's embarrassed himself in class. He considers going back to apologize and explain to Professor, but can't bring himself to do that either. Finally, he just hitches his rucksack higher onto his shoulder and heads back towards his room. There's always tomorrow, and forever after that.
Orlando has sat in the back of Professor Boyd's class for almost an entire quarter before he gathers the courage to raise his hand and answer a question. While he talks, he feels his cheeks burn with nervousness.
He likes this class. Particularly, he likes Professor Boyd. Small, compact and brilliant, Professor Boyd has taken the place of his previous favorite professor, Monsieur Gorbeneau, a older gentleman who had taught the history of Buddist Art before he got a grant to study in Borneo. Even now, Orlando gets a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thinks of Monsieur's last lecture on the Kamakura period when the Great Kamakura Buddha statue was constructed in the Kotokuin Temple.
It's that same feeling he gets now as Professor Boyd directs one of his kind smiles towards him, and says that it's a good answer. Orlando sighs, relaxing now that the attention of the class has gone back towards the front.
Orlando reaches for his glasses, taken off while he was talking. He doesn't like to wear them but must if he's to see the board. It's rather a dilemma: sit in the back and wear his glasses to avoid drawing attention to himself, or sit in the front and be able to see the board but risk being called on more often. He doesn't realize that it doesn't matter where he sits; he will always draw attention to himself.
He wishes that he could be more like Dominic Monaghan, sitting in the front of the class or posing nude for an art class. Orlando blushes to remember how at ease Dominic's had seemed stripping off his robe and posing. Well, it's not Dominic's ease which has him blushing now but the memory of Dominic's body.
Orlando raises his eyes from his notebook, his pen suspended in mid-air, and looks to where Dominic sits in the first row. Dominic, unaware that anyone is watching him, chews on the end of his pen, taps his fingers on the desk, and bounces his leg. It's the kind of nervous energy that Orlando is familiar with. Orlando grins, pleased to have caught Dominic in such an unguarded moment and convinced that now he'll actually be able to stop Dominic and ask him out for drinks tonight.
Or maybe tomorrow night.
Either way, Orlando begins to daydream about dating Dominic. He's never dated a man before. Never even admited to anyone that he's attraced to men, but for Dominic he's willing to stick one foot out of the closet and test the waters, so to speak.
So enthralled is Orlando with his daydream he almost misses when the professor turns away from the board and begins to walk around the room, still lecturing. Almost, but not quite, or only the briefest of a touch from the professor to Dominic's shoulder and Dominic stills himself completely.
Orlando quickly lowers his eyes, feeling as if he's seen something wholely too private to be witnessed by other than the participants and yet, ashamed of himself for thinking that Professor Boyd would ever engage in such a relationship with a student. Still, the images are burned to his brain as if he had a private viewing at a peep show. Stupid imagination, he grumbles to himself. Stop thinking about it.
As the professor makes his slow way up the aisle, Orlando can feel the tip of his ears burn as he busies himself with his thin, blue tie as if it's become the most interesting thing in the world. His own remonstrations are completely ignored as he closes his eyes and imagines Dominic and the professor engaged in acts that are probably illegal--images which are helped along by his intimate (but wholesomely gained) knowledge of Dominic's body.
It's only the titterings and nudges he receives from those seated around him that make Orlando realize that Professor Boyd has asked him a question. His eyes fly open and his head snaps up, meeting (of their own accord) Dominic's across the room. "I'm sorry, professor," he mumbles, reaching for his glasses and pulling them from his face. "I was... I was distracted. M'sorry."
The amusement, rather than irritation, on the professor's face goes a long way to calm Orlando's nerve, which is to say he's still quite rattled.
"We were discussing, Mister Bloom, Hanover's theories on compulsion and obsessions. The idolization of objects until they almost become fetishes, if you follow his thoughts. I was asking, if you don't mind sharing, about your most prized possession. Your..."
Orlando follows the path of the professor's long fingers as they flutter in the air as if to pull the word he's searching for. "My obsession?" Orlando squeaks out, a little less louder than a mouse getting his tail stepped on. The professor's nod and the wave of laughter that follows around the room makes him clear his throat, hoping that this time he doesn't sound like a--sound like a what? A student imagining another student and the professor fucking like rabbits?
"Um." Orlando searches his scattered thoughts, trying to find one that will stand still long enough to be thrown out of his mouth. Finally, after what seems like an eternity with the whole of Christiandom staring at him (and in reality is less than fifteen seconds with over half of the class already focusing on the slow tick of the second hand towards the end of class), Orlando blurts out, "red Stratocaster guitars.
"Interesting," the professor says, cocking his head to the side. "Why?"
"I like their shape," Orlando mumbles, shrugging his shoulder, and then as that begins to replace the thought of Dominic and the professor, he warms to the subject. "They've a long neck and are thin, kind of, so they fit snug in my arm and I like the color. Red, like cherries or tulips. No, not tulips, more like the red in Georgia O'Keaffe's painting Red Amaryllis. Have you seen that? It's amazing. Absolutely amazing. It's this red amarlyllis on a yellow background, which makes the red just amazing."
Again, it's the giggles and shifting of his classmates that bring Orlando back to himself. He blushes. Again. And drops his hands to his lap from where they've been held high, gesturing in his excitement. He's grateful when the professor claps him on the back and dismisses the room.
Orlando is halfway across campus when he remembers that he was going to ask Dominic out. He decides that it's probably for the best, since he's embarrassed himself in class. He considers going back to apologize and explain to Professor, but can't bring himself to do that either. Finally, he just hitches his rucksack higher onto his shoulder and heads back towards his room. There's always tomorrow, and forever after that.
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