July 21 - “Is that… chocolate body paint?” Clint/Steve for "Lisa"
Written by @celiaequus
When he was a kid, Steve never would’ve dreamt of all the art supplies available today. The different coloured pencils, pens, paints. Charcoal pencils, watercolour pencils… anything he could imagine, and more.
But it also meant that browsing was a time-consuming process. Instead, he’d had to settle on his latest project, recreating a scene from their last battle, and he was looking for particular types of forest colours. Green and brown, mostly, and he could blend what he already had.
“Looking up supplies,” he said absently, searching for chocolate paint. He’d done the preliminary sketch; now he needed colour. Clint looked over his shoulder, and Steve frowned as he paused at one of the results. “Is that… chocolate body paint? What the hell do you use that for?”
Clint laughed so hard that he fell off the couch, and just lay there on his back, chortling loudly and helplessly. Suspicious, Steve looked up what body paint was for. Was it like face paint for little kids or…?
Oh. No, it was not for kids.
“Oh my God,” he said, covering his face. That made Clint laugh even harder. He was clutching his stomach now, and his face was bright red. “It’s not funny, Clint! Ugh, I’ll just have to go to the craft shop myself.”
Clint nodded as Steve stalked away, still howling.
Browsing wasn’t just time-consuming, but expensive. Steve couldn’t decide, so he ‘settled’ on getting ten different tubes of paint, two more palettes, and a few extra brushes. It wasn’t any chore to cart them back to the tower… but he paused beside a shop with a familiar name.
He’d never been to an adult store before, but remembering how Clint had just laughed at him, Steve felt like a bit of petty revenge. And if the need for revenge wore off by the time he got back, he could keep the idea for later.
If Bucky could’ve seen the look on Steve’s face as he entered the shop and politely asked where the edible body paints were, he would’ve run a mile, and advised everyone else to do the same thing.
Steve was still weighing the pros and cons of pranking Clint when he got home. He was surprised to find Clint waiting outside his room.
“Hi,” Steve said.
“Look, fair warning, Tony keeps tabs on our browser history, and he saw the stuff about the paint,” Clint said. “In case he mentions it, which he will, I thought I’d let you know that… I didn’t tell anybody. I know what you were searching for. I… I wanna apologise for laughing. It was unexpected, and you looked so innocent and confused when you asked what it was for, and… yeah, I was a jerk.”
“It’s okay,” Steve said, patting him on the shoulder. “No hard feelings.”
Clint nodded, looking relieved, and wandered away. Steve was sure he heard something like ‘Got hard thinking about it’. Could’ve been his imagination playing tricks on him, though. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d imagined Clint’s interest.
Tony did try to start something by bringing up Steve’s interest in body paint.
“Why, do you want me to paint fairy wings on your face, Tony?” Steve asked, tilting his head like a puppy. “In Iron Man colours? I could do it. I didn’t know you were into face-painting.”
“Maybe…” Clint began. The others looked at him, except for Tony, who was gaping in indignation. “Next time we’ve gotta make up for property damage… we could hold a carnival! And Steve could do face-painting for the kids.”
“I’ll need to practise on someone first,” Steve said, looking Clint dead in the eyes. Clint swallowed, and went back to his dinner, the tips of his ears turning red.
Maybe he wasn’t imagining it after all.
After he’d brushed his teeth, done his stretches, and cleaned his bow, Clint settled into bed with the latest thriller he was trying to read. It was hard to get excited when his own life was way more interesting than what the protagonist was going through. And there weren’t nearly enough characters like Natasha or Pepper or even Darcy to make the whole thing bearable.
His phone buzzed, and he was so grateful for the distraction that he tossed the book aside, and it tumbled off the bed.
A message from Steve. A picture. Clint clicked on it, wondering whether it was Steve’s latest painting, since he’d been talking about it over dinner.
It wasn’t that kind of canvas.
Steve was laid out on his bed, a few pots of paint beside him, and he’d already painted a longbow down the length of his chest. It was purple, and there was an arrow already nocked, aiming towards Steve’s heart, with ‘CUPID’ written along the bow.
It was… really hard to swallow, right now.
Another message came through, and Clint checked the text warily.
Feeling hungry? It’s edible, you know. And I’d hate to get paint on the sheets.
