[ Eleven doesn't immediately comment at that. Waits until Bucky has the book properly balanced and is getting engrossed in reading - when too much movement can him could ruin the entire book.
Then she reaches out and gently, almost lovingly presses her entire hand to the side of his face. Paint and all. Just long enough to leave a bright, neon pink, somewhat smudgy handprint on Bucky's stubble.
Eleven pretends not to look at him, as if nothing happened, fully focused on her work. But the cheeky little grin on her face is more than just obvious.
All in all, the process takes a long time and definitely involves a hair dryer at several stages to make sure the various cakey layers of paint, glitter gel, stickers, shimmers, sequins and bedazzlements dry down and stay in place.
Somewhere back in Bucky's world, Shuri must be suffering some form of heart attack.
The final result, at any rate is an iridescent neon glitter monstrosity with stickers, squins and random feathers attached. And yes, some of the product used was definitely highly unsuitable nail polish. There are some areas in which Eleven, with all the care in the world, managed not to cake stuff into the various grooves and ridges of the arm plates. They are few and far between the mess she's otherwise made of his arm.
She leads him - hands still sticky with pain, glitter, glue and nail polish, into the bathroom towards the mirror, beaming with excitement as she lets him inspect the work that can at best be described as an affront to good taste. But her smile is huge. ]
[Stood in front of the mirror, Bucky makes a point of taking as long as possible to look at the arm. To make it seem like he's really giving it an in-depth examination, with a complete lack of reaction to the (mess) work of art she's left behind.
Eventually, he turns to face her again, pink handprint still firmly in place on his face, and shakes his head in disapproval.]
Nope.
[But before the words have any real chance to sink in, he continues.]
Artists are meant to sign their work. I don't see your name anywhere.
Yes, that'll show him. But Eleven is still grinning. Grabs his arm and turns it this way and that, debating how to sign it before finally, she grabs a black and a blue sharpie. On top of the vibrant colors on the inside of Bucky's left wrist, she writes a small '011' on Bucky's wrist, before drawing a blue line all around his wrist and through the number. Then she holds her small stick of an arm next to his prosthetic, wrist up so they're both looking down at the '011' tattoo'd onto her wrist, and the way her blue hair tie sits on it. ]
There. We match.
[ And then she turns her hand over, slides it into his palm and slips her small fingers in between his large vibranium ones. Like Sam, she treats his metal arm like it's just a metal arm.
Except maybe a little bit like it's a cast for a broken bone that needs to be decorated. ]
I'll decorate your door next. Don't say no - I'll ask your boyfriend. He'll say yes if you say no. So. You can just say yes.
[ Logic. She wins. ]
I want to show everyone how pretty you are now. Can I?
[It's a push to keep him focused on that side of the request rather than the ease at which Eleven was seemingly able to label his and Sam's relationship. They haven't had that kind of a conversation yet. Haven't needed to find a word any more suitable than partners. And then there goes Eleven, making him question himself.]
I see any of the original door left blank after you're done and I'm holding you personally responsible.
[If he has to deal with carting around an arm that looks like it could glow in the dark, then the rest of the crew can deal with a door that'll undoubtedly be the source for all the glitter that makes its way around the station.
Squeezing her hand in return, Bucky leads the way back through to her bed again. Takes some time to make sure they're both settled in, before-]
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no subject
Then she reaches out and gently, almost lovingly presses her entire hand to the side of his face. Paint and all. Just long enough to leave a bright, neon pink, somewhat smudgy handprint on Bucky's stubble.
Eleven pretends not to look at him, as if nothing happened, fully focused on her work. But the cheeky little grin on her face is more than just obvious.
All in all, the process takes a long time and definitely involves a hair dryer at several stages to make sure the various cakey layers of paint, glitter gel, stickers, shimmers, sequins and bedazzlements dry down and stay in place.
Somewhere back in Bucky's world, Shuri must be suffering some form of heart attack.
The final result, at any rate is an iridescent neon glitter monstrosity with stickers, squins and random feathers attached. And yes, some of the product used was definitely highly unsuitable nail polish. There are some areas in which Eleven, with all the care in the world, managed not to cake stuff into the various grooves and ridges of the arm plates. They are few and far between the mess she's otherwise made of his arm.
She leads him - hands still sticky with pain, glitter, glue and nail polish, into the bathroom towards the mirror, beaming with excitement as she lets him inspect the work that can at best be described as an affront to good taste. But her smile is huge. ]
What do you think?
no subject
Eventually, he turns to face her again, pink handprint still firmly in place on his face, and shakes his head in disapproval.]
Nope.
[But before the words have any real chance to sink in, he continues.]
Artists are meant to sign their work. I don't see your name anywhere.
[So get to it, kid.]
no subject
Yes, that'll show him. But Eleven is still grinning. Grabs his arm and turns it this way and that, debating how to sign it before finally, she grabs a black and a blue sharpie. On top of the vibrant colors on the inside of Bucky's left wrist, she writes a small '011' on Bucky's wrist, before drawing a blue line all around his wrist and through the number. Then she holds her small stick of an arm next to his prosthetic, wrist up so they're both looking down at the '011' tattoo'd onto her wrist, and the way her blue hair tie sits on it. ]
There. We match.
[ And then she turns her hand over, slides it into his palm and slips her small fingers in between his large vibranium ones. Like Sam, she treats his metal arm like it's just a metal arm.
Except maybe a little bit like it's a cast for a broken bone that needs to be decorated. ]
I'll decorate your door next. Don't say no - I'll ask your boyfriend. He'll say yes if you say no. So. You can just say yes.
[ Logic. She wins. ]
I want to show everyone how pretty you are now. Can I?
no subject
[It's a push to keep him focused on that side of the request rather than the ease at which Eleven was seemingly able to label his and Sam's relationship. They haven't had that kind of a conversation yet. Haven't needed to find a word any more suitable than partners. And then there goes Eleven, making him question himself.]
I see any of the original door left blank after you're done and I'm holding you personally responsible.
[If he has to deal with carting around an arm that looks like it could glow in the dark, then the rest of the crew can deal with a door that'll undoubtedly be the source for all the glitter that makes its way around the station.
Squeezing her hand in return, Bucky leads the way back through to her bed again. Takes some time to make sure they're both settled in, before-]
Time to make them all jealous.