#this is my genderfluid!Stiles x GNC!Mitch

[the-cookie-of-doom]

"Do you have any requests?" Mitch asked, gathering up an armful of materials from around his bedroom as Stiles got comfortable on the sheet-covered floor.

"Surprise me," Stiles answered. He laid down on his stomach, head pillowed on his folded arms, half-lidded eyes lazily tracking Mitch as he moved.

"Famous last words," Mitch warned him with a sharp grin. Stiles laughed quietly and closed his eyes; he trusted Mitch.

After Mitch gathered what he needed, he dropped the pile of paints beside Stiles. He was slightly more careful with the mason jars of brushes and water, setting them within reach and out of the way. Mitch kneeled beside Stiles and squeezed a flop of titanium white onto the panel of a cheap picture frame he used as a palette. "When's your birthday?"

"February fourteenth," Stiles said. He shivered when he felt the first delicate brushstroke against his skin a few moments later, listening to Mitch's thoughtful hum.

"That sucks."

"Yeah, holiday birthdays are less than awesome. But the day-after discounts make up for it."

"I'm sure."

"When's your birthday?"

"November twenty-third. What?"

"Nothing, nothing. It just makes sense you're a winter baby, since you're so frosty all the time."

"Whatever." Stiles could hear the eye roll in Mitch's voice and it made him smile into his arm.

"What are you painting?"

"You told me to surprise you."

"Can I get a hint?"

"Nope." Stiles looked over his shoulder as best he could to pout at Mitch, giving his best puppy eyes. Mitch studiously ignored him, intent on the task at hand. Occasionally he had to brush an errant lock of hair out of his face, that escaped from the messy bun it was pulled into. Stiles kind of wanted to kiss him. He didn't, though, instead laying his head back down before the position made his neck ache.

Stiles tried to keep track of the design coming to life on his back, but he had no real way to guess at what Mitch was doing. At first he splashed pigment over Stiles' skin in broad, wide strokes, laying down the ground work of his vision. With each layer the strokes became more precise, building up the detail. The sensation of drying acrylic on his skin was an odd one, but Stiles found he didn't mind much. He liked having Mitch's undivided attention on him

It was almost an hour later when Mitch finished, and Stiles was like dozing. He didn't know when he feel asleep, but he was roused by the sound of paint tubes clacking together as they were shoved out of the way, and Mitch saying his name.

"Hmm?"

"I said, can I take a picture to post later?"

"Oh, yeah sure." Stiles felt languid and loose-limbed as Mitch stood up for a better angle, heard the soft 'click' of his phone snapping several pictures. "Do I get to see what you painted, now?"

"Yeah, here." Mitch handed Stiles the phone and he couldn't help gasping. It was beautiful, the design Mitch came up with, his own take on Aquarius. It reminded him almost of a tarot card. The design was largely in oceanic shades of blue and green and white, with pops of yellow and orange for contrast.

"It's beautiful," Stiles said breathlessly, then cleared his throat. "You're really good."

"Thanks. The paint comes off pretty easy, but it'll stain your clothes, so if you want to take a shower...?"

"Oh. Oh! Yeah, uh thanks." Stiles didn't really want to wash off the paint just yet—it felt like a loss, to get rid of the beautiful art so soon. But he couldn't think of a good reason to go walking around shirtless, so he awkwardly gathered up his discarded clothes and made his way to the bathroom down the hall, while Mitch gathered up his supplies.

Stiles watched the water run a dark blue, then teal, then finally clear, regretfully scrubbing off the paint. When he got out of the shower he smelled like Mitch's citrusy body wash, and it made his heart quicken a little. He steadied himself as he dressed so that he wouldn't make a total fool of himself when he returned.

Mitch was, predictably, sketching at his drafting table. His phone was idly discarded beside him, and Stiles could see the pop ups of Instagram notifications as people liked and commented on his newest post, going largely ignored.

"Uh, hey...."

"Hey." Mitch looked over at him with a smile. His hair was still mostly pulled up, although the knot hung looser than before, and more strands had escaped, like he'd been absentmindedly pulling at it. "Thanks for letting me paint you."

"Anytime," Stiles said, and hoped he didn't sound as desperate as he felt. If Mitch caught on, he didn't say anything about it, but his eyes did scan over Stiles thoughtfully, much more than just an idle glance.

"If you're serious... there's a body painting competition I want to do in a few weeks, but I haven't been able to find someone to model for me. Are you interested?"

"Yes," Stiles agreed too quickly, and Mitch grinned at him.

"Awesome. Fair warning though; it involves a lot less clothes and a lot more people."

"That's fine." That wasn't fine. But Mitch would be there, so he would be fine. "I mean, I'm not that shy, and body paint basically works like clothes, right?"

"Some people seem to think so."

"What... exactly would I need to do?"

"Just stand there and look pretty, mostly," Mitch said, casually adding, "shouldn't be too hard for you."

"... Right." Did Mitch just insult him or compliment him? It was usually hard to tell when Mitch kept everything he felt behind that sarcastic little smirk of his. "Obviously you'll be doing all the hard work. Do you have any ideas what you want to do, yet?" Stiles asked, because he didn't want to leave just yet.

"A few. I'm not committed to any, though, since they have released a theme yet. Want to see?"

"Yes!" Stiles shuffled over, leaning over Mitch's shoulder while he flipped through his sketchbook to the relevant pages. As he did, Stiles could have sworn he almost saw a few portraits of a familiar face, but He never got the chance to examine closely. Was he imagining it that Mitch flipped past them faster than the others?