For the Ultimate Patronus Quest (Cobra: Write a Slash pairing), Days of the Year Challenge (Inspire Your Heart with Art Day: Write about an artist), and the Write Something Random Challenge (DeanSeamus, sky)
Seamus watches in fascination as Dean trails the colored pencils along the paper, somehow blending the blues and whites until they form a sky so realistic Seamus can almost see the clouds drifting along. He doesn't know how Dean can do it. Sometimes he wonders if Dean has enchanted his art set somehow.
"You're staring again," Dean says as he sketches the detail of the ground.
"Hard not to."
He doesn't tell Dean that it's because his work is spectacular. He's learned by now that artists are weird about compliments. Several times, he's told Dean how good his work is, only to be treated to an endless rant about shading being wrong and perspective not being quite right.
Dean shrugs and continues his work, new colors streaking across the page. Seamus watches, mesmerized by the care and detail that he puts into it. "Gorgeous," he says before he can stop himself.
Dean groans. "It's mediocre at best," he says. "No one would ever hang something so average in a gallery."
"You could portraits at Hogwarts and places like that," Seamus suggests.
"I appreciate it," Dean says, scraping the pencil over the paper, his eyes narrowed as though looking for even the smallest flaw. "But it's not exactly the same."
"Come on, mate. You're only sixteen. Did Pigfasto have all his paintings in galleries at sixteen?"
"Picasso," Dean corrects without looking up, but Seamus can see his lips twitch into an almost smile.
"Or that other bloke! The one with the clocks."
"Dali."
"Yeah. Him. They didn't have their craft down when they were kids. They probably hated their work as much as you hate yours. But they're famous artists now, and you will be, too. Just wait."
Dean sets his pencils down and looks at Seamus, eyes rolling. "When did you become an expert on art?"
"I'm not. But I'm an expert bullshitter, and my emphasis is on art since my boyfriend is an artist," he answers with a smirk. "But I do know one thing about art."
Dean hesitates, like isn't sure that he wants to know where Seamus is going with this. After all, Seamus doesn't oil from watercolor or surrealism from romanticism. Finally, Dean sighs. "And what's that, Shay?"
Seamus grips Dean by the wrists and pulls him to his feet, pressing a needing kiss to his lips. "I know that you're a masterpiece, and I'd like nothing more than to pin you to the wall right now," he says backing Dean against the wall for emphasis.
Dean shivers. "Shay, my creative juices were flowing. You're interrupting my process," he whines, but his heart isn't in the protest.
"You said it yourself once. You draw better when you're falling in love or falling apart. I think the former works nicely here," Seamus says, trailing his fingers down Dean's chest.
Dean catches his lips in a kiss. "Then inspire me."
…
A month later, Dean gets the letter. Seamus holds his breath as his boyfriend rips through the paper. "Well?"
"They want to feature the drawing I sent in an exhibit showcasing local artists," Dean says in disbelief.
"Which drawing was that?" Seamus asks.
"I call it Irish Boy," Dean answers, taking Seamus by the hand. "Come on, my muse. I could use another inspiration session."