Work Text:
"When you said you wanted to paint me, mister Rogers, this isn't exactly what I thought you had in mind."
Loki Laufeyson sat on the chaise longue in Steve's basement like he was made for it. Somehow, even naked in another man's home while Steve stayed fully clothed, he still gave off the impression that he owned everything he saw. It was that sense of effortless control about the man that had stolen Steve's breath and made him forget what a terrible idea it was to ask your own publicist to pose nude for you.
He swallowed, and grinned sheepishly. "You were expecting a canvas, I guess." Loki laughed softly.
"I was. Or rather, I was expecting you to try and sleep with me before now -" The casual way he said it sent a guilty flash of heat up Steve's spine, and he could feel himself begin to flush. He busied himself with adjusting the lights. "- but failing that, yes, I did expect... Well. Beautifully mixed oil paints. Tiny little brushes. An easel. Something like that. I've never seen you work before, but I admit this isn't what I imagined."
Steve licked his lips. "I'm starting up a new collection," he explained. "I wanted to try something different." He cracked open the last few tins of paint and surveyed the array of colours. Red, blue and yellow in the middle, and green, three shades of brown and two of grey. He twirled the decorator's brush in his hand idly. That would be enough - if he needed to mix colours he could do it on the brush.
"I have to say, it lends a whole new meaning to let me paint you, Loki."
"Do you..." Steve paused, suddenly insecure. "Do you like the idea?"
Loki smiled easily. "It'll sell, definitely. How many do you think you'll do?"
One, Steve didn't say. He'd just been watching Loki move, at some gallery opening for an artist he told Steve was his 'rival', and he'd been overtaken by the need to turn him into art. Loki didn't understand the way he had become Steve's muse over the last few months, and neither did any of Steve's artist friends (rivals, Loki kept telling him). His publicist was so careful, so buttoned up and cynical in his three-piece suits; he was a man who understood beauty only as a tool to present himself, but to Steve... He couldn't explain what it was about Loki that set his heart beating, mind racing and soul running to the nearest paintbrush or camera.
Loki hadn't noticed the change in Steve's art, the shift to include dark colours, black and gold and green, and long, sharp featured faces. Steve was almost relieved - In Loki's mind it was his job to sell Steve, not the art.
"I'm not sure yet," he shrugged, and ignored Loki's unimpressed look. He crossed over to the tap, wetting his fingers before moving in to rake them through Loki's hair. Loki had been convinced to wash the product out of it, to let the natural curl creep back in. As Steve smoothed it back from his face, Loki's lips parted and the disapproval in his eyes was replaced by a kind of open warmth. Steve did his best to ignore it - he wasn't stupid, he knew it was as calculated as everything Loki did; he was the best publicist because of the way he lived his advice - and concentrated on getting his hair right. Just the way it was in his imaginings of Loki.
Here in the carefully placed lights, kneeling over him on the chaise longue, he could make Loki look the way he wanted him, all open vulnerability and unguarded pleasure.
"How would you like me?" Loki's tone was polite and a little teasing, and there was nothing unusual about the question itself, but suddenly Steve's mouth was just too dry to answer. "Shall I lie down? Or would you rather I sit?"
Steve coughed, and licked his lips again, certain he was blushing and glad of the low light that let Loki pretend he didn't see. "Don't think about that yet. Just... sit up straight and hold out your arms. We can decide on your pose later."
Loki nodded and complied, pushing himself up off the cushion languidly, and Steve had to scramble back to keep from pressing against bare skin. It came to him again, like he didn't think it would stop coming to him all evening, that Loki was naked and obeying his every polite request. "Part your legs a little," he said before he could stop himself.
And Loki did, following orders with a little head tilt. "We're doing this here?" he asked, lips quirking. "Your fainting couch will be ruined."
"I want it to be." Steve turned roughly to his paints, dipping the brush into pale grey to start. "That's part of it."
"Of course," Loki said drily. "It can add a sense of chaos and carelessness that will add to the sensual abandon that permeates the piece. Influences from Eve Arnold, Manuel Alvarez Bravo, and that one lesbian whose name I've forgotten..."
Steve smiled at Loki parroting the art critics of the industry and then, made bold by the familiarity of the artist-model relationship, leaned in to press his finger against Loki's lips. Loki blinked in surprise at the treatment, and the movement of his lips caused the briefest flicker of tongue against Steve's skin. "Shh," murmured Steve. "We're quiet now."
The look of amazement that flicked in Loki's eyes was quickly buried in aloof amusement, but Steve allowed himself just a moment to enjoy it before he got down to work. He took Loki's fingers in his and stretched out his arm. The first touch of paint to canvas was something he always craved with a near reverence, and this canvas sent a thrum of excitement through him. He started at the crease between Loki's fingers and thumb, painting grey down over his wrist, and heard Loki swallow.
He held the brush up in one hand, supporting his arm with the other, and let a thin drizzle of paint run crisscrossed along his arm. New paint on the same brush, he painted in glistening trails of colour up his shoulder and down his ribs. He let paint fall from the brush to run in slow streams on Loki's skin, and used his fingers to smear the lines together. He put his hands on Loki's body wherever he needed, smoothing a palm down his back to adjust his posture, lifting one foot, then the other as he worked.
Loki held himself still and pliant. He laughed breathlessly when Steve flicked little spots of colour from the brush. He bit his lip as the brush tickled the undersides of his knees. And his gaze never wavered from Steve's face. Steve spared a little thought to what he must have seen there - Loki had never watched him work before, and Steve's models always told him how different he seemed when he was painting.
He finally looked up to meet Loki's eye, but Loki looked down, his mouth closing hurriedly. Steve saw that his shoulders rose and fell more rapidly than they should, but the recognition of that was swallowed up by the sight of his face and neck, white and unmarked, waiting for the spill of paint he could already visualise.
He reached out to take Loki's jaw in his fingertips, tilt his face up to the light. His stained fingers left a smear of red along the line of his neck and under his chin, and he liked that so he trailed it down as far as Loki's clavicle. Red then, and blue - maybe the warmer of the browns. "Close your eyes," he whispered to Loki as he loaded up his brush with paint. Loki shot him a sardonic look through his lashes, and Steve realised how much trust he was asking from a man who was, after all, nothing more than a business associate doing him a favour. A business associate who was already sitting nude in Steve's basement. It sent a bolt of coolness through the pleasant heat of painting, but before Steve could begin to stammer explanations or apologies Loki shrugged and his eyes slid shut.
As he did, some tension that Steve hadn't been aware of drained out of him and his painted knees fell further apart. Steve knelt in between them and tilted Loki's head to one side, so that when he painted Loki's hairline the colour would run down over his eyes, his nose, his lips. He squeezed out the bristles, sending a wash of blood red down over Loki's face, then followed it with the blue and the brown. He used careful fingers to tip Loki's head back enough to stretch out his neck so that his adam's apple stood out. Hovering the brush, he paused. No, the paint would catch against Loki's collarbone and pool there, it wouldn't look right.
He moved up onto the chaise longue with a knee next to Loki's hip and ran paint covered hands into Loki's hair, coating a few of the loose curls with colour that would dry them stiff. That worked, yes, but there was something... With the pad of his thumb, he gently cleared the paint from Loki's eyes, cleaning patches of bare skin around them and mixing the paint into muddled grey-brown. Loki opened his eyes gratefully, and experimentally parted his lips. When paint did not run into his mouth, he fixed Steve with a curious look. "Problem?" he asked.
Ropes of thick paint were drying across his cheekbones and his temples, and there was a wide expanse of bare skin from his chin to his collarbone. The paint on his lips was wet and unmixed and Steve knew exactly what he needed. His hand in Loki's hair, he used his fingers to drizzle a touch of yellow just under his ear, and then leaned in, pulling Loki's head until their mouths were level.
He realised just before their lips met what he was doing and held stock still. "Loki," he whispered, voice throaty with anticipation. "Loki, would you mind if I...?"
Loki huffed a quiet laugh. "Rogers," he said. "Darling man. When you asked me to be your model I thought you were inviting me to suck your cock."
Steve drew back and flushed. "I know. I said I was sorry for the misunder-"
"And I said yes."
Sharp heat set itself burning in Steve's stomach and he had to swallow a groan as he met Loki's eye. Loki looked back with a relaxed smile, his eyes so perfectly green and bright framed by the paint and low light. Steve's heart fluttered and he wished he had painted Loki in nothing but black and gold so that those eyes would be the only flash of green. Perhaps Loki would let him try again, model for him again. He moaned aloud and smashed his lips against Loki's.
The paint smeared and slid and they both kept their mouths closed against the taste, but Loki arched up at the sensation and Steve couldn't stop his hands coming to rest on Loki's hips. Two wide hand prints in the paint. He held on until the shapes were clear.
He drew back and let himself glance down into Loki's lap, where he'd been averting his eyes for hours. Loki's cock lay soft against his thigh and Steve licked his lips to see the thin thread of green paint that had fallen on it. He leaned in to whisper in Loki's ear, "This is when you might wanna start thinking about baseball."
That raised a chuckle, and Steve kissed Loki's lips again before dragging his mouth over his cheek and down his neck leaving messy little spots of colour wherever he touched. Loki gasped and his hands jerked towards Steve's head before he remembered the paint and closed his fists to hold still. The smear of red around his mouth made him look wild, like he'd been drinking blood, and Steve reached up with his fingers to paint a slash of blue along his lower lip. Steve ran his eyes over the trail of painted kisses with a surge of inexpressible pride and grinned. "Now," he whispered, "lie on your back."
Loki swallowed. "Baseball, you say?" Carefully he lay back against the paint splattered cushions. "You know, Steve, I'm beginning to suspect you don't even intend to take advantage of me at all."
Steve rolled his eyes as he wiped at the paint around his mouth with a rag. "Maybe later," he said, and barely blushed at his own boldness. He picked up the camera from the shelf by the sink. "Okay, lift your arm up above your head - other one, I want to see the inside of your wrist - and just crook your leg up, like so. I'm not shooting pornography here. Preserve your modesty."
Loki took direction well, and knew how to hold himself. He was perfect, everything Steve wanted, even what he didn't ask for. The look on Loki's face as Steve mounted the couch to kneel over him was the exact look Steve had dreamed about. He took photograph after photograph, and when Loki let his thighs fall open to display how their touches and Steve's heated gaze had affected him, Steve didn't stop. By the time the paint dried enough on Loki's skin that Steve had to call the session to a close, he was straining against his own pants.
Loki left a teasing trail of paint flakes across the front of his jeans, and headed for the shower.
Steve had to fight not to fidget as Loki fussed with his hair, sitting on Steve's own bed in nothing but a towel. He wasn't stupid. He knew Loki. And he'd had enough models, even nude models to know what was normal etiquette - usually clothes happened as quickly as possible once the session was complete. And someone like Loki... Steve didn't think he had ever seen Loki with a hair out of place, let alone watched him brush out tangles caused by paint and sweat.
There was only one reason Loki wanted to be in Steve's bed before he dressed. And that was the reason Steve's erection hadn't faded in the least.
But it was a different thing now. Flirting with a model was one thing, even as far as it had gone with the heated looks and knowing words. Steve had flirted with models before, working on his more suggestive collections, had even had relationships with one or two, but... Now, out of the basement and away from paintbrushes and cameras, Loki was Steve's publicist, and Steve had no idea what to say to him. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen seemed like overdoing it, and he'd already used up I want to paint you.
He fretted that he should have offered coffee by now - half-caf, milk, not cream - coffee was how he always filled the silences with Loki, but who drank coffee half naked out of the shower? He could wait until Loki dressed, but Loki didn't seem inclined to dress at all. Somehow seeing him in nothing but a towel and the sheen of damp skin was so much more... more than seeing him naked and awash with paint.
If he noticed the way Steve was frozen in indecision, Loki pretended not to. Over in the corner, from where he'd left his jacket, his phone gave a vibrating buzz, and he left Steve sitting on the bed to check it. Steve got the striking view from behind as Loki crouched to hunt through his pockets and a droplet of water from his hair rolled down the curve of his spine. Steve watched it mount every vertebra one by one and disappear into the towel at his waist. He licked his lips and completely failed to notice when Loki took more than just the phone out of his jacket pocket.
Because when he sat back on the bed the towel came completely loose around his hips. If he stood now it would fall away. Loki shook his head at the text as he read, and gestured sociably with the phone. "Tony Stark," he explained. "Says it's urgent. I wonder whose wife, daughter or sister he's slept with now. You know, sometimes I feel less like the man's publicist than his babysitter." Steve groped for an appropriate response, but Loki just smiled and threw his phone to land softly on his jacket. "It can wait, I'm sure."
And Loki had never before refused a call in Steve's presence. He could feel the wide smile threatening on his face, and tried to tone it down enough not to freak Loki out - when Loki launched himself up and threw a leg over Steve's lap to press a heated kiss against his lips.
Somehow, Steve's first instinct was to try and catch the towel as it slid from Loki's hips and his hand shot down just in time to connect with Loki's bare ass. His grunt of surprise turned into a deep groan and Loki chuckled into his mouth, taking the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. When he drew back his lips were stained pink and his eyes were bright and Steve wanted to take his picture again.
"I thought I would make this a little easier for you, mister Rogers," he smiled. "Let it never be said that I lack compassion."
Steve's mind flashed back to everything Loki had said earlier, his blithe assumption that Steve had wanted sex instead of art. He whispered, "Loki..."
Loki just smiled wickedly, sat naked in Steve's lap, so far from the shrewd businessman Steve knew. He slid a hand into Loki's hair and dragged him back in to kiss him like it was all he needed in the world. Every touch set him tingling like static electricity under his skin, and Loki was some kind of sensual creature like Steve had never seen. He manoeuvred them until he was lying on his back with Steve propped over him and gasping, and gently pressed up one knee into Steve's denim-clad erection.
Steve let out an embarrassing sound. It was too much, it was far too much, and with a wash of horror he realised he was on the edge. His hand landed on Loki's thigh, pushed him roughly back down to the bed and he buried his face in Loki's shoulder to suck in ragged breaths.
His face burned as he struggled to control himself, but Loki's fingers slid into his hair and stroked soothing circles in his scalp. "You need to relax, Rogers. Take a little for yourself. You work too hard." He brushed little kisses along Steve's jaw, nothing dangerous. "I can't have you burn out too soon. Your career is only getting started, I've sold you for years yet."
Steve lifted his head and Loki kissed him, slow and deep. "Don't panic, mister Rogers."
Steve swallowed, just to taste Loki in his mouth. "Call me Steve." Please.
"Steve." Loki's eyes creased with warmth, and he plucked at the belt of Steve's jeans. "Take these off."
Steve kept his eyes down as he scrambled off the bed and worked at his belt buckle. He was fully naked before he let himself look at Loki, and then the sight took his breath away. He lay on the rumpled bedspread of Steve's bed, sprawled and open, propped up on his elbows to watch Steve with wry anticipation. He was all planes and angles of bare skin, sharp hip bones and the creeping flush of interest across his cheeks. His cock, when Steve finally let his eyes stray there, lay against his belly, already hard and wanting. Steve knew his mouth was open, and shut it.
Loki beckoned with the tilt of his chin, come hither, and lifted his hand. Held between two fingers was a bottle he must have taken from his coat pocket when he checked his phone. Steve blushed to know Loki had brought lubricant to his house, but when Loki beckoned he came. He crawled over his publicist, his model, his muse, and Loki ran a hand down his elbow to his wrist to coat his fingers with cold liquid.
"Here, like this. I want to feel you inside me, Rogers." He guided Steve's hand down to his entrance, and hooked a leg over his elbow. "I want your fingers working me open, one after another. Yes, just like..." He trailed off into a soft hiss as Steve pressed in. Loki was tight, but yielding and so hot. His hands came up to lace together behind Steve's neck and it was like completing a circuit, Steve's fingers inside him, his hands on Steve's back, and the two points of contact thrummed in his body like a wave. It was a sensual blackout, and he fitted his body to Loki's, pushing up against him and moaning at the feel while he forced a second finger into him.
He watched Loki bite his lip and knew he was lost to him.
And when Steve entered him at last, careful and slow, Loki's head tipped back with an open smile and a whine of abandon. Steve stared, drinking him in. He would draw that smile forever, in everything, maybe long after he forgot where he had learned it. Loki focused his eyes, whispering encouragement until Steve began to thrust. "I knew you wanted me, Rogers," he murmured. "I like that. You never hid it." He tilted his hips, trapped against the bed with no leverage. "Come on, move. Yes."
He knew what he wanted and wasn't shy. His hands were on the back of Steve's neck and his breath in Steve's ear, murmuring direction like they were in his office before a gallery opening, you can be charming, but dial back on the eager to please - let them see how genuine you are -
I won't break, Rogers, fuck me like you mean it.
Loki spoke a steady stream of words in his ear, and Steve wanted to reply, wanted to tell him just how beautiful he was, that he made Steve feel like something was opening up inside him. Something bright and colourful like a box of paints. But Loki rolled his hips and groaned like this was something dirty, whispered filthy things, and Steve buried his face in Loki's neck and held his tongue until Loki ran out of words amid the gasps and did the same.
Finally his eyes fell closed, his mouth slack. His lips were open, and Steve could see his tongue pressed against his teeth. He moved with every thrust of Steve's hips, lost in building sensation, and Steve revelled in it, in knowing that he was the one who could finally make Loki stop thinking and feel.
When he came gasping, the arch of his back was poetry, music, marble from ancient Greece, and Loki, Loki--
Steve followed him over into the abyss, spilling inside him with such desperate force that his vision whited out and his elbows buckled.
He knew he collapsed against Loki, careful to keep his weight off him and whispered into the side of his neck, words that might have been anything at all or might have just been his name. He felt Loki's fingers in his hair and closed his eyes on Loki's soft smile. And embarrassing as it was, he lost time - he opened his eyes to find Loki sitting on the edge of the bed wearing his pants and undershirt.
It was a moment before Steve realised that he had his cell phone pinned between his ear and shoulder. "I promise you, Stark," he was saying, in quiet tones designed not to wake Steve, "there is no mess you can create that I cannot mend. Not that I'm encouraging you to try, by the way."
Steve swallowed as he watched Loki shrug into his shirt without dislodging the phone or disturbing the mattress. He tried not to think that it was a practised motion. "No, no," Loki murmured, answering some question, "Nothing I couldn't put on hold for you. Listen, I know some people. I'll have a word, see if we can't smooth this over. Don't leave the house until I call you, or I'm ditching you as a client."
He switched off the phone, apparently not waiting for a response, and slid off the bed carefully to retrieve his jacket.
"You're leaving?" Steve asked. He had to give Loki credit - when he turned around he didn't look surprised or guilty at all.
"Work calls, I'm afraid." Loki gestured with the phone in his hand. "Tony Stark is endangering national security. He's stolen an F-16 fighter plane by accident."
Despite himself, Steve grinned. "Is that true?"
"Would I lie to you?" Loki's eyes twinkled. "No rest for the wicked. I'll have to leave you -- listen, though, while I remember... I've spoken to my people about the Valiant collection. I'm certain I can get you in, and now we're just haggling over the grant money."
Loki had been telling Steve for weeks that the next step in his career was to have his work incorporated into a collection, specifically under the Valiant grant. Steve wanted to tell Loki that he was the only one who cared about that, but that felt too petulant. Embarrassment crept in. He could see his sketchbook leaning in the window well over Loki's shoulder, and he started blocking out shapes in his mind, sketches, cementing the memory of that smile that took his breath away. When Steve didn't answer, Loki crossed the few steps back to the bed.
He sat back on the edge and leaned in to kiss Steve easily, soft and sweet. Steve leaned into it, wondering if it would be the last time he tasted Loki. When Loki stood, Steve let his hand trail down his arm, his wrist, his fingertips before he slid away. Loki's smile held none of the depth Steve had photographed, memorised. It was just like they'd met for coffee and he was saying goodbye.
"Thank you for this," Loki murmured. "It was interesting to finally be a part of your artistic process. Perhaps--" he licked his lips, "Perhaps we can do it again some time. If you need a little inspiration. Or just to relax." He pushed off the bed, and this time it dipped with his movement.
"I'll call you," he said, "About the Valiant collection." Steve nodded, his tongue feeling too thick to answer, and Loki left him with a camera full of photographs and the memory of a perfect smile.