Work Text:
Steve wasn’t sure what came over him when the model walked out from the back room, wearing a robe; from the moment his eyes landed on his face, he was just… awestruck. Dark hair, bright eyes, full lips. He was fucking beautiful.
It wasn’t like this was the first Life Drawing class he’s taken, either. After three years as an Arts major, it was starting to become pretty monotonous. Hours-long studio classes, hundreds of dollars spent on art supplies, hustling across the university campus with large folder portfolios. Steve’s seen many a nude model in classes, practiced translating what he saw with his eyes onto paper. But this time, for some reason, it was like his brain had decided to short-circuit.
Janet kicked his stool, literally jarring his focus back. “You’re being weird, quit staring,” she whispered quietly, shaking her head in amusement. She inserted an earbud before reaching for a pencil.
Steve felt a fierce blush creep up his neck. He cleared his throat as he went to adjust his station, fiddling with his canvas placement and the pencils and graphite at his side. When their assistant professor made an announcement to the class — something about their project timeline, he wasn’t paying attention — he could still hear the blood rushing through his ears.
“Tony, you can go ahead and get situated,” Potts said quietly to the student model, nodding as she returned to the back of the room. It wasn’t long before she turned her radio on and filled the large studio with ‘90s throwbacks.
Steve angled his head down to his canvas, affectively blocking his view from the model — Tony. What kind of name was Tony? He didn’t look like a Tony. It was stupid. Just like his stupid, handsome face. Janet was already sketching out outlines and shapes beside him. He leaned around the easel then, inhaling a shallow breath.
Tony was lounging on the small futon in the middle of the room, one leg folded behind the other as his right hand, encased in some kind of gauntlet, sat loosely on a knee. A white sheet draped just barely over his hips. His form was lean, arms and chest and legs toned with muscle. The device situated in his torso was bright and blue, and Steve just knew the perfect way to capture its beauty. He felt warmth gather in his gut before he willed his hand to move.
Reigning in his focus, he marked fluid lines that followed the slope of Tony’s posture. Each time Steve’s eyes flickered back to his muse, the butterflies in his stomach would lessen little by little. He raised his pencil in front of his eyes to measure proportions, hatching out circles and ovals and soft rectangles.
The room was generally quiet, save for the assistant professor’s music and a couple students speaking silently amongst themselves. Steve was finally getting into his groove, working methodically as he sketched the outline of Tony’s body and extended limbs. The figure on the canvas was taking shape, looking less like a throw-up of random shapes and more like a real humanoid.
He stood briefly to move his stool in order to get a better view of Tony, intent on getting a good rough sketch. Steve switched to a darker pencil. He began first with his head, outlining the details of his features. Tony’s jaw was strong, sharp; his lips slightly parted, with a cupid’s bow that immediately drew him in; his nose was both delicate and defined, slightly freckled. For the briefest of moments, Steve wondered what it would be like to kiss him — God, no, stop it — and shook the thought out of his head immediately.
When his gaze returned to the front of the class, Tony was all but staring straight into his soul. Steve froze for a moment, stilled after meeting the other man’s deep brown eyes; he could only properly describe them as witnessing sunshine through whiskey, they were so rich. There was a twinkle of delight behind Tony’s eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips that stirred the once resting butterflies in Steve’s stomach. Tony sent a quick wink in his direction, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth before his face returned to its previous neutral expression.
Oh, he was done for. There was no way he could focus properly with Tony staring at him like that. Steve’s brain melted as his heart threatened to jump out of his chest. Throughout the rest of their class period, his pulse was beating to the tune of Tony-Tony, Tony-Tony, Tony-Tony. His only reprieve was when the studio hour finally finished, and Tony had shrugged his robe back on so he could get dressed.
Steve was preoccupied with cleaning his easel and tools when Janet unceremoniously cleared her throat. When he looked up at her, she was pointing over his shoulder with a shit-eating grin on her face. “I’ll catch you later,” Janet said before twirling on her heel and heading out the door, boots clicking as she went.
He’d barely turned his head to glance over his shoulder before his brain registered Tony standing next to his art piece, grinning in his direction. “Hey, hope this isn’t weird, but I was wondering if—”
Shit, fuck, what the fuck. Steve’s higher brain functions must have stopped working because the next thing he knew, the pouch in his hand had fallen to the floor, scattering pencils and erasers across the epoxied tile. He swallowed a groan, kneeling down to clean it up. Tony was at his side in an instant, collecting the colored pencils with one hand.
Steve stole a glance at him, feeling the air caught in his throat. “Uh… thanks,” he said sheepishly.
“No problem, Steve,” Tony replied, brushing against Steve’s skin when he handed the pencils over.
The two of them straightened up then, and Steve couldn’t help the question falling from his mouth: “Wait, you know who I am?”
“Pretty sure everyone at the Academy does.” Off of Steve’s still incredulous look, Tony elaborated, “C’mon, you’re the only one ballsy enough to run for class president unopposed.”
Steve made a face at that, scoffing under his breath. “Don’t knock the election process. It’s always good practice to tell the truth, show respect, and choose words wisely in all aspects of a campaign.”
“Sounds horrible,” Tony deadpanned, blinking up at Steve. A smirk slowly appeared on his face, and Steve would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel some type of way. “Why don’t you tell me more about it over dinner?”
“I — yeah. Yes. It’s a date.” Was it healthy for someone’s heart to skip a beat? Because Steve’s heart definitely skipped multiple when Tony’s entire face lit up with pure excitement.
