Tattoo Artist/Florist AU
When it came to the canvases for tattoos, one would look at Steve Rogers -the famous tattoo artist of the block- and think man, that page is blanker than the pigeon that whacked itself into a pole not so long ago. For him, being the artist he is, seeing the appreciation of his tattoos was more enjoyable than painting himself.
He had his regulars come by for tiny additions to their earlier pieces, sometimes just to sit around, maybe flirt heavily or talk about anything to do with art history. Customers enjoyed their tattoos more because of the way he explained the symbolism and helped plan their designs. Some of them only came by to sit in his studio because of the aesthetically pleasing cold pastel undertones against dark, suave mahogany furniture. It looked like a forest haven; given the creepers and conifers that Steve had hand painted.
Right next to Steve's studio sat an equally small florist shop. The owner was a generous, warm-faced sweetheart called Tony, who was usually found sitting in a heaped up corner with little papers around him. He had an open, airy shop with plants growing all over it. If self-made eco-friendly fertiliser wasn't enough, Tony took antique pieces from customers and turned them into magnificent flower pots. The best bit of this little quirk was that the antique piece could not only come back transformed but also working once again on nothing but the power of regular watering. One such gizmo was his personal gramophone that had flowers nestled all over it, on which he listened to slow jazz on the occasion while brewing hot chocolate.
The artist and the florist were quite familiar with one another, if not completely sweet on each other. Steve loved observing the little flowers that bloomed around the framework of the florist shop, using them as models to practice his art (maybe that flower or two could be on his painted walls, he wouldn't tell if it were so). Sometimes, he'd use the flower model drawing as an excuse to just gaze at the brunet tinkering away in the corner. He specifically liked watching Tony work, the scrunched brows and small pout made Steve's entire heart summersault into his stomach.
Tony was no less of an admirer, usually having to take a whole day to gather his courage and hand Steve a mug of hot chocolate while trying not to fall all over him. Steve's smile literally bloomed like the blue speckled carnations by his window. He always found himself itching to ask Steve to come into the shop to work on his flower models, just so he could watch Steve sketch. The serenity that this artist brought along with himself was no less than happy fields of daffodils.
Steve always made it a point to give Tony one of his model sketches, to which Tony would smile back and coil into himself, telling him to take any plant he wanted in return. Steve would coyly chuckle and decline, saying that this was him returning the favour of Tony allowing him to use the flowers as models.
A day passed through when Tony heard the voice of the artist standing outside his shop, his tone sitting on the fence of complaint. He uncurled himself from his tinkering and brushed the rusty dust off his trousers, slowly walking his way over the scattered chunks of metallic pieces across the floor.
"I know Sam, but I've shut shop since yesterday and I can't keep waiting! Even the out of budget machines aren't as good as this one and to all the people I've been to they no longer have parts to fix her." Steve stressed on each word like his entire life was dependant on his friend's comprehension. After a moment of silence, Tony figured that Steve was on the phone, and chided himself for eavesdropping. "No one has the same liner needle. I kid you not. They don't. They say it's outdated or whatever." Steve took in a light breath, "Yeah. I know. I'll figure it out."
"Hey, trouble in the ink house?" Tony stepped in, trying to avoid his own red face. Steve turned his head to see the florist and his lips stretched into a wide smile, with a pinch of stress in it, "Hey there. Yeah…" He showed Tony the little tattoo machine he was cradling and sighed under his breath, "I guess her time has come…" "Oh… oh dear, I'm sorry…" Tony grimaced, "Would you like to… uh…" The words sat on his tongue, just there, a warm invitation. "You can take her actually." Steve suddenly blurted, "I mean… you like antique things right… I figure you'd…" "I… uh… you sure?" Tony frowned back as Steve gently took his palm in his – oh dear god so soft – hand and placed the machine in it.
Steve smiled warmly and nodded back, "You could make her a nice rose plant or something…" Or I could just fix her up you know…" Tony suggested, "I may have a few antique pieces of tattoo machines in my kit." Steve's eyes flashed just a hint of hope before he shyly backed away, "Oh dear no I… I'd… No that would tax you so much-" "Hey…" Tony, coy as he was, cut in, "I'm offering, which means I won't get taxed. Besides, you can always repay me…" "I'm… I don't fix stuff I just… draw?" Steve awkwardly replied cheeks flushed with embarrassment, "It's an unfair trade really."
"Well how about coffee as repayment? Make us two cups as I fix her for you in my shop?" Tony's heart bloomed painfully at his sudden, bold stance. Steve's cheeks were now bordering on crimson, and he gave Tony a light nudge as he nodded, "Will do." Tony began to blush again, looking Steve right in his eyes as he smiled wide, "Great, it's a date then!" and let out a nervous chuckle when Steve reached out and took his hand, placing a chaste kiss on the knuckle, "It certainly will be."