A Lesson in Aesthetics (for asthedrivensnow )

[prettyawkward]

Maybe there was something to be said for less sleep in a twenty-four hour day.  Rabastan hadn't done much to the rest of the house, but his studio was, for the most part, much cleaner than it had been previously.  He had even purchased a new chaise, shoving the other in the far corner as a new storage place for scrap canvases and boards.  The lighting had been rearranged, and he had even managed to paint the walls in solid colours, relieving it of the splattered paint swatches, cracks, and tears that had developed over the last few months of his restless nights.  His room, of course, was still an absolute disaster area, but Narcissa hadn't mentioned needing to occupy that space.  

Currently, Rabastan was sitting in the hall that led to his bedroom, staring at the wall before him.  Several times, he had imagined Narcissa returning, to the point where he had almost convinced himself she had, only to realise it hadn't happened, after all.  His eyelids closed and opened in near slow-motion.  Everything felt delayed, and he wasn't really sure how long he had been sitting there.  There was a mutter, and he responded, but so quietly he could hardly make it out himself.

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[prettyawkward]

Rabastan took a deep breath, slowly letting it exhale, sputtering bits of water that happened to curl down across his lips. He hated water, but he hated loneliness more. The feeling of someone else with him was enough to lull his mind into a place it rarely went--calm and quiet. Even if it was only for a little while. There were moments when his body was so utterly exhausted, that his brain would just shut down everything so he could finally fall asleep. Now this overwhelming pleasure was enough to start the slow decline into relaxation.

"That's good... Maybe I wouldn't mind it...right now."

[asthedrivensnow]

Letting go of his wrist long enough to wave his wand at the ceiling, Narcissa stops the rain, and they lie in a soaked ball in the large puddle in the middle of the room. Nothing else is wet, only themselves, and she grips his wrist with both hands like a lifeline. Eyes closed, her lashes are dark against her fair skin, and water clings to them as it clings to the rest of her, the thin silk of her camisole and knickers so transparent they might as well not be there.

"Too much explaining, if you drown," she murmurs. "No drowning."

She's completely forgotten that she'd come here to be an artist's model again.