Teacher, Writer (ish) Procrastinator.

SNEAK PEEK:

God…Bucky, can I draw you?” He blurts, fingers still tracing lines over gooseflesh skin.

“Uh, draw me? Like right now?” James asks, looking more confused than opposed to the idea.

Steve bites his lip and nods, “Please.”

“Okay. Sure… How do you want me?”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows in a manner he thinks is seductive, but probably looks ridiculous, a notion that is only fuelled by James’ sudden eruption of giggles.

“That’s not what I meant, goddammit!” James laughs, shoving against Steve’s side.

Steve grins, shoving the brunette back. “Just lay against the pillows. That’s it…” Steve directs, face a little pink. “Bend your left knee, no, that’s your right knee, Buck… and put your foot flat against the mattress. Okay, good…Um, your hands look a little awkward. Do you want a book or something?”

“I feel awkward!” James protests, but fishes a paperback from down the side of the mattress. Steve watches him flick to the dog-eared page, neon tabs sticking out haphazardly. He leans over to grab the materials he needs from his backpack, shoves his glasses back on top of his nose and settles himself in the desk chair which he wheels over to the foot of the mattress.

“Sorry, the lighting isn’t very good,” James apologises, looking up from the words on the page with a frown.

“No, it’s perfect. Trust me, Bucky, you look…really beautiful.” Steve says honestly, bringing a knee up to balance the sketchpad on. “Just read your book, baby,” he encourages, not missing the pink flush that spreads over James’ chest.

“Kay,” the boy grumbles, but quickly gets absorbed in the pages, much to Steve’s amusement.

Steve starts with a quick outline to get the general position of James’ body before he inevitably can’t sit still any longer. He flicks his eyes between the paper and his subject, he looks closely, intently. He pencils in James' elbow propped up on his thigh. Sketches slender fingers keeping open the pages of a book. The sharp jut of a bare ankle and the long curve of his spine. He commits the sinewy expanse of the boy’s neck to paper. The proud slope of his nose and the dime-sized divot in his chin. Steve draws the tantalising valley of James’ pectorals and the sharp lines that disappear underneath the waistband of his tight jeans. He captures the concentration on his face, eyes slightly narrowed, the corner of a lip caught absently between teeth. And then it’s the scars on James’ arm, the tattoos, the swinging pendant over his chest.

It’s silent for a while, just the soft scratching of pencil against paper and the sound of city-traffic below. Every now and then, James will glance up and catch Steve’s gaze only to blush and look away again with a shy smile. He can’t place when exactly the air around them changes but, the next time James looks up from his book, they hold each other's gazes for a while longer.

“Can I stretch out now? M’getting cramp,” James complains, several glances later. Steve nods, the sketch has been finished for a few minutes, but he’s not letting James know that. Not yet.

He looks down at it. Tires to separate himself from the image, to look at it objectively as a piece of art. It’s difficult. He’s tied to it, deeply, intrinsically. When he looks at the paper in front of him he sees an extension of himself. His James. He knows without any uncertainty that even the most uncultured individual would be hard pressed to deny the love within the fine lines of graphite.

It’s obvious. Christ, is it obvious.

“Sure, Buck,” he says instead. Pretending to adjust the sketchpad on his knee when really he’s watching as James lies flat on his back. James lifts his arms above his head and stretches languorously, his hips rising off the mattress. He resettles lazily, propped up on his elbows, his legs spread. His hair falling into his eyes. James’ body a long line of temptation that Steve can’t help but let his eyes wander across.

meat

bread

fish

( Key change by SausageSquirrel on AO3)

Written for FrattWeek 6 - KEY

@frattweek

KEY CHANGE

It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth The minor falls, the major lifts

“You play the guitar Frank?”

Frank was leaning down to fumble with the exposed ignition wires below the dash and the angle was making the sweat from the fight and their hasty exit run into his eyes.

“You’re asking me this now?” Frank cursed as the right hand wire escaped his grasp, “You don’t think you could listen for, you know, maybe Callahan’s goons coming to kill us?”

Frank heard Red laugh, “Oh they’re…yeah sorry, they’re running up 9th.” Away from them, away from the shitty van that Frank had never had the keys to.

Frank sat up with an exasperated sigh, taking the opportunity to shift the gun from the back of his waist band to the door pocket, “And you didn’t think to mention…” He shook his head exhaling further, the adrenaline was slowly receding but the afterwards was sometimes more jittery, and his finger bounced against the steering wheel, while his knee bounced in time.

He looked at the man next to him, and huffed a small laugh, something dog like in the angle of his head and those fucking ridiculous ears on the cowl of his..

“You think you could maybe lose the bat-ears Red?” He reached over the back of the front seat to grab a hoody and shoved it roughly towards the other man, before yanking the zipper of his own jacket more fully over his vest.

Red pulled off the cowl and Frank was caught for a moment, caught by the brownness of those eyes, the slight sweat dampness of the tousled hair, shit. He coughed as if clearing his throat, and Red’s head angle almost imperceptibly.

Frank leant forward to re-find the wires and waited for the guy to claim they were in fact horns but he just pulled on Frank’s hoodie, eyes on nothing, and said, “I just didn’t take you for musical.”

Frank sat back up. He didn’t bother to ask how Red knew there was a guitar in the back of the van, wedged between his sleep-roll and a box of ammunition, probably heard the strings vibrate or some shit. Frank dragged his hand over his face, finding a split in his eyebrow he hadn’t even realised was there - shit. He folded down the sun shield to squint in the mirror there, even in the shitty light the streak of blood down his face was apparent.

“Yeah well I ain’t,” Red’s face turned towards him, eyes as off the mark as ever and he swallowed, “I ain’t musical,” he remembered something and Matt could hear the slight smile in his voice, “Maria used to say..” the words faltered away.

“You’re bleeding.” and it wasn’t a question, course it wasn’t. Red reached out a hand towards him, but stopped before touching him.

Frank looked at the hand, pale in the streetlight, gloves in the footwell with the cowl, and swallowed, licked his dry lips - the kid could smell blood, could smell…

“Eyebrow,” he said quietly, then took Red’s surprisingly cool hand and guided it to the cut, gratifying to see those eyebrows lift, those lips part. Surprised himself, stepped right into no-mans land, no cover, acting not thinking, stupid, stupid, Castle.

Red shifted in his seat, four fingers of his other hand cool points on his cheek while his thumb traced the line of his eyebrow. Frank closed his eyes, frozen in place by the cool balm of that touch. The thumb travelled lightly over the cut, then cool fingers traced his stubbled jawline, Jesus it was making the hairs on his neck stand up , it was making… he gave a shuddered exhale, opened his eyes in time to see the slight curve of Red’s lip, flash of white teeth in the dark stubble.

Frank moved then, his hand warm on the cool skin of Red’s neck, thumb grazing a light rasp on that jaw.

Red froze, almost flinching is Frank’s touch. And Frank jerked his hand back, shit, “Uh…s..sorry”, embarrassment doused the burgeoning desire like a bucket of icy water, call yourself a fucking sniper, smooth Castle.

But Red’s hand reached out to grab Frankl’s wrist, almost possessively.

THANK YOU APPLE TV

Oh she looked amazing

Whoever thinks something different is just fooling themselves

my ☀️ and my 🌑