Work Text:
"What are you writing?"
Edgar quickly slammed his notebook shut, turning to see Orpheus standing behind him, trying to peer over his shoulder. He didn't hear the man come in at all, he was sure that he left his door locked.
If he picked the lock again, Edgar was going to murder him. That was the fifth time this week.
"Nothing important." He stated, trying to discreetly hide the book under his arm. His cheeks flushed a faint red color at the thought of Orpheus seeing whatever he had written. It was honest to God embarrassing, he just hoped the man wouldn't question him.
Unfortunately, the novelist was already curious and too nosy for his own good. As he always was. He raised an eyebrow at the painter's flustered expression.
"Really? But it does seem quite interesting. Are you sure I can't look?"
"Absolutely not!"
"Hm..." Orpheus glanced off to the side for a moment, the faint hint of a smirk appearing on his face. "I think there's something over there."
Edgar gave the man an unimpressed stare. He knew what the novelist was doing and he wasn't going to fall for it.
"I'm not an idiot, DeRoss-"
"One of your paint jars is broken."
"What? Where??" The artist immediately looked towards where the other's gaze had been, only to realize too late. Orpheus easily snatched the book out from under his arm, turning to the page the other had been on and starting to read. Edgar practically shot out of his chair, making a grab for the book, but Orpheus just held it high above his head. "DeRoss!"
"Oh my darling, my muse," He read. "How you've come to fill my world, my masterpiece, with the colors of an artists most passionate thoughts. The way you occupy my head during the days and dreams into the night-"
"DeRoss!"
"I find myself a constant yearning, craving for the beautiful love from your presence alone. You pull me into a whirlwind of fairy tales, your words a melody not even the heavenly angels compare,"
"Orpheus!"
"Your face, a figure rivaling even that of Adonis. Your touch, which have written me many confessions on paper and skin, a pleasure only comparable to a finished piece - Oh my..."
Edgar hid his face in his hands. "Orpheus!"
The novelist couldn't help but chuckle at the painter's embarrassment, reading over the poem once more before handing the book back to Edgar. He was more than happy to snatch it out of his hands, shoving it into his desk drawer with much more force than it needed.
"That was an asshole move." Edgar grumbled, crossing his arms and glaring up at him. "You're the worst."
"I'm aware, darling. You tell me every day."
"Hmph!" The painter turned away from him, refusing to say any more as he felt Orpheus' arms wrap around his waist, gently pulling him close to his chest.
"I didn't take you for the type to write poetry." He commented, resting his head on his shoulder. “I recall you saying it was a load of garbage that rich children are forced to endure during lessons.”
“Shut up.” Edgar grumbled. “I could’ve painted you naked instead. Then what?”
“I would’ve seen it as a compliment, love. I’m your muse, after all.”
“You’re gross, that’s what you are. Get off of me.”
“Ouch, so cold...” Orpheus gently turned him around to face him and Edgar felt his chin being lifted up, the soft brush of his lips against his. He sighed and gave in after a moment, closing his eyes and kissing the other back just as sweetly.
He could never be too mad at him. His boyfriend was so doting towards him, it made his head dizzy with pleasure.
It ended too soon, though. He let out a noise of protest when the kiss was broken, wrapping an arm around his neck and attempting to pull him back in. He could feel the other’s lips just hovering above his own, not yet letting the distance between them close.
“Should we take this to the bed, dear?” Orpheus asked softly. “It’d be more comfortable than just standing around.”
“Shut up. Kiss me already, you bastard.”
“Hm, no.”
"Asshole-" Edgar snarled impatiently, diving in for the kiss himself and muffling the novelist's chuckles.
What a bastard ...
Edgar wouldn't have him any other way.