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Steve claimed he did it because Robin had told him to. “She says I’m stressed and restless?” He’d said it with such a casual air, scoffing as if the very thought of him being anything but okay was ridiculous despite everything. “Figured I would humor her.”
“It’s been scientifically proven that people who work on art or any type of craft have an easier way of dealing with their emotions,” Robin had told him when Steve was out of earshot. “You have your music,” she added. “And DnD, as do the kids. Nancy always keeps her mind intellectually busy. At the very least it can keep him distracted.”
What about you, Eddie wanted to ask but didn’t, watching Steve return to them with a plastic bag filled with art supplies. He made a great show of looking annoyed about it, but Eddie caught him smiling as he showed them his purchase, all the colors and different brushes which all did different things, the idea evidently appealing to him even though he for some reason tried to act as if it was the opposite.
Eddie left him alone at first, not wanting him to feel crowded, but as days turned into weeks and Steve was still painting nearly every damn day, Eddie found himself sitting next to him, fiddling with his guitar or simply watching. It was calming, watching him figure everything out. Steve wasn’t necessarily a natural born talent, but not many were. He’d gone from simple drawings of houses and trees and had started trying to draw people, using a pen to sketch somewhat recognizable interpretations of Dustin, Max, Robin, sometimes even Wayne. He never asked people to pose until he asked Eddie.
“I did notice you haven’t drawn me yet,” Eddie had replied and Steve had rolled his eyes. “Figured you’d get offended that I can’t capture your oh so glorious beauty.” Both of them knew Steve wasn’t joking, but they let his words hang in the air, unchallenged.
Eddie had sat on the porch, head slightly turned to the right since Steve claimed he could never get a whole face right. He was holding his guitar, lightly strumming the strings just to keep himself from squirming too much. In the end, Steve wouldn’t let him see the finished product and Eddie didn’t push, although he suspected he probably was drawing him more often now since he’d stopped showing him his pieces. Eddie blushed each time he thought of it, which was ridiculous in itself, but nothing about him and Steve was rational anyway.
“Have you moved on to pencil full time?” he asked him one day as the sun was setting, turning the sky pink and drawable.
Steve looked up from his sketchbook. “I guess? Not on purpose though. It’s just easier when I’m not sure what I’m doing.”
“Mm, I miss finding specks of paint on you though,” Eddie replied with a grin. He’d once found a streak of green on the side of Steve’s neck and had gotten the privilege of hearing Steve giggle his head off as he’d tried to rub it off for him.
“That’s exactly it. It’s so messy.”
“I think you’re turning it into too much of a task the longer you avoid it.”
“I’m not avoiding it.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m not! I can paint for you right now.”
“Okay.” Eddie leaned back where he was perched on the stairs. “Paint me.”
“That’s very narcissistic of you.”
“No, no. I mean-” Eddie smirked at him, not realizing he was plotting his own demise. “Paint on me.”
Steve flushed, but he did a good job of keeping his voice steady when he said, “You want to be my canvas?”
“Precisely.”
“It’ll get messy.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it.”
When the idea had briefly crossed his mind Eddie imagined Steve blushing, avoiding his eyes as Eddie stripped to give him access to bare skin, all the power in his possession, all the delicious nervous energy bouncing around them.
But he’d forgotten that brushes were soft and paint was cold and Steve was gentle and his skin too sensitive, and when Steve started at his chest because that was the easiest spot to get to as Eddie leaned back with his shirt off, they both seemed to simultaneously realize the direction this would mostly be going in.
“Stay still,” Steve said, grinning now as he ran the brush down toward Eddie’s abdomen, Eddie’s breath having hitched at the same time as his eyes had widened.
“It’s cold,” he said, and it was, but he knew Steve wasn’t fooled. “Fuck, Steve, be careful.”
“I am. Be still or we’ll get your clothes messy, and you wouldn’t want that, right?”
They probably looked strange to any on-looker, only they knew they were hidden from view there, unless Wayne decided to come out of course. But despite the obscured view Eddie knew people could hear them, and so he clamped a hand over his mouth, head leaned back as his other hand darted between covering his face and moving toward Steve. He started giggling much too soon for his liking.
Steve seemed delighted. “I think your neck should be pink,” he was saying, fluttering the brush back and forth on his lower belly, the green soon covering each inch of it. “Your feet can be blue. Oh, and if you’re bold enough to pull your shorts down lower I can paint your hips red, to signify your most ticklish spot.”
The acknowledgement of what was actually happening made Eddie’s giggles turn into full on panicked belly laughter and his flailing hand finally settled on top of his other one, pressing hard to keep from being too loud. “Steheheve!”
“What was that?”
“Fou ou-”
“I see.”
Eddie dug his heels into the ground, the sensation so light and yet so unbearable. There was something about having to keep quiet, about not being able to stop him without getting paint on more parts of him, that made it all the more maddening. The brush he was using wasn’t even one of the wider ones, and yet it tickled enough in such a specific way that it sent shocks through his nervous system. The stairs were starting to hurt his legs where he was pressing them flat against them, but he was afraid he would crumble completely if he tried to fold any body part in on himself.
“I might make you my canvas forever,” Steve was saying, giving Eddie a moment to breathe as he wiped the brush to switch to pink. “You’re doing so good being still.”
Eddie found himself blushing at the praise. “Oh my god, shut up.”
“What? I’m just being honest.”
Steve’s smile was so excited that Eddie had to close his eyes for a moment to compose himself. “Well, at least you’re painting.”
“Right? Robin would be so proud.”
“You won’t tell her about this, right?”
“Oh, no. It’s our little secret. Now move your hand. I’m going for your neck.”
“Please don’t.”
“Are you interfering with my artistic choices?”
Eddie opened his eyes and found he was hovering over him, although the brush was held far enough from him that it didn’t make him nervous yet. “Yes. Human canvases have rights too.”
Steve hummed. “Fine. Not the neck then, but we need a good replacement to dampen my disappointment.” He glanced back. “The back of your knees? Would that work or are you too ticklish?”
“I hate you so much.”
“Hey, this was your idea.”
Eddie sighed. “I didn’t expect it to be so-”
“Ticklish?”
He let out a laugh. “Yes.”
“Well, I’m glad it is. I like hearing you laugh.”
Eddie flushed, but noticed that Steve’s face pinkened as well and found he couldn’t lament the situation he found himself in after all.
“Back of knees are fine,” was all he said, accepting his fate as he shut his eyes again. “But if you get paint on the stairs Wayne will probably kill you.”
“No paint on stairs. Got it.”
This time the brush on his skin made him yelp, knee bending on impulse to get away from the sensation. He should’ve told Steve to go for his knee caps instead, he realized belatedly. The squirming wouldn’t be so messy then.
“Ugh, it feels weird,” he said, craning his neck to look at Steve who had backed off when Eddie had bent both his knees, pressing the paint between his skin.
“If you get paint on the stairs now it’s your fault.”
“Is anything dripping?”
“No.” Steve suddenly grabbed his calf. “Maybe your ankle. Or should I go back to upper body? Lift your arms.”
“You’re so persistent.”
“I’m only getting started and you keep interrupting.”
Eddie huffed but lifted his arms anyway, grabbing onto the door frame as best as he could with the door shut. “Be nice.”
“I’m always nice.”
He wasn’t able to cover his mouth this time and was laughing loudly and freely the moment the brush touched his armpit. Steve hushed him, although he was laughing too, and slapped his palm over Eddie’s mouth in a way that had his thumb brushing the underside of his chin, another much too sensitive spot, and Eddie found himself spiraling into hysterics.
It was foolish to think he would be able to stand it for long, and within seconds he had paint not only on his hands and clothes, but also somehow in his hair from how suddenly he’d started fighting back. The stairs, somehow, were left spotless.
“You caught me off guard,” Steve told him later, helping him rinse the last of the pink from his hair. “You ticklish idiot.”
“Hm, I seem to remember another day where I was the one scrubbing your ticklish skin clean.”
“Speaking of that, I’ll help you get the paint off of the rest of you.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay.”
“No, I’m offering! It’s my fault anyway, right? I heard it’s really hard getting it off of armpits especially.”
“Steve, I will kill you.”
“And I think I saw some on your hips too. No idea how that happened. Oh, and your neck.”
Eddie groaned. It was going to be a long shower.