Per Anum Ch. 10: Triptych

"And so, class, that brings us to what I'm sure you've all been waiting for: midterms!" Professor "call me Curtis" Barnes may have been enjoying himself a bit too much. "To wrap up our unit on oil painting, you'll be painting a 2-by-3 oil on canvas. But I'm sure you all know by now that it's never that simple in my class, so here's the catch: it's a group assignment!"

Um, what? I exchanged bewildered glances with my classmates. Curtis raised a hand to quell the confused murmurs. "Now, now, let me explain. I've assigned you all into groups of three. You'll each be painting your own canvas, but your group's paintings together should form a cohesive collection that tells a story. Which story is entirely up to you, copyright laws notwithstanding; choose your favorite fairy tale, perhaps, or a myth from an ancient culture. Norse, Greek, Egyptian, Native American...whatever inspires you."

Okay, this was sounding more doable. I knew a lot of old Irish folktales from my grandmother's stories, I could make this work. Getting assigned teams was less than ideal, but no one in the class was grossly incompetent, from what I'd seen, so it would probably be fine.

"Oh, one more thing," Curtis said, looking innocent. We all groaned. "The final rule is this: you must portray your groupmates as the characters in your story, so that each artist is represented in at least one of the other artists' work." That...complicated things a bit, but maybe it could still be all right, depending on my group composition.

"Maybe an example will help you all understand this better," Curtis said, and wheeled an easel out of the corner. Draped with a sheet, only the vague outlines of three conspicuously 2x3 canvas-shaped objects could be seen. "I'm sure most of you are familiar with the tragedy of Persephone from Greek mythology." He pulled the sheet back to reveal the first image.

"Hades, god of the underworld, dragged the young goddess Persephone to his dreary realm to be his unwilling bride," Curtis narrated. The painting was gorgeously rendered, of a verdant woodland bursting with life, and a pretty teenage girl dominated the center. Her face was twisted with terror, though, as a dark chasm had opened before her. A man, tall and imposing in black armor, had seized her wrist and was pulling her into the pit with him.

Curtis uncovered the next image, which displayed the same woodland scene, no less skillfully portrayed. Only, now it was wilted and barren, the trees and undergrowth shriveled and lifeless. A woman knelt in the dead grass. She would have been a mature beauty, but her face was wracked with fury and grief, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Persephone's mother, Demeter, goddess of the harvest and all the bounty of the earth, laid a curse upon the land in her rage: nothing would grow, no grain nor fruit would ripen again until her daughter was returned to her."

We watched, spellbound by the tale and the heartbreakingly realized image of a terrified girl and a mother bereft, as Curtis revealed the final scene and continued his narration. "Zeus, the lord of Olympus, feared mass starvation and stepped in to enforce Persephone's release, but too late. Persephone was reunited with her mother, but she had eaten the food of the Underworld while there, and was forever doomed to return for part of every year." The third painting was once again the woodland scene, now budding with new life. In the foreground, the mother and daughter from the first two scenes ran into each other's arms, joy on their faces and the green of fresh growth blooming out around their feet. In the background, though, loomed a dark cave, its depths utterly black, like a hungry maw lurking behind the pair.

The professor let us all bask in the beauty and tragedy on display for a moment before he spoke again. "Needless to say, this group got very good grades on their midterm project. You can see how the three of them were each portrayed as characters in the tale; the student playing Demeter painted this first one with Persephone and Hades, and Hades painted the third scene showing the other two. You get the idea. Of course, they took some liberties with age for Persephone and Demeter, so don't worry about little things like that."

Just when we thought he was finished with us, Curtis dropped one last bomb. "And I should probably mention that your collections will be presented to the class a week from Friday, so get cracking if you don't want your paint dripping onto the floor while you show us what you've created." A week and a half? That was barely enough time for oil paint to dry, much less begin properly curing; and that was on top of the time required for the actual painting process. Suddenly this whole project became a lot more urgent.

As the class was having a collective panic attack, Curtis turned on the classroom's projector and displayed a list of names, grouped by threes. "Here are your group assignments," he announced, then pointed at a stack of blank canvases near the door. "Find your partners and grab a canvas on your way out. Class dismissed."

A few hours later, I found myself seated in a campus coffeeshop across from my new teammates. Troy was tall and well-built, with the square-jawed good looks and chiseled physique of an action hero. All he needed was a few masculine dirt smears--and maybe a handgun--to fit perfectly on a gritty movie poster. Beside him lounged Sebastian, fair where Troy was dark and lithe where Troy was brawny. He had the effortless grace of the dancer he was, all slender limbs and lean muscle.

"So," drawled Sebastian, "anybody have any ideas for what tale we should tell? We need to get started like right now if we're going to have a chance to finish in time."

"My grandmother used to tell stories of old Irish legends and folktales when I was a kid," I offered. "Maybe something from there will work?"

"A possibility for sure, Connor," Sebastian said, though he didn't sound especially convinced. "You have any suggestions, Troy?"

"Not a clue," said the big man. "I don't know anything about mythology."

"Wait, that's it!" exclaimed Sebastian. "Troy!"

Troy looked as confused as I felt. "What?" he asked. "I just said I've got no idea."

"Not you, the other Troy!" Sebastian enthused. "I've got the perfect plan for this project!" He rubbed his hands together in maniacal glee. "This is gonna be AWESOME!"

*

I stood nervously beside Troy and Sebastian as Curtis came up to examine our project. As he had done before, we'd set them out on a broad easel and covered them to facilitate the "dramatic reveal," as Sebastian insisted we call it.

"All right, gentlemen," Curtis said. "What have you got for me?"

"We chose the tragic tale of Patroclus from the Trojan War," Sebastian said. "Connor's piece is first."

I stepped up to the easel, swallowed, and pulled back the sheet to reveal my contribution. Standing on a stone outcrop above a rocky shoreline were Troy and Sebastian, both clad only in pteruges, the skirt-like armored leather garment commonly worn by ancient Greek warriors. Though the two stood close together, Troy's head was turned away from a pleading Sebastian, who had one hand on Troy's arm and held a Greek-style bronze helmet in the other.

With the painting exposed, I began my memorized recital. "Achilles, the greatest warrior of the Greek armies, refused to fight after an insult from the Greek general, Agamemnon. Achilles' close friend Patroclus was desperate to get him to rejoin the battle, since Achilles' absence was proving to be a serious problem for the Greek forces."

Curtis inspected the painting closely for a long moment. I could feel sweat breaking out on my skin but tried to keep my expression under control. "Your skill with anatomy is excellent, as always, Connor," he murmured, still examining the piece. "You've really improved your use of perspective; the background is much better than the landscapes we did last month. Good use of color, too. In terms of technique, this is fine work. I'm curious about the composition though; that's quite an intimate posture you have portrayed there. Interesting choice."

I felt a blush rising in my cheeks as I remembered why.

*

"So...why am I wearing a towel?" Troy asked.

"I told you," Sebastian said, "my friend in the drama department couldn't find any Greek armor in the costume storage, so we're using the towels as a stand-in for pteruges."

"No, I got that," Troy replied. "I mean, why are we only wearing towels?"

Sebastian smirked, raking his eyes up and down Troy's bare, chiseled torso. "Same reason they got Brad Pitt to play Achilles in the movie about this." He waggled his eyebrows. "Sex sells."

"He's not wrong," I said, shrugging at Troy's exasperated look. "We all agreed to the towels ahead of time, it's not that big of a deal. Besides, most art of the ancient Greeks is nude; would you prefer that? Also, hold still. I'm going to start the sketch."

There was no way we could all pose for each other's entire painting process; there simply wasn't time. Instead, we'd agreed to the compromise of sketching out the basics together and filling in the rest independently, using copious photos and even videos captured on our phones. Having collected about thirty images and a slow, panoramic recording of the pair, I retreated to my easel and started sketching.

I'm one of those artists that tends to get lost in my work, and I'm not sure how long I was at it, blocking out their silhouettes before beginning to refine details. We'd allotted an hour each for preliminary sketching, and I wanted to use every bit of that time to get as far as I could with my models in front of me. Abruptly I was snapped out of my working trance by the slithery sound of a towel sliding to the floor. I happened to be fully behind the easel at the time, and I could just see my teammates' feet beneath the bottom of the canvas.

Troy's towel was piled around his ankles, and from the positions of their feet, Sebastian was even closer to him than he had been before.

"What are you doing?" came Troy's furious whisper. "He's right there."

"Relax," purred Sebastian. "Haven't you seen him in class? Totally dead to the world once he gets going. He won't notice a thing." Sebastian's feet shifted a bit, and I heard Troy's sharp intake of breath as Sebastian did something out of my sight.

I didn't know what Sebastian was thinking. I'd been checking my work against their pose pretty regularly...or at least I thought I had. Did he really think he could do whatever he was doing to Troy without me noticing at all? I glanced at the state of my canvas and discovered I was most of the way done. How long had I gone without looking at the pair? I found myself faced with a momentous choice: should I speak up? Should I let them carry on with...whatever they were doing...and pretend not to notice it?

Should I join in?

Where had THAT thought come from? We were here to work. We had an insane deadline for this project, and every minute counted. A low, half-muffled groan from Troy was accompanied by Sebastian's soft chuckle. Maybe more information would make my decision easier. Yeah, that was it. I just needed to learn more about the situation. For...clarity. Clarity was important in decision-making. I slid a bit sideways on my stool, moving slowly so as not to draw attention. I leaned over, just a bit more...there. My line of sight now went just past the edge of the canvas, and I held my breath as I took in the scene.

Sebastian was plastered to Troy's side, his mouth latched onto one of Troy's nipples. Sebastian's hand slowly stroked Troy's visibly growing erection, squeezing and caressing it. Troy's head was lolling back with his eyes shut, fortunately, or he absolutely would have noticed me peeking...I mean, collecting information to inform my decisions. Because that was what I was doing. Definitely not peeking.

Sebastian slithered down Troy's side until he was crouched in front of the bigger man, his motion making the tent in his own towel obvious. Seeing it made me aware of the increasingly tight feeling of my own towel. I'd kept my underwear on beneath it, and I was starting to wish I'd worn looser boxers instead of the snug boxer briefs I had on. Still neither of them so much as glanced toward me, even when Troy opened his eyes to watch Sebastian's tongue slide up the underside of his cock. Troy made another muffled sound in his throat, biting his lip to keep the noise down. One of his hands tangled into Sebastian's cornsilk hair as Sebastian's lips wrapped around the head of Troy's thick cock, now fully erect and clearly raring to go.

Sebastian worked Troy's cockhead for a minute with lips and tongue, kissing and exploring every nook and cranny, until he abruptly decided playtime was over and took Troy's cock fully into his mouth. He went slowly, teasingly, engulfing about half the length before drawing back, then pushing down to two thirds, then back, and then finally swallowing down the entire thing. Sebastian held there for a long moment, his nose buried in Troy's close-trimmed black bush, their eyes locked, before drawing back. Once he got back out to where only the head rested on his tongue, he started in all over again.

The second trip down was quicker than the first, and Sebastian started really moving after that, head bobbing faster and faster as he swallowed Troy's length again and again. Troy's eyes rolled up again--he had somehow still not looked in my direction--and harsh, huffing breaths through his nose were clearly all he could manage to prevent outright moaning.

One of Sebastian's hands wandered up Troy's muscular thigh to start playing with his balls, which I don't think improved Troy's struggle to remain quiet. His other hand wrapped around the base of Troy's cock, holding it steady while Sebastian rapidly sucked it down over and over. His cheeks hollowed with the suction he applied, though he no longer pushed quite so deeply as before.

When Sebastian's mouth replaced his fingers on Troy's balls, it was more than Troy could take. Though his mouth stayed shut, a deep "mmmmm" sounded from his throat, his head lolling back. I jerked my head back behind my easel as if I was still sketching, just in case one of them checked to see if I'd noticed. Should I try and sell the ruse? With one hand up on the canvas as though drawing, I flapped the other hand vaguely at them.

"Yeah, I'm almost done, hang on," I muttered distractedly, in my best go-away-I'm-working voice. I heard Sebastian snort softly. I could practically feel him rolling his eyes, but then the slick sound of mouth on skin started back up. After a moment, I edged carefully over to see around the easel again, and was greeted by the sight of Sebastian hungrily sucking down Troy's cock even faster than before. Most likely he was trying to finish his job, as it were, before I finished mine.

I was actually more or less done; everything else could be completed without them there, so we might as well get a move on. On the other hand, Troy's toes were curling, the muscles of his legs and abs clenching and twitching randomly, so stopping them now seemed needlessly cruel when the end was near. Sebastian seemed to sense it as well, because he pulled out all the stops to get Troy across the finish line. He'd play with Troy's balls one moment, reach up to tweak a nipple the next, then slide one hand around to squeeze a handful of muscled ass. Sebastian's hands and mouth worked overtime to drive Troy over the edge, and before long, he managed it.

The moment of Troy's climax was obvious, though no sound escaped him to give it away. His body went rigid, every muscle standing out for one frozen moment before he gave a full-body shudder and clutched tightly at Sebastian's head, his hips jerking once, twice, again, shoving his pulsing cock further into Sebastian's mouth. I saw Sebastian swallow repeatedly, throat visibly working. Though Troy's chest heaved, he kept his jaw clenched and lips firmly shut, and managed not to make any more noise than that of rapid breathing.

I pulled back behind my easel, gave them a moment while I actually put a few last touches on my sketch, and declared, "Done!" Beneath the easel, I saw Troy snatch up his towel as Sebastian hastily stood from his crouch. When I stood and came around towards them, the scene was just as I had left it at the beginning...except for Troy looking a bit flushed and Sebastian's previously perfect hair being decidedly mussed.

I blinked at him, as though just noticing the change. "Hey, what happened to your hair? Looks like you've been running your hands through it."

He shrugged elegantly, the lithe musculature of his dancer's frame rippling with the motion. "Bad habit of mine."

Uh huh. And the bulge in his towel was just a quirk of how it was hanging.

*

My cheeks heating, I floundered for an answer to Curtis' innocuous not-quite-question about the intimate positioning of my portrayal. Sebastian, thankfully, rescued me.

"There have always been rumors about the precise nature of the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus," he said smoothly. "Though Homer never says so, everyone from Plato to Shakespeare thought they were more than friends. We decided to play off those connotations a bit, while still ultimately leaving things to the audience to decide. Art is always up for interpretation, right?"

Curtis smiled. "Exactly right. Okay, who's next?"

Troy stepped forward and removed the cover from his central piece, then launched into his part of the story. "When Achilles still refused to fight, Patroclus disguised himself in Achilles' armor and led the Greeks in his place. On the battlefield, though, he faced the Trojan prince, Hector, who thought he was attacking Achilles but defeated Patroclus instead."

On a rocky, desolate plain, with towering stone walls looming in the background, two figures fought. Troy had darkened my skin and hair a bit--pale redheads not exactly being the standard in the Mediterranean--but otherwise had represented me well as, in my role of Prince Hector, I wrestled Patroclus/Sebastian to the ground and pinned him beneath me. The same helmet Patroclus had been trying to give Achilles in the first image lay fallen on the ground beside us, as though knocked off in the battle.

If you didn't know it was supposed to be a battle, though, the positioning could be...misinterpreted. Again clad only in pteruges, the armored skirts, our bodies were pressed together full-length, my legs tangled around Sebastian's as I pinned his arms above his head, my face inches above his. Our expressions could be described as aggressive, perhaps, but just as easily could be called...passionate? This fact was clearly not lost on Curtis, who raised an eyebrow as he examined the painting.

"Another intriguing composition," he murmured. "You really took that idea and ran with it." He had a few comments about Troy's technique, as he had mine, but his eyes kept tracing the contours of my--that is, Hector's--body atop Patroclus. Staring at the painting of us, I couldn't help but feel Sebastian pinned beneath me again, the heat of his skin where it slid against my own.

*

"Okay, we want it to look like you've just beaten him after a hard fight," Troy mused, eyeing Sebastian and me consideringly.

"Hey," Sebastian said to me, "is it true that you've done a lot of wrestling? I think you said something about it in class once."

"Yeah..." I said, not liking where this was going. "But how is that relevant?"

"Are you kidding? It's perfect!" Sebastian said delightedly. "Lots of ancient Greek art portrays men wrestling, it was a major thing in their culture." His grin turned lascivious. "Always naked, too. All those muscled, naked guys grappling each other all the time..." He trailed off for a moment, lost in whatever he was imagining, then refocused. "Okay, Connor, you just need to take me down. Pin me or whatever. Troy, you good with this?"