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Just as Davey’s about to sit down to do some lesson plans that he’s been putting off, he hears a frustrated groan from Jack’s little studio. So obviously he has to go investigate. (Not because he’s procrastinating; no, Davey is going to check on Jack because he’s a good boyfriend!)

So he leans against the doorframe of the small room Jack had converted into an art studio. Jack doesn’t see him at first, back turned, so he clears his throat.

“Huh—oh, hey, Dave. What’s up?” He smiles and sets his paintbrush down.

Davey shrugs. “Not much. Having some trouble?”
Frowning at his canvas, Jack answers, “A little. I have no idea what to paint.” He laughs softly. “It’s for class, and it’s supposed to be a portrait, and I can’t find any inspiration.”

“So paint me,” Davey offers automatically.

Jack seems surprised. “Really? I mean, surely you got somethin’ better to do…”

“Nothing I’d rather do,” Davey assures him. “Paint me.” This will definitely bite him in the ass later, but he really doesn’t want to do the plans.

Jack smirks and nods, taking a paintbrush out of its water cup and dipping it in a different cup, this one filled with bright purple paint. Davey watches, puzzled. Usually Jack sketches before he does a painting, and Davey isn’t wearing anything purple anyway, so what could he be doing?

Jack approaches him instead of the canvas—Davey doesn’t move, still confused—and draws the paintbrush very deliberately down Davey’s neck.

Then Jack bursts out laughing. “Oh my God, your face! That was the best thing I’ve seen all day,” he wheezes, bending over.

Meanwhile. Davey is plotting his revenge. He steps past Jack into the room and dips his right hand into the tray section holding vivid red paint. Then, with a grin taking over his face, he grabs the still-laughing Jack’s chin with it.

Shocked, Jack stares at him for a split second— “I can see what you mean, your surprised face is priceless,” Davey giggles —and reaches for more paint, smearing sky blue on Davey’s cheek.

“Ha,” Jack says smugly, wiping his hand off on a napkin, “now we’re even.”

Davey lets out an incredulous laugh. “We aren’t even close to even, sweetheart,” he teases, dipping his other hand in orange and running it down Jack’s neck.

Jack growls playfully, and that’s about when it turns into a full-on paint fight. Laughing at Davey, he grabs another palmful—forest green this time—and rubs it in Davey’s hair.

Davey squeals, shouts “Bastard!” and flings sunny yellow.

Catching his wrist, Jack trips and accidentally pulls Davey to the ground with him. Flailing for something to hold onto to stop the fall, Davey reaches out and grabs something, anything—

The something turns out to be Jack’s tray of paints, which doesn’t stop his fall but does flip on top of them, showering mostly Davey’s back but also some of Jack’s face.

And because it’s a tray of paints, Davey still lands on top of Jack. By then they’re both laughing, and Davey leans forward to connect their lips.

He tastes the bitter paint (which they probably shouldn’t ingest, but whatever), but under that is the familiar taste of coffee and of blueberry muffin that Jack likes so much. The kiss is clumsy, and messy, and perfect. Jack responds enthusiastically, nearly whining when Davey pulls away. He looks at Jack, smiling and laughing, trying to tug Davey back down to him.

“Marry me,” he blurts out. Instantly, Jack freezes and his jaw drops in shock. Shit, Davey thinks, I should not have said that. (It should help that Jack still has paint all over his face, but instead of making him look dumb it makes him even more gorgeous. Go figure.)

“Davey,” he says in a strangled voice, adjusting himself so that he’s sitting up and putting his hands gently on Davey’s chest. “Baby, what did you say?”

Davey feels like disappearing in a hole and never coming out. “Sorry! I was just, I don’t know, looking at you, and I kind of realized I want to get married. Like, to you. I love our life, and this little studio, and our apartment, and you, I love you so much, and I guess I said it without thinking; I don’t even have a ring or anything—”

Jack grabs his face and kisses him passionately. Davey responds, moving his head to get a better angle and sliding closer to Jack on his lap, hands tangling in paint-covered hair.

A few seconds later, Jack pulls back. “So that’s a yes…?” Davey asks breathlessly.

“That’s a, ‘fuck yes, of course I want to marry you, David Jacobs,’” Jack declares, and Davey feels like he’s falling for him even more.

“That’ll be David Jacobs-Kelly,” he corrects, almost in awe, and Jack grins widely.

“Oh my God, it will be.” Jack throws his head back and laughs in delight, and Davey takes the opportunity to press a kiss to his jaw.

Jack makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Davey wishes it weren’t covered in paint so that he could kiss him properly. Instead, though, he mutters, “We should probably wash off,” against Jack’s skin.

“Mm,” Jack mumbles, pulling Davey back up to his mouth and talking against his lips. “Or we could keep making out and hope we don’t get paint poisoning,” he suggests.

Panicked, Davey pulls away. “Is that a thing we should be worried about?”

Jack laughs. “I was joking.” He pauses. “...I think. Actually, I have no idea if paint poisoning is a thing or not. But I drink paint water all the time and I turned out fine!”

Davey eyes him suspiciously. “We need to shower.”

“Aww, but—”

“I never said separately,” Davey points out, then laughs at Jack’s surprised face.

Later that night, when they’re nearly asleep, Jack mumbles into his hair, “You sure about wanting to get married?”

Davey curls closer to him. “200% sure.”

“Great,” Jack responds, and Davey can hear the smile in his voice. “‘Cause I need new paints now, so we should put that on the wedding registry.”

Davey laughs.