A/N: Hey all in fanfiction land! I'm new here, so I'm hoping ya'll aren't too harsh on lil' ol' me and my first Klaine fic. I've been shipping these two hard since the moment I found out my man, Mr. Criss, was going to be on Glee, and now that they're together, I just had to have them get into even more shenanigans in my head. I literally came up with this idea as I was lying in bed about to fall asleep and I bolted upright, grabbed my computer, and went at it. I have some ideas for future chapters, but I'll only write/publish them if you lovely people want me to. So reviews would be SPLENDIFEROUS. :) (And how appropriate that at this exact moment, Darren's version of "Belle" comes on my iTunes shuffle... *sigh of contentment*)
Now onto the story...
Blaine Anderson was a verifiable Renaissance man. Not only was he the lead singer of the Warblers and in the top academic standing of his junior class at Dalton, or play six different instruments and write his own music, but he was also an artist. And like everything else he decided to put his mind to, he was a damn good one at that.
His love of art had begun the summer before starting at Dalton, when he and his parents visited Italy. He had grown up speaking the language, thanks to his Italian mother, and his parents felt that he was ready to fully appreciate the beauty and splendor of his heritage. He was awed by everything about the place – the people, the love of life, the food (oh God, the food), and the music of course, but what he loved most was the art. He could remember the sounds of the excitable tourists falling away as he entered the main hall of the Accademia gallery in Florence, his feet floating toward one of the most famous statues ever rendered by man, Michelangelo's David. Yes, the form of a 19-foot tall, beautiful, and totally nude man was enough to excite his teenage self, but after the initial tingle of arousal, his eyes scanned the work in an appreciation of technique and detail. He had brought a small sketchpad with him, at the suggestion of his friend Wes, though he had never drawn before. Blaine couldn't decide what he wanted to draw first but found that he could not help but admire the statue's slightly disproportionately large hands and, settling himself at one of the benches scattered in the gallery, he began to draw. His brow furrowed in concentration under his long, unruly mop of dark curls and his tongue poked out of his teeth as he sketched every dimple and vein and crack in the ancient marble.
By the end of the Andersons' three weeks in Italy, Blaine had bought two more sketchbooks and had filled them with drawings of the Vatican's dome, the crumbling façade of the Colosseum, the rolling hills outside of Assisi, and every other breathtaking sight that stole his heart. His newfound talent did not go unnoticed by his parents either, who encouraged their son to keep up his hobby even after returning to Ohio.
He had intended on taking some art classes after enrolling at Dalton but found that his desire to draw was overtaken by his first love of music. It was no surprise that Blaine became the first freshman ever allowed into the Warblers and his talent quickly led to a unanimous vote to make him the soloist. It wasn't until junior year when Blaine was reacquainted with his passion for drawing and, as luck would have it, he had an extra class period that he had decided to fill with an intermediate art class. He contemplated taking the advanced course, but his own harsh self-criticism felt that he needed some sprucing up before opting for the tougher class. Also, much of the focus of the intermediate class was sketching the human form, Blaine's favorite subject.
Two months into the semester, Blaine's art teacher, Ms. Dubois, had announced that she would be bringing in a model to pose for them as they tried their hands at sketching human forms. Blaine couldn't be more thrilled and made a point of arriving in the circular art room 15 minutes before his classmates so he could claim a seat in the front row, closest to where the model would be. He had decided to use charcoal and arranged the carbon pieces by depth of color on his easel. At last his classmates and teacher had arrived.
"Alright, boys," Ms. Dubois began, "today is our model day. I ask that you be respectful to our model and to take this as a true learning experience."
Blaine looked around at his classmates, some of whom were wearing slight smirks, no doubt giddy at the prospect of getting to stare at a nude woman for an hour without so much as a rap on the knuckles. But what Blaine did not expect was that their model was actually a young man, perhaps the same age as Blaine, who floated into the room with nothing on but a silk robe. Blaine's breath hitched as he watched the model climb onto the raised platform where he would be posing, and took him in like a drug – his immaculately coiffed chestnut hair, his perfectly sculpted cheekbones and jaw line, and his crystalline, aquamarine eyes. Oh those eyes, Blaine thought, as he gripped at the sides of his easel, his knuckles turning white. His heartbeat was deafening in his ears but he was able to catch Ms. Dubois' presenting of the model's name: Kurt Hummel. Oh, what an angel this Kurt Hummel was. He had almost forgotten why this miracle of a man was here when Kurt removed the robe, letting it slip to the floor with a flutter. The light pouring in from the windows cast a glow on Kurt's porcelain skin, giving the illusion that it was sparkling. A slight rosy tint flushed his chest, perhaps out of nervousness, and rose up his neck to his face in the most flattering way. Unbeknownst to himself, Blaine let out a soft moan as his eyes drank in Kurt's naked body, his toned chest rising and falling with hitched breath.
"Blaine, are you alright?" Ms. Dubois asked suddenly, and Blaine snapped his eyes away from Kurt to look at his teacher. "Umm, yes, erm, I'm fine," he stammered, his eyes floating back to Kurt. He didn't expect to have those twinkling orbs staring back at him. As though his eyes had caught on fire, Blaine dropped his gaze to his blank easel, and he reached for a piece of charcoal, his hand shaking as he raised it to the paper. Get it together, Anderson, he thought desperately, and began to make a few tentative strokes of the charcoal. He began with a general outline of Kurt's body but after a few minutes was ready to rip the sheet in front of him into confetti and quit. How in the name of Bowie was he supposed to capture Kurt's perfection on paper? Not even a photograph could do this man justice! Heaving a sigh, he resigned himself back to his work, and continued sketching.
In an effort not to become too excited, Blaine had decided to look at Kurt's body as a whole, and not focus too long on any single body part until necessary. Deciding the outline was as good as he could make it considering the flawlessness of the model, Blaine took a deep breath before sweeping his eyes over the details of Kurt's body, bit by bit. He started at his feet, and followed up his strong and flexed calves that curved gracefully up to his white thighs. He must be a dancer, Blaine thought, his breathing low and heavy as he continued to gaze at Kurt in awe. Once his eyes finally caught on Kurt's cock, which hung beneath soft curls of hair, it took everything Blaine had not to pass out from the force of his sudden arousal. It felt like every ounce of blood in Blaine's body was draining directly into his crotch and he felt light-headed but he could not tear his eyes away. He let out another small groan as he shifted in his stool, adjusting his smock to cover the now-obvious issue going on his trousers.
His eyes continued searching Kurt's body, now roving over the toned softness of his torso and chest, still slightly pink against the smooth whiteness of his skin. His arms were just as toned and his hands lay gracefully at his sides, very reminiscent of David, with his long and softly pointed fingers. Blaine's brain flashed quickly with an image of taking those same fingers into his mouth one by one…
At last Blaine reached his face, following the pink hue up Kurt's neck. His jaw looked cut from marble and Blaine smiled when he noticed the slight and adorable dimple in his chin. He always had a thing for dimpled chins. His nose was straight, reminding him of the many Renaissance paintings and sculptures he remembered from his Italy trip, and his cheekbones were chiseled perfectly. He saved Kurt's incredible eyes for last, those glowing blue-green orbs that shone with an otherworldly brightness. Blaine couldn't remember ever seeing something so beautiful as those eyes, as that man before him.
All too soon, Ms. Dubois made her way back to the front of the class to announce that their session was over for the day and that their model would be returning in the next class period so they could finish up their sketches. Blaine watched as Kurt bent down to pick up his robe, imagining his hands following the curve of his ass. Ms. Dubois shook Kurt's hand and thanked him again and he smiled out at the class, most of whom weren't paying attention, save for one curly-haired man. Blaine began gathering his things and knew that he would not be able to sleep that night or any other, without getting to talk to Kurt. He was haunting. At last Blaine found something he was terrible at: asking someone out, particularly someone as magnificent as Kurt. He finally tore his eyes away from him and got up to leave, his heart fluttering as the silk of Kurt's robe brushed against his arm as he hurried past him out the door. But what Blaine didn't realize was that someone else would be having trouble sleeping that night as well, as the image of soft black curls, gentle green-hazel eyes, and a full, pink mouth was now permanently etched behind those twinkling blue orbs…
P.S. Bonus points to those who know what the title references... :)