Steve sat on the low stone wall that ran along the Porte des Étoiles promenade, sketchbook in his lap. He’d never been much for landscapes, preferring the more dynamic human form with its infinite variety and expression.
He was sketching Evan at the moment, who in turn was doing a portrait of a pair of young girls who couldn’t stop giggling. Quick sidewalk portraits and beautifully painted landscapes were how Evan made money, but Steve was sketching just for himself.
It had been a while since Steve could indulge in the scratch of pencil on paper, lines and shading, form and perspective. He liked how easy it was to lose himself in it, all his focus on the subject of the sketch while the sounds and smells of Paris moved around him like water around stones in a river.
Steve’s decision not to go back to Los Angeles with Tony after their tour of Norway had been difficult, for both of them. But they’d always known the score, known what was between them was merely temporary. Pepper would look after Tony, and Steve would look after himself, and they’d still be friends.
“You make me look better than I really am,” Evan said, startling Steve out of his thoughts.
He was standing beside the wall, leaning over just a little to see what Steve had gotten done.
“Are you fishing for compliments?” Steve teased. “David not showing you enough appreciation?”
Evan blushed, but there was no hiding the dimples. Steve was a little jealous of his new friend, and the solid relationship he was in. Being alone was hard. Sleeping alone was harder. Steve had gotten accustomed to having Tony in his bed and missed him fiercely most nights.
“I’m packing it in for the day,” Evan said. “Give me a hand?”
Steve obligingly shut his sketchbook and slipped it into his bag, which he then slung across his chest. He helped Evan pack up his easel and put all the paintings back in the carry box.
“Come back with me,” Evan said. “David’s making a cassoulet. We’ll have more food than we need.”
Steve readily agreed, even though Evan was the real chef of the two. But David’s cooking was getting better, and it was hard to mess up a cassoulet.
It was a pleasant walk back to Rue de Pégase, where Evan and David’s apartments were. Steve carried the easel and Evan carried the paintings box, and they talked about this and that as they went. There was an art exhibit coming up at the Galerie d’art contemporain Boivin, which Evan was keen to attend.
David greeted them at the door, taking the box from Evan and pushing a glass of wine in his hand.
“I’m glad you could join us,” he said to Steve. “Can I get you something to drink? We still have that bottle of bourbon.”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
Steve had brought the bourbon on a previous evening, and either David and Evan didn’t like it, or they saved it for the times Steve came for dinner. Either way, he was glad to have it.
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Fill 1/3: Gay Paree 'verse with bonus Evan/David and John/Rodney
Date: 2020-09-11 11:49 pm (UTC)He was sketching Evan at the moment, who in turn was doing a portrait of a pair of young girls who couldn’t stop giggling. Quick sidewalk portraits and beautifully painted landscapes were how Evan made money, but Steve was sketching just for himself.
It had been a while since Steve could indulge in the scratch of pencil on paper, lines and shading, form and perspective. He liked how easy it was to lose himself in it, all his focus on the subject of the sketch while the sounds and smells of Paris moved around him like water around stones in a river.
Steve’s decision not to go back to Los Angeles with Tony after their tour of Norway had been difficult, for both of them. But they’d always known the score, known what was between them was merely temporary. Pepper would look after Tony, and Steve would look after himself, and they’d still be friends.
“You make me look better than I really am,” Evan said, startling Steve out of his thoughts.
He was standing beside the wall, leaning over just a little to see what Steve had gotten done.
“Are you fishing for compliments?” Steve teased. “David not showing you enough appreciation?”
Evan blushed, but there was no hiding the dimples. Steve was a little jealous of his new friend, and the solid relationship he was in. Being alone was hard. Sleeping alone was harder. Steve had gotten accustomed to having Tony in his bed and missed him fiercely most nights.
“I’m packing it in for the day,” Evan said. “Give me a hand?”
Steve obligingly shut his sketchbook and slipped it into his bag, which he then slung across his chest. He helped Evan pack up his easel and put all the paintings back in the carry box.
“Come back with me,” Evan said. “David’s making a cassoulet. We’ll have more food than we need.”
Steve readily agreed, even though Evan was the real chef of the two. But David’s cooking was getting better, and it was hard to mess up a cassoulet.
It was a pleasant walk back to Rue de Pégase, where Evan and David’s apartments were. Steve carried the easel and Evan carried the paintings box, and they talked about this and that as they went. There was an art exhibit coming up at the Galerie d’art contemporain Boivin, which Evan was keen to attend.
David greeted them at the door, taking the box from Evan and pushing a glass of wine in his hand.
“I’m glad you could join us,” he said to Steve. “Can I get you something to drink? We still have that bottle of bourbon.”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
Steve had brought the bourbon on a previous evening, and either David and Evan didn’t like it, or they saved it for the times Steve came for dinner. Either way, he was glad to have it.