Word Count 912
Dual challenge fill: Wednesday image from a couple months ago and Monday's rainy day image
Most people could write books about what they knew about their friends or lovers. Phil figured he could write a book about what he didn't know about Clint Barton. Seemingly every day he learned something new about his agent.
Like the day when he went to check up on Clint after he'd been released from medical with a dozen stitches in his arm and a bum knee and discovered Clint's apartment wasn't just a crash pad but a real home, even if it was one of those converted warehouse type places with huge windows and steel sliding door at the entrance. He knew Clint was laughing at him as he looked around the loft and took in the weird angle architectural photographs from all over the world, the expensive leather sofa and arm chairs littered with an eclectic mix of throw pillows and quilts that looked like someone's grandmother's attic had exploded. The bedroom area had an impossible large bed with wood and wrought iron head and footboard. The bench at the end was littered with discarded clothing.
And then there was the heavily smell coming from the kitchen area. Clint liked to cook and he didn't just mean simple easy thing, but really cook as in gourmet cook.
And while those discoveries had been big ones, they by far weren’t the biggest. Or at least in his opinion the biggest. No that came when they were sent undercover in an art school to keep an eye on a certain person with abilities. He was a late in life career change to photographer attending a class with live models. He was one of several photographers in a room full of artists. The woman was uninspiring and mysteriously got sick so a substitute was called in which just happened to be Clint.
Use to seeing Clint’s bare arms it still amazed him when they first had to photograph or draw Clint’s wet hand. He was captivated by how the drops of water clung to before rolling down his arm and fingers, leaving damp trails on his tanned skin. The next class they focused on arms. Clint’s arms had always been the subject of much admiration around headquarters since he seemed to prefer tac-suits that were armless. But it didn’t prepare him for the sheer strength, the muscles flexed, veins popping from his arms and hands. Both classes he shot in black and white and it made all the textures of Clint’s all that more noticeable.
They worked various parts of Clint’s extremities hands, feet, and his neck. All the while the person they were watching never stepped out of line. Never once did they sense or see any exhibition of special powers. He was beginning to wonder if they had been given wrong information but decided but even though he knew he really should pull them out no matter how much sense it makes to stay to stick and out the last couple of classes just to make sure. Never mind the fact that the last classes were the full body nude classes and he wasn’t sure if he could take it. In all the years he worked with Clint, he’d never seen him nude and quite frankly he was glad of that fact. If he’d seen Clint in the buff, he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to keep as tight of rein on the attraction he had for the archer.
His lenses clean and batteries charged he looked up when he heard the door open. The scene was set with a backdrop resembling a French or Italian grand hall and a drop cloth covered settee. Clint walked in with a long robe and he watched as the instructor directed him to where he was supposed it sit. He watched as Clint turned his back to the room and focused on his camera as Clint slipped the robe from his body. The gasp from his other students had him quickly looking up, he thanked whatever deity was present for making sure he had a good grip on his camera as he saw the tattoo that covered most of his back and down the outside of one of his left leg. Pulling his camera up he started to snap photos, tuning out the scratch of pencil to paper and the click of other shutters. He focused on the tattoos and the play of muscles underneath. He didn’t want to shoot the whole body. He couldn’t focus on the whole body, it wasn’t in his best interest.
A part of him heard the instructor give the ten minute warning, and he finally drew back to capture the full image of Clint as he knelt on the settee. As he moved, snapping pictures, he saw Clint look at him. He zoomed in for a close up of his face and intense blue eyes, catching the expression on his face. In that moment, he knew he was compromised, that Clint knew about the feelings he’d kept hidden for so long.
As the instructor called an end to class, Clint slipped is robe back on and gave him a pointed look before walking out the door. He was under no illusion that when he finally made it back to the little apartment he was renting that Clint would be there waiting for him. He just hoped that the look he saw on Clint’s face meant that his feelings were returned. He guessed he’d find out soon enough.