Work Text:
“You’re really bad at this.”
“Oh, well I didn’t realize I was dating an art critic.”
“I don’t need to be a critic to tell you that this is awful.”
Ted drops his blue covered paint brush into the mug of water sat on the makeshift table, turning to look at Mark. His mouth pulls into a frown and he marches over to the other man, shoving him out the way to peer at the canvas standing in front of him.
“You can’t ask me to do a painting date and then make fun of me the whole time,” Ted complains, peering at the paint covered canvas Mark has been working on for the past hour. His eyes dart back to his own work—and his hands twist into fists with an edge of frustration. The sun has almost entirely set now, and Mark has managed to capture it perfectly. He always seems to be able to do that, do everything perfect. It had pissed Ted off in high school, and as petulant and petty as it seems, it’s pissing him off now too.
“I’m not—” Mark sighs and drops his own brush, a serious face as he tilts his head back to look at Ted. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. I was teasing, but I’ll stop. Your art isn’t so bad, Teddy.”
He can’t help but roll his eyes at that. “I know you’re all about conflict resolution babe but you don’t need to lie to me.”
With all the elegance and patience as a Spankoffksi in a church, Mark grips Ted by his shirt collar and drags him down for a kiss.
“Don’t be a baby, that’s my daughter’s job. So what you can’t paint? It’s not about the painting, it’s about being together.”
With a small smile on his face Mark steps away and comes up behind Ted, leaning up to rest his chin on the curve of Ted’s shoulder, hands closing around Ted’s. Mark guides him back over to his canvas and forces the brush into his hand, picking out a warm yellow from the little plastic pallet Jeri gave them a discount on at Hobby Lobby.
“Besides, isn’t it rather romantic if I teach you?” Mark says, and Ted huffs out a laugh as he watches Mark drag his hand to paint gentle strokes into some semblance of a sunset. “It’s all about technique, my dear. You start with technique, and you can teach yourself to do anything.”
Ted scoffs. “And patience, which I notoriously lack. They didn’t call me Speedy Spankoffski for nothing.”
“Nobody called you that.”
“Yes they did.”
Mark shakes his head, a warm laugh rumbling in his chest where it’s pressed to Ted’s back. “Just enjoy the moment. Me, you, and the Hatchetfield skyline. What’s there to hate?”
“Bugs, the heat, the stubbles of your cheek digging into my neck.” He tilts his head to glance at Mark. “Babe, did you forget to shave? I just know you love your baby face.”
“You can try and upset me all you want, it won’t work,” he responds happily, using his left hand to cup Ted’s chin, guiding his head to look at the canvas again. “I thought you would know by now that your mean words do nothing to me. It’s why I fell for you.”
“Not my dashing good looks?”
“Well, that too,” Mark concedes, and Ted can tell there’s a blush rising on his cheeks by the slightly startled tone of his voice. A shit eating grin spreads across his own face, knowing he caused that. “But looks aren’t everything. My time with you is what I cherish most.”
“Cheesy, huh? Always knew that was your style.” He’s actually pretty content, letting Mark guide him to fix his shitty painting into something that kinda, maybe, sorta looks like a sunset.
Soon the skyline gets overtaken by darkness, and Mark steps away to admire their shared work.
“Not bad,” Ted admits, hands on his hips as he peers through the dark at the strokes of color. “You sure you aren’t an art critic.”
At that Mark laughs again. “Just a man with many hobbies. I have the bible and painting—you have baking bread and…”
“Getting that pussy, am I right!” He holds up his hand for a high five, immediately overjoyed by the pure look of disgust that overtakes Mark’s face. Ted takes hold of his wrist and slaps their hands together.
“Sometimes I wonder how I ended up here.”
“You love me.” With a purposeful lack of gentleness he wraps his arm around his shoulder, pressing the most disgusting sloppy kiss to Mark’s cheese. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have destroyed your life for me.”
“Destroyed is a harsh word—my life is fine, thank you. But, yes. Yes I do.”