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“Hey,” Steve called as he opened the door to his and Bucky’s small flat, “I’m home Buck!” He walked in and dumped his bag onto a hook by the door. Walking into the kitchen, where Bucky was stood eating a chocolate bar, Steve wiped his brow. “Hard day?” Bucky enquired, mouth full. “It was fine, I guess,” Steve said, getting a glass of water, “Can I paint you again?”
Bucky smirked, remembering the first time Steve had decorated him. It was way back in 42, before all this shit happened, before Steve became all serum-ified and before Bucky had been turned into… Well, it was before either of them joined the war effort anyways. Steve had been drunk, after one pint, he used to get drunk so easily, and had gotten his paints out and, although messily, illustrated the fireworks they had watched onto Bucky’s back and chest. Even though he had been sober at the time, Bucky had had a flush of contented happiness, feeling Steve’s careful hand smoothing paint over his skin. The brush had tickled, but he didn’t mind. It sent pleasant tingles all over his body, reaching out like meek flames stroking, soothing his aching muscles. Since then, that sensation hadn’t ever been replicated, the calm restoring tingles he had felt. Remembering all this, he was more than obliging now to be painted once more.
Ramming the rest of the chocolate bar into his mouth, Bucky vaulted over the small concrete table and ran past the two mattresses on the floor to where Steve had left his bag. Rummaging through the worn cotton satchel, Bucky found Steve’s paints and pulled them out. He swallowed his chocolate and held up the tin to Steve, who looked shocked. “You want to use these?” Bucky asked. Steve was overwhelmed by Bucky’s immediate overenthusiastic response. “Uh yeah, Buck,” he started but was interrupted, “Cool, where do you want me artist boy?” Bucky joked, realising he was slightly too excited for a casual suggestion. Steve gestured to the kitchen work surface, and Bucky wondered over, hoisting himself easily onto it. Steve drained his water and opened the paints. He squeezed out a glob of navy paint and dipped a flat rectangular brush into it. Bucky watched his hands carefully loading up the brush with paint, it amused him how so strong hands could still delicately work a brush. He pulled off his shirt and Steve looked up, quickly covering up his small catch of breath. Bucky closed his eyes, ready, waiting for the first stroke.
“Buck.” Whispered Steve, almost too afraid to ask. Almost. “Would it be okay if I, I mean I don’t have to if you don’t want but, could I paint your arm?” Bucky laughed softly, “Fine, wherever you want.” He grinned. “Are you sure you’re okay with it?” Asked Steve, surprised by his happy reaction. “Be my guest.” Bucky smiled, holding out his arm. “Oh,” said Steve, “No, I meant the other one. Your metal one,” and as he saw Bucky’s face drop slightly, adding “If that’s okay?” Bucky tensed, this is not what he was expecting. If it was what Steve wanted, then hey, sure, but would he still get the same sensation he once adored? “Okay, whatever you want.” Bucky smiled, hiding his worries easily.
Steve smiled gratefully as he moved himself and his paints over to the other side of where Bucky was sat. He lifted the brush once more and applied the first sweep of paint across his arm. This surface was incredible to work with, he thought, the paint seemed to glide over it perfectly as he covered the rest of Bucky’s arm with the same shade. He swapped brushes and took a smaller, round tipped one, painting outlines of circles and outlining Bucky’s star. He coated the previously red star in white, something so angry calmed and subdued by the white paint. He swapped brushes and colours, working in a peaceful frenzy, painted planets in gorgeous bright bold colours, swirling oranges together for Saturn, Mercury and dabbing greens over blues to create Earth. He wiped his hair out of his face, brush still in hand, and tucked it behind his ear, leaving a blue smudge on his forehead along with all the other flecks of colour already dotting his face from the rest of his rapid work. He sighed, observing his work, his body filling with a restful satisfaction as he admired what he had accomplished.
Bucky was in a state of euphoria. He had been worried his arm would dull the sensation he craved, muffling it so it was pointless even hoping to experience it again. But the exact opposite had happened. This new feeling was even better than the first time, each tiny movement of Steve’s brush amplified and enlarged until it immersed Bucky completely. The small flickers of warmth he had felt before now a snowstorm of comfort and belonging, pouring into his body, making him feel safe and protected, his muscles relaxed and lightened. He looked down at Steve, paint flecked onto his face like colourful freckles and smiled widely, his heart pounding softly. Steve’s eyes flicked up, meeting Bucky’s gaze with anticipation. Bucky looked at his arm, seeing the planets in glistening colour shining on his arm, the thing he despised now beautiful, because of him, because of Steve. Bucky leant forward and kissed him on the forehead, a hint of paint tinting his mouth. Steve smiled up at Bucky, “You like it?” he asked. Bucky kissed Steve, who accepted and moved into the kiss, deepening it. Finally Bucky pulled away, paint smudging the corners of his mouth. “I love it.”