Ain't It A Fine Life, Carrying The Banner!

Drabble 19- "The paint is supposed to go where?!" (Lambcuddles.)

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"Ace, can ya lend me a hand for a second?" Jack's voice floated down from the loft above Medda's theatre. Medda had been gracious enough to give it to them when Jack needed space from the boys or they wanted a night alone.

Katherine looked up instinctively. Just where the staircase curved, there was a gap where whoever was in the loft could peer down at the stage and the majority of the theatre. Jack's paint-splattered face was smiling down at her, apron tied over his neck and around his waist.

"Be up in a second!" she called back.

Medda, whom she'd been chatting with while Jack was painting, smiled and stood up. "Go help your boy. And don't make a mess of my theater!"

"You gave Jack a paintbrush," she pointed out. "A mess was inevitable."

"Hey! I can hear you!" Jack called down indignantly. Medda laughed as Katherine walked up the stairs.

"Hey, Jack, what do you need?"

"C'mere and look at this for a second," he said, mumbling through the second paintbrush he held between his teeth. He was crouched in front of a huge canvas, scrutinizing something in the bottom corner. He leaned forward, fixing a flaw Katherine couldn't see, and then rocked back on his heels.
"Done."

Katherine stood just behind him and put a hand on his shoulders, looking at the backdrop. It was a brilliant sunset over the Manhattan skyline, colors bold and bright and beautiful. It was the first piece she'd seen where Jack ever painted his hometown with the same kind of love he painted Santa Fe.

Though she was no art critic, she could tell it was amazing.

"Jack... This is wonderful..." Katherine finally managed.

Jack stood, joints cracking, and kissed the back of her hand. "Thanks, Ace. Now, I..." Jack grinned sheepishly. "I got a favor to ask ya."

Katherine would never get over how cute Jack's thick accent was when it twisted certain words. Never.

"Of course, Jack. What?"

"Could... Could I paint you?"

"Jack, you've already had me sit for a portrait-"

"No, I don't mean like that. You're so beautiful, Ace," he said, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead, "I want to use you as my canvas."

"As your canvas...? Sure, I guess that would be fine."

Jack smiled. "You're the best. C'mere."
He guided her onto the bed- which he'd already covered with a tarp- and raised an eyebrow. "You may wanna change into something that gives me a bit more canvas to work with. Also, something you don't mind gettin' paint on."

"Wait, what? The paint's supposed to go where??"

Jack rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "On you, Katherine. On your skin. And you's pretty covered up at the moment."

It was Jack. Katherine wasn't sure what she'd expected.

"Well... Uh... Turn around so I can change!" Katherine sputtered. Jack humored her and turned around while she changed into a white slip with thin straps that came down to her knees.

When he was allowed to look, Katherine had arranged herself on the bed, and she took a little glee in how his breath hitched and his eyes widened.

The first touch of paint was cold and slippery, and it was hard not to wiggle, especially when Jack started kissing the skin just before he'd paint it. He would shift the hem of her slip so if it moved later, the color would stay constant.
Jack was slow and deliberate in his movements, smiling and murmuring praise when Katherine giggled at the tickling brushes. Hours passed, conversation at a minimum and the love in the room palpable.

When he came to her face, he was gentle and sweet until he finally stepped back from the bed.

"Done," he whispered, kissing her curls. "Wanna see?"

She nodded, feeling oddly stiff where the paint had started to dry. He helped her up and slipped his hands over her eyes, guiding her to the mirror on the back of the door.

When he moved his hands, Katherine gasped. The woman before her looked like a goddess- the color starting in her cheeks faintly, and going down her body, darkening and becoming more intense as it went. One half of the paint looked like the night sky, purple and navy and black, with a smattering of silver stars like the freckles across Jack's nose. The other was a morning sunrise, baby pinks and yellow and orange with gilded clouds as soft as an auburn curl.

Upon closer inspection she saw there were words on each wrist. On the night's wrist, written in the color of the day, it said, 'For sure? -J.K.'

On the day's wrist, in the color of the night, was the only reply Katherine would ever give to his question. 'For sure. -K.P.'