Work Text:
This is a complete, utter, horrifying mess.
Literally. With a revolted lip-curl, David turns his hands over to survey the smudges of charcoal embedded into his cuticles and the grooves of his fingers. A smear of dirty black marrs the simple gold ring which has become as much a part of him as the man who slipped it onto his finger. Huffing, David tries to wipe it off, but only spreads the mess around. With an even louder squawk, he throws his hands up, shoving the easel backwards, the wooden legs squeaking softly across the floor.
David senses the warm presence behind him before he hears the soft pit-pat of socked feet entering the studio.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” David mutters, without turning. His shoulders hunch instinctively over his work, despite knowing Patrick will look anyway.
“Would we say that? Or would we say ‘encouraged your passion’?” Patrick plants his chin onto David’s shoulder and winds his arms around him, gazing at the half-finished abomination on the page in front of them. “What’s wrong with this one?”
David puffs up, ready to explode - but he deflates at the last second. “I can’t do it.”
“You can. Any of the five thousand you’ve thrown away –”
“Nothing I’ve produced is up to standard.”
“David, it’s a Community Art Project. Not a competition.”
“But if it was…”
“Oh, if it was, we’d need to have a serious talk about your composition.”
David’s jaw drops, but Patrick snickers, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
Reaching forward, he gently knocks the charcoal stick from David’s loose grip. It clatters softly onto the ledge as Patrick entwines their fingers; unhesitating, despite the grime coating David’s hands. Embracing his messiness, and holding it tight.