𝐄𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 || Regulus Black

𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐎𝐧 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬

★★★

Regulus basked in Hera's beauty. Not only that, he immortalised it. He took her beauty and turned it into art. His art for now, soon it would belong to the world. It would be cherished by anyone who dared to admire it. Imagine that, as many eyes as you can picture, all looking at Hera. That was the artist's goal.

Never in his short but genius career has he been as determined to spread a single source of beauty than he was with her. There was no question about it, Hera was deserving of it all.

He couldn't stop himself from painting her figure, from sketching her hair, from sculpting her shape, or from taking pictures of her perfect mouth around his dick. She was perfect, and he wanted more than anything to celebrate her perfection.

He didn't even think of it as unnecessary to start wars over her beauty like Helen of Troy or Cleopatra, to riot in the streets, or to burn down everything for which she showed a hint of dislike. For now, he would have to settle with memorialising her in his work. Mapping out every curve and dip of her body like he would never see her again. Snapping enough photos of her to compile them into a film reel. This was what she deserved. If he had one legacy to leave the world, it would be the gift of Hera.

That's why his fingers were stained and calloused from the amount of work he had put into her. Charcoal was smudged on his hands—all from his new collection of drawings. He planned for at least a dozen candids of her. It was a small project, just something to keep him busy when he couldn't work on his big pieces for her.

He had gotten through six already. It had just been a few days since he started—ever since the boudoir shoot—but he couldn't take his mind off of her. What better way to deal with all his thoughts than to make something of them?

Regulus started imagining poses for the seventh while he painted the portrait of her in art class. Even while he waited for Hera to change out of her clothes and sit nude in front of him, he was still distracted by thoughts of her, and all the inspiration she brought him.

The door to the supply closet shut, and Regulus' gaze followed her all the way from there to the stool where she sat in front of the group. He watched, mesmerised, as she went through the same routine as always.

Hera dropped the cloth so it revealed everything north of her lower torso, then she adjusted it a bit, making sure it would stay put for the whole session. She took a silent breath, inhale then exhale, then resumed her normal pose. She stayed practically motionless for the whole time the collection of artists tried to capture her essence and paste it onto their canvases.

When Slughorn gestured to her from the side of the studio that time was up, she gathered up the sheet and stood up. She grabbed a piece of paper from under her left leg. It was tiny, no more than a few centimetres on each side length. She hid it between her hand and the sheet as she walked, and she subtly dropped it onto Regulus' lap as she walked by his easel.

He waited a second before reading the words on the note. He looked around to make sure no one had seen her pass it to him. Once he was sure no one was looking at him, he unfolded the one crease right down the middle of it.

It only had a few words. He could see they were fading out of the phase of their affair where they cared for greetings and pleasantries. 'Your flat in an hour. Excited to see what I've inspired you to create this time.'

With her excitement came his. Only, he wasn't sure what to make. He had a few things in progress, but nothing big, and nothing he really needed her there for. He racked his brain as he cleaned up his station, trying to remember some of the art pieces he had imagined late at night when he had nothing to do besides dream.