#tried using watered down acrylics and it is harder than it looks. how does steve purcell do it

[cherrytastiq]

happy rapture day sam & max fans. how are we feeling

[thesoundofnat]

Stained Fingertips

Tony/Steve

Summary: Steve is maybe slightly obsessed with drawing Tony. Not that Tony minds.

[Read it on AO3]

Words: 3 058

Steve had been so focused on getting the shading just right that he didn’t even notice that he was drawing a blush onto the subject’s face until his pen stilled and he glanced up to get a proper look at Tony.

He was sitting across from him on the bed, pretending to be reading an old book they had lying around just to have something to do while Steve sketched him. The light from outside was illuminating him just right so that Steve could practically see every twitch of his mouth.

He put his notebook down. “Why are you blushing?” He’d tried to merely sound curious, but Tony’s flush deepened anyway, which was interesting.

“I’m blushing?” A brief moment of eye contact before he looked down again. “I didn’t realize.”

“Well, I know it’s not because it’s warm in here. What’s up?”

Tony exhaled loudly and put the book away. “I just started overthinking.”

“Overthinking what?”

“The whole sketching thing. You’re basically examining every inch of me and it made me flustered.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Hey.”

“Come here.” Tony did, scooting closer and letting Steve capture his lips in a kiss. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Why must you insult me today?”

“You started feeling self conscious as if there’s anything about you I don’t love.”

“It’s not that,” Tony insisted. “I just- you’re watching me so casually, entirely unaware of what your gaze does to me.”

Steve’s lips quirked. “As if drawing you isn’t a pleasure.”

Tony pointed at him. “See? A guy can’t just sit there unaffected.”

“You’re sweet.”

“Oh, so now I’m sweet? I thought I was an idiot and ridiculous.”

“You can be all three simultaneously. You usually are,” he added, laughing when Tony gaped at him.

“Excuse you,” he said, fingers finding Steve’s ribs, making him laugh for different reasons. “Rude. Disrespectful. So many more words.”

“Stop it and let me finish drawing you,” Steve said, grabbing onto Tony’s wrists. “Unless you can’t handle my gaze on you.”

“Wow. I’m never telling you anything again.”

Steve grinned. “I’m not letting go until you kiss me.”

“That’s a threat.”

“As if you don’t like it.”

Tony gave his lips a peck, which turned into a longer kiss that Steve was very smug about when they pulled away. Tony just rolled his eyes and sat back down on the other side of the bed. “Paint me like one of your french girls.”

“I’m gonna pretend as if I understood that reference.”

“You- no, you know what? We’re watching Titanic the moment you finish sketching my perfect body, and that’s a promise.”

*

Steve started drawing Tony more often after that, if only because he now knew Tony had more feelings toward the whole process than annoyance. In fact, he didn’t seem to be finding it annoying at all, despite acting like it.

“You like that I like drawing you,” Steve said one evening, in the middle of shading Tony’s lips, so perfectly curved as Tony started grinning.

“Maybe,” he said, barely moving. “It’s kind of flattering.”

Steve added the mischievous glint to sketch-Tony’s eyes, redrawing an eyebrow so that it was slightly raised. The picture of smugness, very different from Tony’s blush a few days prior.

“I know you don’t draw just anyone,” he continued, and Steve felt his own cheeks heat up. A ghost of embarrassment, even though he had no reason to be embarrassed. Tony was well aware of his feelings toward him.

“That’s true,” he said, putting the pen down momentarily to rest his hand. “But then again, lots of artists draw anything they see.”

“So?”

“So I don’t want you to believe it always means something, even though it of course means something in this case.”

“Drawing people is different though, isn’t it?”

“I guess.”

“What’s it for you?”

“Drawing?”

“People.”

“I- well, I don’t always ask permission, but I never draw strangers.”

“Have you drawn me without asking?”

Steve hesitated. “I have.”

“When?”

“Before, well, everything. And after.”

“Can I see?”

“No.”

“Aw, come on.”

Steve grabbed the pen again. “I barely let you see the ones I have you pose for. You think I’m gonna show you the ones I never intended for anyone to see?”

“Well, now I’m curious.”

“Curiosity kills.”

“Fair enough.”

Steve was glad he’d captured Tony’s previous expression, because now he just looked skeptical. Lips slightly pursed, the hint of a crease between his eyebrows. Eyes on the wall next to Steve.

Steve ran the tip of his pen down the chin, giving Tony a neck, shoulders, arms, stopping only when it was time to sketch his bare upper body. Tony met his gaze now, sensing Steve had something to say.

“For what it’s worth,” he started, licking his lips. “I’ve only ever drawn you without asking.”

Tony’s expression changed again, and Steve scrambled to turn the page to capture the utter joy before it was gone.

*

“Are you building a shrine?”

Steve rolled his eyes, letting them fall on Sam who was trying to peer down at his notebook. Steve barely had time to close it, but the damage had been done.

“I was just touching up a couple of drawings,” he said.

“All of Tony?”

“Well-”

“Obsessed, is what you are.”

“Or a man in love,” Nat said, suddenly in the room as well. Maybe she’d been there the entire time and Steve had gotten so used to only seeing things directly in front of him that he hadn’t noticed.

He rubbed at his neck. “Is it a crime to admire one’s partner?”

“Nah, we’re messing with you.” Sam sat down beside him, chair scraping against the kitchen floor. “But I miss the days where you drew me.”

Steve snorted. “I can still draw you.”

“But you never ask to. It’s not like I can just walk up to you and demand it, as much as those internet trolls seem to think it’s okay.”

Nat started rummaging around the fridge, and Steve wondered why he’d thought the kitchen table would be a good place to do work at.

He leaned back, pen still in one hand and his notebook under the fingertips of the other, just in case someone would get the idiotic idea of grabbing for it. He wasn’t even sure why he felt so protective of it, even when it came to Tony. Everyone knew what they would find in it. Nothing was obscene or twisted. It was just sketches, mostly of Tony, some even unfinished, but it felt so personal anyway.

Steve started tapping his fingers against the book as Nat sat down across from him with a bowl of blueberries. The afternoon light was hitting her just right, and Steve suddenly wished Tony was sitting in her seat instead. The room empty apart from them. Notebook open and pen hurrying to capture the moment.

Tony had once said that it’d be quicker to just snap a picture, but it would feel less authentic. Yes, he was a pretentious art student at heart, just like Sam had once claimed.

Steve reached out and stole a berry, popping it into his mouth before Nat could protest - not that she would.

“Careful with the juice,” was all she said. “It stains.”

“Hey, you think you could paint with the juice?” Sam asked, eyeing the bowl but not grabbing for it himself.

Steve hummed. “Maybe? It’d be harder than paint.”

“Have you experimented much with different painting methods or do you stick to pencil?”

“I’ve always stuck to pencil,” Steve said. “Didn’t really have access to anything else back in the days.”

“I’m sure Tony could order in a bunch of stuff if you wanted to try.”

“What if I’m not good at it, though? I reckon it’s different.”

“Won’t hurt to try.”

So that was how Steve ended up getting his own art studio in the Tower, located on the same floor as his and Tony’s shared room, big and bright and filled with anything you’d need if you called yourself an artist. Seriously, Steve almost felt overwhelmed just looking at it.

“You didn’t have to get me all of this,” he said, breath not entirely caught yet. “I would be fine with a tube of paint.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “As if I’ve ever done anything halfheartedly. You deserve to practice and try things out.”

Steve shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Also sweet and an idiot.”

“Exactly.”

But Steve kissed him with so much passion they almost undressed then and there, restraining themselves just in time.

“Don’t feel bad if you don’t end up using something,” Tony said as he walked toward the exit. “Try things out, but don’t force yourself to use something you don’t agree with.”

Steve mock saluted him. “Yes, sir.”

“Ha ha. Now go draw a mosaic of me, won’t you?”

Steve didn’t know where to start, or how, so he decided to grab the first thing he saw and recreate his oldest piece of Tony merely to relive his own obliviousness from back then, but he stopped himself just as he tipped a brush into watercolor. He’d ruin Tony if he did this. Better save all his Tonies to when he’d mastered the art more properly.

*

So he painted the buildings outside and the equipment inside and even brought in a bowl of fruit with an apple on top just to be a cliché. Before he knew it he’d been painting in his studio for weeks, taking breaks to go outside and socialize with coal and oil and paint coating his fingertips. Suddenly he understood why Tony would shut himself in his workshop for days. It was enthralling to have so many things to do with your hands.

When he finally asked Tony to model for him again, he decided to paint him with acrylic paint.

“It’s one of my favorites,” he said when Tony questioned him about it. “I thought it only right to use it for my grand premiere.”

“Why’s it one of your favorites?” Tony asked, sitting down on the armchair Steve had brought in for this exact reason.

“You can use it without water. The lines will look uneven, but I like the effect that creates. It almost looks like the subject is moving.”

Tony hummed. “Interesting. Do you want me in a more mobile pose?”

“Let’s just start with a normal pose and we can move to more complicated things later.”

“I have a feeling I’ll spend much time in this chair.”

Steve grabbed a smaller brush and got to work, watching Tony relax into the chair, phone in hand, thumbs constantly moving over the screen. Steve decided to exaggerate their movements once he got to Tony’s hands.

*

“That took forever,” Tony complained a couple of hours later, stretching his arms above his head. “Do I at least look good?”

Steve hadn’t included as many details as he might’ve had this been a finished pencil sketch, but he liked the simplicity of it, especially since he knew it had taken long. It was simple but not effortless.

“You always look good,” Steve replied. “Though I must say my drawings can never fully capture it.”

“Oh hush, you’re gonna make me blush. And kick your ass for being self deprecating.”

Steve showed Tony the painting, having gotten better at sharing the finished results with him. It was always fun watching him examine it, after he got over his own mental panic. Tony looked so flattered and pleased and overwhelmed all at once. He’d once confessed that he didn’t understand why Steve insisted on drawing him of all people, and Steve had to spend half a night convincing him he was lovable.

Now he watched the man he’d come to know and love so deeply watch the canvas, expression unreadable. It should’ve been worrying had Steve not seen him clutch the hem of his shirt. That was code for so-overwhelmed-he-didn’t-know-what-to-do.

“I don’t really believe in magic,” he said, clearing his throat. “But I’m almost certain you’re a goddamn wizard, Steve Rogers.”

Steve would remember those words for the rest of his life.

*

They didn’t spend all their time in the art studio. As much as Steve appreciated it, it was harder to bring those things with him, so he still carried his notebook everywhere he went. You know, just in case.

That afternoon they were in Tony’s workshop, Tony elbow-deep in one of his suits. A thin stripe of oil on his cheek that Steve was currently sketching out in his notebook. He might’ve brought an armchair into his workspace purely for Tony, but Tony had always had a couch in his. He refused to tell him why when Steve asked, but Steve suspected it was to nap if he needed it.

The music in the room was low, probably mostly for Steve’s sake than Tony’s. Steve liked that Tony cared enough to build an atmosphere that Steve enjoyed. He knew Tony prefered to blast the music until his was almost deaf.

“Wait, be still for a second.”

Tony froze, wrench in hand and head craned slightly unnaturally in order to get a better look at his work. “Hurry please.”

“Sorry, I’ll be done in a moment.”

He sketched down a messy version of Tony’s hair falling in his face, having broken free of the wax he used. Beautiful, Steve thought.

“Sorry?”

And apparently said aloud too.

He cleared his throat. “You’re beautiful. You can move now.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Tony straightened, head tilted as he kept looking at Steve. “You don’t look too bad yourself, you know. If I could draw you’d be my life long subject as well.”

That was practically a proposal. Steve’s heart was suddenly much less calm.

He put the notebook and pen aside. “Come here.”

Tony looked at the suit. “Uh, kinda busy here.”

“Then I’ll come to you.”

“Steve, I-”

Steve didn’t listen. Only crossed the room and locked his lips to Tony’s.

Tony let out a surprised yelp, but used his free - and clean - hand to cradle his neck, leaning into the kiss so immediately it was probably a reflex, but the fact that he didn’t pull away was what told Steve this was real. Even though they’d been going out for a few months already, he still sometimes couldn’t believe this was his.

Maybe that was why he kept drawing him. If all this would get ripped out of his hands, at least he’d have proof it wasn’t a dream.

*

Steve found himself drawing Tony in dreams sometimes. Creating images with colors that wouldn’t go anywhere near a drawing of Tony and somehow still making them look good. He always woke to a slight disappointment it hadn’t been real, and if he ever remembered them for long enough to get to his studio he would try to recreate them. Maybe he had a problem. An obsession, as Sam had called it, but he didn’t know how to stop.

He drew other things more often now, because he was scared he’d forget how to if he didn’t. Tony was a good subject and all, but a line existed so that it wouldn’t be crossed. Steve wasn’t about to cross this line.

He was in the middle of sketching one of Tony’s abandoned projects that had somehow ended up on their bedroom floor when Tony entered, walking quickly toward him without stopping. Steve barely had time to save the notebook before Tony had pushed him down the bed, hovering above him with such hunger in his eyes that Steve forgot all about art.

“I can’t draw,” Tony said, breath hitting Steve’s face. “But I want to describe just what a piece of art you are, if you’d let me.”

Steve nodded wordlessly, his pulse quickening.

Tony drew Steve that night, using his hands and lips and words. Steve was an artist, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to return this, though try he would.

In the dark, stars twinkling outside, Tony ran his lips over Steve’s skin, describing the texture, the color, the sensation. Making Steve laugh when he called colors their “fancy names”, such as turquoise, mauve and crimson. Fingertips ghosting over his hips, arms, neck, describing curves and sweet spots and removing articles of clothing at the same time.

“I’m gonna make you see every color on the spectrum,” Tony told him, and Steve wondered how he’d ever lived without that man.

*

Tony was in the room with him when Steve finally painted another person again, sneaking glances at the canvas while Nat sat patiently in the armchair, book in lap and eyes actually taking in every word. Steve didn’t reprimand her for moving whenever she turned the page, but he did tell Tony off for crowding him occasionally.

“I just like seeing your process from the other side of the room,” he said. “It’s interesting.”

“It’s easier,” Steve replied. “Nat doesn’t complain as much.”

“Hey.”

“And I haven’t drawn her in months, so it doesn’t come as naturally. It’s good practice.”

“Ah, so taking a break from me is good for your artistic skills.”

“It’ll be good to draw you again with a fresher mind.”

“If I knew this would get me first row to your private conversations I would’ve volunteered to do this ages ago.”

Tony snorted. “He wouldn’t have let you.”

“Whatever you say, Stark.”

Tony tried to mock draw him one day, grabbing a blunt pencil and a torn out page from Steve’s notebook and pretending to be thinking hard, frowning exaggeratedly when Steve couldn’t stop laughing at the mess of a drawing he showed him.

“Excuse you, I tried my hardest.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“Wow, you’re rude. Let’s see you build a robot then.”

“I’d rather not.”

“You know what, I will not stand for being insulted.”

“So sit down- hey!”

Tony tackled him onto the couch, both laughing when Tony made a poor attempt at pinning him. Steve stopped Tony’s fingers from doing more than graze against his ticklish spots, and soon they were kissing, because maybe Clint hadn’t been too off when he’d told them they were like teenagers.

“So I’m not an artist,” Tony said when they pulled apart. “But I love doing art.”

“What-”

“You’re art.”

“Oh my god, Tony.”

He was still sweet, ridiculous and an idiot, but Steve wouldn’t have it any other way.