One tanned hand buried itself so deep in dark hair that it was nearly invisble. White teeth gnawed on a pink lower lip in concentration, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. Every now and again, graphite scratched against the paper but it was often followed by the pink squeal of an eraser.
In the opposite corner, another body was flopped out on the dark blue comforter, staring boredly at the oversized paperback laying open. The darkness of the bedspread accentuated the attractive ivory-peach complexion, which in turn, brought out the clear intensity of the eyes. His lips were pouted slightly, with the brain-melting complexity of the problems before him and the fact that the body at the desk was not paying any attention to him at all.
Dutchy sighed a bit too loudly.
Specs' pencil snapped.
Dutchy frowned. When Specs had invited him over to "study," he had imagined something quite different. "Studying" usually translated to "make out until my parents come home." This time, however, Specs had actually meant studying...for their AP exams, more specifically. And as he gazed blankly at the Calculus problems before him, Dutchy wondered why the hell he had signed up and dished out $82 to fail a test.
At least I only signed up for one. He mused, nibbling on his bottom lip. Instead of ol' hoity-toity over there who's up for three. Dutchy flopped, using his book as a pillow. I guess I can understand why he's suddenly so tense. He's got, what, a week and a half to make sure he knows enough to not waste his parents' money?
Specs' grip on his own hair was starting to look white-knuckled.
Better do something before he makes himself bald. I happen to like that hair.
"Oi, Specs, how about a breather?"
"Can't." Came the clipped reply.
With another sigh, Dutchy swung himself into a standing position, waltzing over to Specs. "It isn't an option." he countered in a sing-song tone, yanking Specs' chair away from the desk and shoving the books and papers to the floor.
"Dutchy!" Specs exclaimed, appalled. "What're you--"
"Shush," Dutchy clamped a hand over Specs' mouth. "Just sit back and relax."
Specs' eyes widened.
Dutchy laughed. "Don't look at me like that! It's not what you think. Really."
Specs still looked a little suspicious. "All right."
Dutchy hopped up on to the desk, stretching up to reach the stereo on the shelf above. He hummed softly as he skipped through tracks, knowing exactly what soundtrack was in and what track number he wanted.
C minor, put it in C minor.
A piano gliss followed and Specs stared at Dutchy who stretched himself across the desk as if it were a grand piano. An invisible microphone was held between his fingers as he sang over the croon of Jennifer Saunders.
Where have all the good men gone
And where are all the gods?
Where's the streetwise Hercules
To fight the rising odds?
Dutchy propped himself up on an elbow and stared forward, unseeing.
Isn't there a white knight
Upon a fiery steed?
Specs watched, open-mouthed, as Dutchy tossed himself back to the table and writhed there as he spoke the next set of lyrics.
Late at night
I toss and turn
And dream of what I need...
I need a hero.
Specs muffled a laugh as he watched Dutchy's body move with the beat.
I'm holding out for a hero
'Til the end of the night.
He's gotta be strong
And he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight.
I need a hero.
I'm holding out for a hero
'Til the morning light.
He's gotta be sure
And it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life,
Larger than life.
Dutchy threw Specs a sultry smirk as he enuciated the last line. He pulled Specs close to him, close enough that Specs could feel his breath as it fogged up their lenses. He drew a breath, dropping his voice to a husky growl.
Somewhere after midnight,
In my wildest fantasy,
Somewhere just beyond my reach,
There's someone reaching back for me.
Racing on the thunder
Rising with the heat
--off went Dutchy's T-shirt--
It's gonna take a superman
To sweep me off my feet.
Specs fought the urge to smile. "Are you...strip-teasing to a techo-beat song?"
"I'm on the dance team, aren't I?" Dutchy grinned. "And you know what they say about dance team members."
Specs rolled his eyes. "Dutch...the saxophones know shit."
Dutchy pushed Specs, sending him and his chair rolling away.
Up where the mountains meet the heavens above,
Out where the lightning splits the sea,
I could swear there is someone,
Specs laughed, taking Dutchy by the waist and pulling him forward. "And who couldn't watch you, Dutch?" He asked, smirking as Dutchy's swaying remained firmly in tempo. "Especially when you're half naked and dancing?"
"Let go! I've still got verses!"
Taking Dutchy by the wrists, Specs hauled his dancing queen forward, laying a scorcher on him.
"You were saying?"
"I have no idea. Do that again."
Specs laughed again and complied.
"Oh, Richard, how did studying for your Advanced Placement exams go?" Specs' mother asked as she bustled into the kitchen later, still in her business suit.
Dutchy coughed to hide his snicker and Specs self-consciously smoothed his hair. "Er, great, Mom."
"Oh, that's good to hear. You know, I always had an easier time remembering facts when I put them to music." She called over her shoulder as she dug through the layers of unprepared food and leftovers that had set up camp in the 'fridge. "Do you have a song that could help you?"
Dutchy had to excuse himself.
"Um, yeah...I guess I could do that."
She shut the refridgerator and wandered over to get a fork from the drawer behind Specs. "You know, I always found that that Jennifer Saunders is good for memory." She smiled at him, winking. "Although, you must know that since I saw that all your textbooks were on the floor..."
"Ma, I can explain--"
"Oh, no need, dear. I understand that you're doing everything you can to study." She popped open the cold carton of Chinese food. "However eccentric it may be..."
"And don't forget to tell your father, dear. I think he's a little worried."
Specs stared, open-mouthed, after his mother.
"And leave your door open, Richard darling."