Work Text:
It had been a warm, lazy afternoon when Tachanka asked Glaz to paint him. The request was not an uncommon one, with Sasha often boasting his physique and offering to model for Glaz. Glaz had previously turned him down, not out of disrespect, but because it was difficult to match his cool-tome, pale skin and Glaz refused to make a half-measure of his friend’s form. Now though, with supplies at the ready and a relatively free day, Glaz took him up on the offer and prepared to make a portrait of his friend.
Tachanka sat in front of him in a chair, one ankle resting on the opposite knees with his arms crossed under his pecs and his chin jutting up in a confident grin. The pose wasn’t too peculiar, besides the fact that Tachanka only had his boxers on. Glaz raised on eyebrow as he set up his easel.
“Are you certain that’s the pose you want? You’ll have to keep it up for at least half an hour.”
Tachanka merely laughed and leaned back against the chair. “These bones aren’t that old, Timur. I’ll be fine.”
“Alright then. Just let Doc know it’s not my fault if you pull something tomorrow.”
Glaz finished setting up and began to sketch Tachanka, giving him a stern glare to ward off fidgeting. It was a slow process, burdened by how long it had been since he had a subject before him but he did not falter as he laid out the lines that would guide his brushstrokes. He was nearly through with the sketch when Fuze came in, a large plastic container in hand. He sat down on their common room’s couch and began to cut into a solid layer of brownies, carving off a chunk which he then began to eat. Glaz paused his sketch.
“Who made brownies? Please tell me you didn’t steal them from Dominick or Jordan.”
Fuze scoffed, almost chocking in the process. “Of course not. Jordan is too kind to steal from and Bandit’s too much of a bitch to deal with when mad. I made them for myself, but I’m willing to share.”
Glaz watched Tachanka eye Fuze then the brownies. “Keeping your figure, I see. Don’t let Doc talk down to you. Us big men need the calories.” At this he patted his own gut, narrowly avoiding Glaz’s rage when he returned to his pose.
Fuze merely made a noncommittal sound at his comment, setting the brownies aside and doing something on his phone. Glaz turned his attention back to the sketch, correcting a few lines and adding some finishing touches before moving into the hard part, the painting itself. Technically speaking, it wasn’t all that difficult, but Glaz refused to let this portrait be mediocre. Each painting of his meant something and Glaz would do his best to honor his friend.
It took more than a little courage to first place the brush on the canvas, the thin smear of pale off-white crème emblematic of the old soldier’s battle-worn skin. He took careful, restrained brushstrokes as he highlighted the many scars that marred Sasha’s arms and chest from near uncountable bullet and knife wounds to the large and jagged stitched laceration from their mission in T and C that left him in quarantine next to Jäger, their fates a roll of dice as both doctors Kateb and MacIntosh raced for a cure. Against all odds they succeeded and Tachanka laughed off their fears even as how white count skyrocketed from what would turn out to be an unrelated infection. They’d nearly lost him, their friend, the one who held the, together, the one who helped them begin to trust each other when they first met, unsure of what danger the others may pose. And although he could be overbearing and arrogant, he was still theirs, their Sasha, and Glaz would give anything to stay by his side, for all of them to stay together, even if beds were a little too small for four grown men. He would ensure it, that none-
“Lost inside your head again? You’ve gone quiet.”
Glaz blinked on Tachanka, who looked at him with well-concealed concern under amusement. Tachanka then pointedly glanced over to Fuze who, when Glaz followed, held out a chunk of brownie towards him. He cleared his throat before speaking, a hint of red evident on his cool, medium brown skin.
“You look distraught. Please eat something.”
Glaz put down his paintbrush and accepted the brownie chunk from Fuze. Biting into it, he was pleasantly surprised by the walnuts baked into it. With a hunger he didn’t know he had, he devoured the brownie, leaving nothing but haphazard crumbs behind. With a small “here” he then accepted a paper napkin offered by Fuze to clean off his fingers before throwing it away in the trash can. He took a deep breath to steady himself before thanking Fuze and continuing the portrait.
Glaz worked faster from there, keeping focus on the task at hand and avoiding the roiling thoughts that stirred trouble whenever he saw one of his friend’s old injuries. In time he progressed, adding subtle details to Tachanka’s muscles and distinctly, yet tactfully illustrating the bulge in Tachanka’s matte black boxers. Alright, so maybe it was a bit more focused than what would be considered directly tasteful, but it kept his mind from darker matters and helped him focus on completing his work. And with the last streaks of gray added to his sandy blond hair, Tachanka’s portrait was as complete as the man himself, regal and powerful but not unapproachable in his demeanor. Glaz put down the paintbrush and motioned for Tachanka to come over.
Tachanka stretched languidly as he approached Glaz’s side, a soft smile in his face. He clapped a hand on Glaz’s shoulder then draped it over him as he took in the painting. Tachanka grinned at him and patted Glaz’s chest.
“I don’t know why you were so worried. It’s magnificent. Probably your best yet. Don’t you agree Shuhrat?”
Fuze had stood up from the couch and gone over to them, a small smile on his face. He dropped it when his eyes met Glaz’s and he then looked off at a corner of the ceiling. “You always do great work. Nicely done, Timur.”
Before Glaz could reply, a knock on the door interrupted him and Kapkan, Maxim, entered, looking at them skeptically. “Why are you all huddled? Did Glaz make something?” He padded over to Glaz, the scent of gun oil on his hood, and gasped almost inaudibly at the portrait. He then pulled on a scowl when inquisitive eyes looked at him.
“Thoughts?” Tachanka grinned.
Maxim snarled. “Timur’s skilled is all.”
“Oh, I’d believe it.”
Maxim huffed back towards the room he shared with Tachanka, attempting to hide the red on his face but stopping when he saw the brownies.
“Did Shuh-”
“Just take some!”
Maxim cut himself some brownies and took a bite before digging into them ravenously, like a wildcat days without a kill. Sasha tutted.
“Seems my boys aren’t taking care of themselves. Must I tie you down and force feed you?”
Glaz watched Maxim choke at this suggestion before tossing out an excuse and going back to his room. Fuze did the same, taking the brownies with him but leaving his door partly open. Tachanka chuckled and pulled Glaz into a hug.
“Thank you, Timur. I won’t forget your gift.”
Glaz just breathed and held him, content to enjoy his friend’s warmth.