Some more words about Bucky.
First, want to thank you all for the lj v-gifts! And for all the love and support from my previous entry. *kisses all round* you are all the best, truly, and I don't deserve you, BUT I AM KEEPING YOU.
So while I was waiting for data to be processed (things can go so slow through a proxy...) and sirona_gs to be around, I found myself, well...writing this. It is sort of a continuation of this post where I had Steve the art student objectify Bucky the live drawing model for a few hundred words, because radioaches totally made it a real story in my head, and now it’s sticking to me in bits. So, basically, yes, have about a thousand words more of art student!Steve and naked model!Bucky.
It may also be because Sebastian Stan is featured in 1883 magazine (a href="http://sebstandaily.tumblr.com/post/17613482732/sebastian-stan-in-1883-magazine">see pictures here) and I only expected Hiddles when I bought it. He is so gorgeous his face has been stuck in my head since yesterday. Sue me.
Through the six weeks session where Bucky is their model, he and Steve don’t talk once. Steve does a little Facebook stalking when back in his dorm room, just to know a last name, maybe see a few pictures. He learns that Bucky is in fact called James, James Barnes, Marketing junior, friends of many members of the football team; his profile is largely unprotected.
Peggy spends a copious amount of time telling Steve just how much of an idiot he is, not talking to Bucky. It’d be so easy to offer him to go for a coffee after class, once he’s dressed again and Steve cannot see the curves of his muscles any more, but he always lose the nerve. It’s not that he’s shy, or uncomfortable about it; he’s more worried about the possibility that allowing himself to try and know Bucky might ruin the magic of the illusion. Which is something else Peggy rolls her eyes to him about, because Steve lives way too much in his own head, she says.
It’s a safe way to live, in Steve’s opinion, but that’s without counting on Peggy’s meddling, obviously, because it’s only a few days after the last time Bucky shows up to be their life drawing model that he appears at Steve’s dorm room door, a soft smile on his lips as he leans against the wall, ankles crossed.
He says something like, “Your friend Peggy told me you needed extra credit. Don’t usually do private sessions, but I had the time. If it’s a right time for you too,” or maybe something completely different, Steve isn’t sure he hears right past the rushing in his ears but he nods anyway, stepping off the side when Bucky moves past him, inside his room, looking around like it’s actually interesting.
Steve doesn’t actually need extra credit; he’s done exceptionally well on this session, some of his drawings are even hanging around the studio. But somehow, revealing Peggy’s plot right now feels like too much of a waste, especially when Bucky asks, “So, where do you want me?” while shrugging his leather jacket down his shoulders.
Steve’s lips go dry and he licks them involuntarily, motioning to the bed as his mind scrambles for words, for where he’s left his sketchbook, his charcoal box. He finds the words first, “Bed’s fine. Make yourself comfortable, any position works for me,” he says, his voice steadier than he expects it to. Bucky undresses while Steve goes to get his materials, thinking of all the places he’d like Bucky, bed included, but somehow, Steve manages not to let his mind wander so far that he’ll make it obvious, setting his desk chair in front of the bed.
When he finally looks up, Bucky is naked, and looking straight at him. Steve swallows, considering the position Bucky’s found himself in; facing Steve, legs crossed Indian style, hands resting on his knees. He looks uncertain when he asks, “That okay?” and Steve smiles, finding confidence in his large sketchbook and collection of charcoals.
“That’s okay,” he replies softly, focusing on Bucky’s face. He’s resting his back against the wall, head tilted back a fraction, but he’s still looking right at Steve. His eyes; his eyes are something special, and Steve wishes he had more of an affinity with color in that moment, just to be able to try and capture the blues and greens and golds constantly moving in Bucky’s irises. Instead he just uses his shades of black and grey, spending a long time drawing Bucky’s eyelashes, the exact shape of his eyes, the shadows underneath, betraying lack of sleep. Steve would ask about it, try to make small talk, but he’s too focused on drawing Bucky’s nostrils, quickly working his way down to the shape of his mouth, slightly pouty, chin tilted up.
He loses track of time again. He loses it in the curve of Bucky’s neck, the dip between his collarbones, the dark hairs trailing down his chest, the ridges of his shoulder bones, his dark, peaked nipples. He’s spent so long on Bucky’s face, drew it with such detail and so big he doesn’t even have any more space on the page for anything under Bucky’s belly button, but that’s fine by him. He allows himself to look closer at tiny details, beauty marks and moles, brushing his fingers over the paper and Bucky’s chest to darken his skin slightly, an image of a healthy tan in black and white.
Steve does small corrections; a stroke here and there can change the entire feeling of a piece, and he’s not about to let this one go to waste. He’s got Bucky all to himself, focused only on him, and through his haze, Steve can feel Bucky’s eyes on him, soft but insistent, a little curious, too. When Steve declares himself satisfied, he looks up, this time for more than half a second to take in a detail, and he’s surprised to see Bucky blushing, color rising high on his cheeks.
Bucky licks his lips, looking much less certain than he did earlier. “Are you done? Can I see?” he asks in a rush, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. When Steve nods, turning the sketchbook towards Bucky, Bucky stands up, once again completely unself-conscious, standing there naked in Steve’s room, taking the proffered sketchbook with care, his mouth opening as his eyes roam over the drawing.
“I shouldn’t admit that,” Bucky says, barely whispering as he hands the sketchbook back to Steve, going for his underwear, “but I look better on paper.”
“No, you don’t,” is Steve’s swift response, something he probably shouldn’t have said. Bucky smiles at Steve, indulgent, and Steve tries his best not to let his eyes trail down to the sight of Bucky shimmying his way back into his jeans. “If you don’t mind, we could do this again,” he says, again without wanting to, but Bucky nods into his shirt, his head popping through a second later.
“Yeah. You know, it’s fascinating to watch you work. Maybe one day you can do one for me,” he says, and winks, and Steve has to grip his sketchbook hard not to just give him that one, managing to only reply with a smile, an array of dirty jokes filling his mind. He can definitely do that, and more.
Still don’t know what to do with it :’).
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