Work Text:
Harry lay on the sofa, watching Draco paint by the window. The light filtered in, throwing Draco and the canvas into fetching relief. Draco could only work on this piece at a certain part of the day, needing just the right lighting to get the effect he wanted.
Harry was a fan. Draco made brilliant artwork and Harry could never fancy himself even half as talented, at least not with art. Still, Draco let him be a part of some pieces if they weren’t intending to be sold. Their home was decorated with Draco’s work and, in some places, Draco-and-Harry’s work. In the latter pieces, you could sometimes tell where Harry’s influence mucked up Draco’s original design, but Draco’s talent more than made up for Harry’s lack of style. The result was often some haphazard splash that Draco nevertheless found charming and happy to display for all who visited their home to see.
Draco’s pleasure notwithstanding, Harry didn’t think anyone would pay for their joint pieces. But it felt lovely that Draco took such pride in something they’d made together. Draco, who had gallery exhibits dedicated to his genius. Whose work graced the homes of many of the aristocracy and even the less well-off, since he donated his time and abilities to charities. Draco, whom other artists often consulted and emulated.
Harry just liked watching him work. Draco standing at the window, back straight and face relaxed, paintbrush flowing with an ease that made it a mere extension of Draco’s arm. His hair sunlit and glowing. He was beautiful. An artwork onto himself.
Draco made a noise when he’d lost his light and stepped back from the piece, examining his progress.
“It’ll do,” he nodded. Then, seeing his husband lounging, watching him, he smiled. “Harry, want to come over?”
This was Harry’s favourite part of the evening. He got up, inspected Draco’s obviously fantastic piece, and praised him as he deserved. Draco blushed, always reddening whenever Harry commended his work.
“Your turn,” Draco said.
Harry smiled and stripped down, lounging naked on the chaise beneath the window and watched as Draco mixed more paints.
In the deepening twilight, Draco set about making an artwork out of his husband, too.