Title: The Art of Love
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (movieverse)
Pairing: Donald and Timothy
Rating: PG-13

References/Spoilers/Notes: Minor references to the guys' histories, though liberties have been taken. No huge spoilers. All locations in Albany are fictional.
Disclosure: I wish they were mine. Alas, they are not, so I'm just taking them out for a spin with thanks to the men who created them and the actors who brought them to life.

Author's Note: Written for the AU/Crossover Week for tim_don_a_thon .
Summary: Art professor Tim Callahan is looking for a model, Criminology student Don Strachey is looking for a way to make a little extra money.

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THE ART OF LOVE

Candy Apple

Tim took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. There was nothing like a stack of freshman essays on the political agenda of Augustus as illustrated by the sculpted figures in the Ara Pacis Augustae in Rome to numb your brain and make you question your choice of careers. Tim could hardly blame them for being uninspired. The question bored him, and he'd been to Rome and marveled at the beauty of the art first hand.

Roman art was his area of expertise. When he'd given up on the priesthood, left the seminary, he'd taken an odd comfort in the visual trappings of the homeland of the Catholic Church. So much so that he'd gotten his degree in Art History, then his Master's Degree, and before he knew it, he'd earned a fellowship to a university in Rome. He'd always loved to sketch, and even tried his hand a bit of oil painting. A part of him would have loved to stay in Rome, fritter away his days sketching and painting, immersing himself in the work of the great masters.

Then his mother had imparted her trademark wisdom on him in one simple statement that had set the course of his life and brought him back to the States and his present life as an art professor at the College of St. Theresa in Albany. "You can spend your life haunting old buildings and copying the work of others, or you can use your talent to inspire the next generation of artists."

Her advice had been good. He liked his students, enjoyed the life of a college professor. He was surrounded by smart, educated people who were passionate about something - be it art, history, literature, chemistry, or engineering. They excelled at something, and many of them took a real joy in inspiring that excellence in their students. The campus was a lovely, tree-shaded place with historic buildings.

Sighing, resolved that one had to take the good with the bad, he put his glasses back on and picked up the next essay. There was a tap on his door frame. When he looked up, he felt his breath catch in his throat. Just a bit. A handsome blond man with the most beautiful big blue eyes he'd ever seen was standing there. He wore jeans and a blue t-shirt that fit the contours of what appeared to be a very well-toned torso and biceps.

"Can I help you?"

"Are you Professor Callahan?" he asked.

"Yes. And you are?"

"My name is Don Strachey. I saw your ad for the model for your art class."

"Oh, yes, come in," Tim said, standing.

"I know I'm a little older...so if you want somebody regular college age, I understand."

"Are you a student here?"

"Yeah, I'm working on my degree in Criminology. I work for Bennington Security, but I'm a little short on money for summer classes."

"That's a good company."

"It is, but the good-paying supervisory jobs go to guys with degrees, and the company doesn't pay tuition."

"Which is due in a couple weeks," Tim said, nodding.

"It's just not gonna happen unless I make a little extra cash." Don paused. Tim looked down at his desk to find the brief application form he planned to ask anyone interested to fill out, though Don was his first nibble. When he looked up, Don's t-shirt was hanging on the back of one of his visitor chairs, and he was unfastening his jeans.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice rising an octave as his eyes bugged. That chest and those muscular arms were everything he'd thought they'd be, but his sense of propriety told him that this was so inappropriate on so many levels that his whole career could swirl down the drain if someone walked in on it.

"Your ad said you needed someone physically fit, so I thought you'd want to see what I look like."

"I appreciate that, Mr. Strachey, but I can see you're in very good shape, so I'm sure you'll be a suitable choice."

"Oh...does that mean I get the job?"

"You should really put your shirt back on," Tim said, trying not to stare. If Michelangelo's David came to life in his office, he wouldn't have been more perfect. Actually, he wouldn't have the barbed wire tattoo that encircled Don's left biceps, nor would he have those eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes that seemed to hold such warmth and sincerity.

"Sorry," he said, smiling, grabbing the t-shirt and pulling it back over his head. "So am I gonna be naked?"

Saints preserve us.

"What?" Tim asked, knowing his brain wasn't engaging the way it usually did.

"For the art class. Do I have to be naked?"

"No, that won't be necessary. You'll be wearing either a toga or a sheet or something...drapey. I haven't quite decided on the pose. I want to do something reminiscent of classical Roman art."

"Okay. I have some Italian in me, so I can do that," he quipped. There was that smile again. "When do you need me?"

Now. Close the door.

"I have two classes I'd like you to pose for," Tim said, forcing himself to stay in professor mode. This was a student, though Don wasn't his student, nor was he traditional college age. Tim figured he was in his thirties, trying to get his degree by piecing together multiple income sources. "The first one is Tuesday evening, at 7. I think we should meet in the art studio about 6, so we can figure out your pose."

"Okay," Don said, taking a small notepad out of the pocket of his jeans and then patting himself down for a pen.

"Here," Tim offered, and Don accepted it with a smile, his fingers brushing Tim's. They held each other's gaze a moment, and Tim could have sworn the brush of fingers wasn't an accident.

"Thanks," Don replied, but he was still looking right at Tim, smiling at him, not looking down at his notepad.

"Tuesday at 6," Tim repeated.

"Oh, right, yeah, Tuesday," Don said, looking away and jotting down the information. "And the other class?"

"Huh?" Tim asked, eloquently. He'd been too busy staring at Don's hands as he held the small notepad and wrote in it. He had nice hands. "You don't have a smart phone?" he asked.

"Hate those things. Got one of the old flip ones."

"I'm used to my students living by those."

"Guess that's the difference with us old students," he joked.

"The other date is the same week, on Thursday afternoon, probably about 3:30. Class is at 4, but we'll know the pose and set up that works by then."

"Okay. I hate to bring up money, but when do I get paid?"

"The following Friday. Will that be okay?"

"Tuition's due that day, so that'll work." He stuck the notepad back in his pocket.

"Well, hopefully this will help you get a little closer to the goal," Tim said.

"Yeah, it will. So, I'll see you Tuesday, then?"

"Yes. Looking forward to it." Tim extended his hand and Don shook it. It was a firm handshake, and it lasted a bit longer than it should.

"Thanks again," Don said. "See you Tuesday."

"Thanks for responding to the ad. I'm sure you'll be an inspiration to the students."

"Heh. Never been called that before, but okay." With a crooked little smile, he was gone.

********

Don walked down the hall toward the art studio. He felt a bit like a fish out of water among the mostly young students who looked every bit the part of art students. They seemed to dress trendier and wandered about with portfolios of their work. At least among the Criminology students, he was in with a few people he could relate to. Some cops who wanted to move up in the department, guys working security who wanted something better...at least he wasn't so out of his element. It made him wonder why Professor Callahan hired an old guy like him to be the model when he had all these young studs to choose from.

He walked into the art studio, and saw Professor Callahan standing there in the middle of the room by a raised platform with a piece of furniture upholstered in dark blue velvet, with a couple of pale blue sheets folded up next to it. He was dressed in gray slacks, an argyle sweater vest, a shirt and a tie. Despite his conservative professorly garb, he was beautiful, and Don was betting the clothes hid a very nice body beneath them. Don had noticed how handsome he was when he first saw him in his office, and his voice was as smooth as the velvet on the fainting couch on the platform. He knew Professor Callahan was gay; he was an advisor to the University's LGBT student organization and an outspoken advocate for equality issues in the regional community.

Don was comfortably in his closet. Law enforcement and security work was very little more friendly to gay men than the military had been. After the disaster his first love turned into, and given that the one man he'd really loved had died tragically, he'd seen little reason to complicate his life by coming out with everyone he met, with his employer, with the world.

Looking at Professor Callahan standing there, evaluating the set up, tapping a perfectly manicured finger against lips that looked delicious, it was the first time in his life he wished he was wearing a rainbow T-shirt and waving a flag. He just couldn't think of a smooth way to say, "Gee, you're hot! I'm gay, too!"

"Don, I didn't see you there," Professor Callahan said, smiling when he saw him standing in the doorway. He wondered if it was wishful thinking that the other man was as pleased to see him as his warm, happy smile would indicate.

"Hope I'm not too late. I got delayed at work..." he trailed off, gesturing a little uneasily.

"No, you're fine."

"So how do you want me?" he asked, and a slight tinge of pink crept into the good professor's cheeks. Don smiled. God, he was so beautiful, and a little bit shy, too. "I mean, am I sitting on that thing?" he added, pointing a the ornate couch.

"I had an idea. Tell me what you think. I was going to have you in a slightly reclined position on the fainting couch. I thought this class could draw you from the front, and the other class could draw you from the back."

"You're the professor," he said, thinking it all sounded a little weird, but then he wasn't an experienced artists' model. Professor Callahan looked a bit uneasy, as if he didn't know what to say next. "Should I get undressed? You said it wasn't going to be a nude pose, so I should leave my shorts on then?"

"Yes, that sounds good." He smiled again, looking relieved. Don supposed telling a virtual stranger to strip to his shorts was awkward.

Not half as awkward as doing it and then sitting on some frilly couch like a dork so a bunch of kids could draw you. Well, he'd signed up for this, so there was no point second guessing it now. He took off his t-shirt, then toed off his shoes and took off his jeans, then his socks.

"Okay, we'll have you sit right here," the professor said, gesturing at the couch, shaking out one of the sheets. While he was ostensibly focused on his props, Don could have sworn the good professor was giving him the once-over. Of course, he was hiring him to model, so that made sense. Still, a little part of Don's soul that hadn't jumped for joy in a long time was warmed by the thought that it was something more. He sat on the couch. "We'll have this group do the front view, I think. They're a senior group; we'll have better results with the features than the intermediate group Thursday."

"They're not too hot on faces, huh?"

"I have some very gifted students in both groups, but I have a bit farther to go with that class as a whole. Now, why don't you just lean this way, with your elbow right here on this pillow," he directed, and Don leaned where he was told and rested his elbow on the little pillow that matched the upholstery.

"Where do my legs go, Professor?" he asked.

"You could call me Tim if you like. Most of my students do."

"Okay, Tim. Where would you like my legs?" Don knew he was asking that question in a more than mildly provocative way, but he couldn't resist.

"Up on the couch. Then I'll drape this sheet across you and - "

"I'll look like I'm hanging out on the couch naked?"

"Basically," Tim replied, chuckling.

"Why all the blue colors?"

"They bring out your eyes." As soon as the words were out, he froze in his fussing with the sheet.

"Aren't they doing pencil sketches?"

"Well, yes, but sketches often turn into paintings. I was hoping to take a few photos...I paint."

"You want to paint me?"

"You're an inspiring subject," he said, smiling. This time, the handsome professor was flirting back.

"I've been called a lot of things before, but I can't remember 'inspiring' being one of them."

"You really are in excellent condition. Your musculature is very reminiscent of some classic pieces...not excluding Michelangelo's David."

"Wow. And David didn't even get a sheet and his shorts for his modeling job."

"There's something to be said for a bit of mystery."

"Works for me. I'm not anxious to lie here with it all hanging out for two hours."

"You don't mind if I take a couple of photos? I'll work on the preliminary sketch in class tonight, with the students, and then I can use the photos to finish the painting."

"Can I see it when you finish it? I've never been painted before."

"I'd like that," Tim said, and he held Don's gaze for a moment before smiling and stepping back, taking out his smart phone and aiming it.

"What should I do with my face?"

"Excuse me?" Tim paused before taking the picture.

"My head, my face...am I supposed to look in a certain direction or make a face or something?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." He stuck the phone back in his pocket and then put his hand under Don's chin and the other on the back of his head. The hands were warm and gentle and bore a faint trace of cologne as they eased Don's head to just the desired angle, so he was looking off to the side, giving the sketchers a profile. When he drew his hands back, there was a moment of hesitation, and Don had to smile. Tim smiled back, then moved away and took out his phone. He took a photo of Don while he was still smiling. "I think for the class, a neutral expression is best."

"Smile's not a good idea, huh?" Don said, trying to figure out what was a "neutral" expression for an art class.

"Your smile is beautiful," Tim said, and then looked stricken, as if he'd said the worst thing he could have. "I'm sorry. I mean - "

"Will you stop apologizing?"

"You're right. I'm so - " Tim paused, and then laughed, shaking his head.

"Yours is, too."

"My what?"

"Your smile. You have a beautiful smile, too, Tim. You should have just done this yourself."

"That would have freaked out my students, anyway," he said, laughing.

"I don't know what turned the Romans on, but you'd do it for me." He froze, worrying he'd said too much, pushed too hard. "I mean, if I could draw."

"Well, thank you," Tim said, blushing even more, but smiling. "Now give me a serious art pose face," he said, and Don laughed, but then did his best to school his features into seriousness for Tim to snap the photo. "Don't smile," Tim added, which made Don burst out laughing. He couldn't remember laughing and smiling that much in years. "It's all right," Tim replied, taking another shot. "You can be my laughing David."

********

Tim split his time during the class between working on his own sketch and moving among his students, checking their progress. Every now and then, Don would catch his gaze and wink, or smile at him. He wondered if his students saw it, if they knew the model was flirting with him, that he was flirting back.

His own sketch progressed well, but he found himself needing more time. And, if he were honest, photos were nice but there was nothing like a live model when you were refining an oil painting. He wondered if Don would agree to pose just for him, so he could complete the sketch and then do a decent oil painting from it.

When the class ended at nine, and the students were filing out, Tim handed Don his clothes.

"Thank you. Some of the students' sketches were really good."

"Good." Don stepped into his jeans and pulled them up, fastening his belt. Then he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

"I was going to ask you...would you consider posing for me again, privately?" Tim paused when Don stared at him, then smiled. "I mean, I'd like to do a good, detailed sketch, and when I'm doing an oil painting, it really does turn out better when I can see the live model."

"Sure. Hey, you want to grab a bite to eat?"

"I'd like that," Tim replied, smiling. "There's a Chinese place not far from here - "

"You really want to have dinner with a bunch of students around?"

"It sounds like you have a place in mind."

"A little hole in the wall Thai place that's not far from where I live."

"I love Thai food."

"They make the best in town."

"Then let's go."

"You want to put your shoes on first?"

"That'd be a good idea, wouldn't it?" Don asked, laughing as he sat on the couch to tie his shoes.

********

Tim had quite a story to tell over their shared meal. He'd been in the seminary, visited Rome when he thought he was going to be a priest, then lived there for a couple years while he got his Ph.D. in Art History from an Italian university. Don shared a little of his life story, but carefully excised Kyle and all the heartache that still accompanied those memories. Tim was a nice guy, and for the first time since Kyle, Don felt that pull to just be himself. To take a nice, handsome guy out on a date. To be himself and not care about the consequences.

And maybe, just maybe, the sky wouldn't fall because Don Strachey was gay. That was the Army, that was Kyle... And that was yesterday.

"You were right about the food," Tim said, smiling. He had such a warm, sweet smile. It reached into some sore, broken places in Don's soul and somehow made them less awful.

"So when do you want me to pose for you again?"

"Maybe this weekend? I probably won't have a chance to really work on my sketch or get started on the painting until then."

"Okay. Maybe we can throw in dinner or a movie or something."

"I could make us dinner," Tim suggested, sounding a bit shy about it, like he wasn't sure if Don would like that idea. "I've been told I'm a pretty fair cook."

"I can bring some DVD's," he offered.

"That sounds great."

"Yeah, to me, too."

After dinner, Don drove Tim back to campus so he could get his car. When he pulled up near Tim's car, Tim got out, and Don got out, too.

"Thanks for walking me to my car," Tim joked, as they made the ten foot walk.

"Hey, I'm not the kind of guy who just drops his date off at the door," he replied, laughing.

"Don...I hope you won't be upset, but I think I'll get a different model for Thursday's class."

Don's heart dropped into his stomach, and now he remembered why he didn't let himself fall for anyone anymore.

"I'm sorry. I thought...I mean, this weekend..." Don't stand here and stutter like a jilted schoolgirl, Strachey. Pick up your dignity and don't hand this guy your balls. "Yeah, whatever. So I guess that mean's this weekend is off, too? Well, have a good evening, Professor," he said, walking away toward his car.

"Don, wait!" Tim hurried around the car and grabbed Don's arm. "What just happened?"

"You just said you didn't want me to pose for you."

"No, no, no," Tim said hastily. "I said I wanted to get a different model for Thursday. Don, I...I like you, and it just feels weird to stick you in the middle of the art studio for my students to draw."

"You don't want me to pose for them because you like me?"

"Well, yes. I like you," he said firmly, as if he was steeling his resolve to say what he had to say. "I like you a lot," he added, his voice soft.

"I like you a lot, too, Tim," Don said, smiling.

"I'd still like you to pose for me. I meant it when I said I wanted to paint you. I haven't been this inspired to paint in a long time. Maybe not since I was in Rome." He paused. "My laughing David," he added, touching Don's cheek lightly.

"Okay, I guess I can give up the modeling gig on Thursday. Apparently this guy I'm dating is the jealous type."

"Dating?"

"This weekend will be our second date. Come on, Professor," he said, tugging a little on the knot of Tim's tie. "Try to keep up." He was surprised when Tim covered his hand and squeezed a bit, then leaned toward him. To say their kiss was magical seemed a bit over the top, but to Don, it was, and he decided to go with the flow. He'd only fallen this hard, this fast, once before, and it hadn't gone well. But if human beings did one thing well, it was making the same mistake over and over again.

Something told him the only mistake he was in danger of making here was not embracing this feeling with his whole heart and soul.

When then parted, he smiled at Tim, their hands still holding each other.

"You sure you're busy until Saturday?" Don asked.

"I do have a break in my schedule for lunch tomorrow. I know a good Italian place."

"Pick you up in front of the Fine Arts Center about noon?" Don asked, still holding Tim's hand.

"Yes, that sounds good."

"Yeah, it does," Don agreed, stealing another quick kiss that made Tim chuckle as Don headed for the driver's side of his car. "Hey, get in your car. I want to know you're on your way before I leave."

"I'm fine, Don. I park out here all the time at night - "

"Not when I'm dropping you off, you don't. Now get in your car so I can see you off safely."

"Okay. Aggressive, aren't you?"

"Does that turn you on?" Don asked, smiling, leaning on the roof of his car and looking over it at Tim.

"Among other things."

"We'll talk more about that over lunch."

"I'm looking forward to it," Tim said, and then he got in his car and started out, while Don got in his own car and fired up the balky engine.

"Me, too, beautiful, me, too," he said to himself, smiling as he headed home.

********