Work Text:
Ernol does not reveal his art to her immediately. Only after they settle the date for their marriage does he finally bring out the key.
“It isn’t as exciting as you think.” He says plainly, before leading her to a locked door in an ill used section of Lonre’s mansion. Alenca, who had been waiting for this moment since she’d teased the information from him on The Bastion, found more inside his art room (his studio, he calls it with unconvincing confidence) than she had ever imagined.
In Edric, the only art work she’d seen had been very practical or very old. She had admired what few precious pots were left from Kalec, and the people did what they could with simple things like wreaths, whittled statues, and lovingly made tools. But what did she really know of painting, of Art?
Ernol has an entire room dedicated to art, and he has special tools which are used specifically to make art, to store art, to display art. She finds the luxury of it all incredible.
“What is this?” She asks, her fingertips whispering over a delicate wooden structure.
“You don’t--?” He stops, wisely decides to think about it, and then chooses patience, “...It’s an easel.”
“Ah. Is it to hold everything while you work…?”
She looks up, head tilted, and watches Ernol’s carefully crafted disinterest crack with the smallest of smiles. “Yes.”
He comes to stand behind her as she flits to the little table beside the easel. He is so close, if she only leans back she would press against his chest. “And these are your brushes?” There is a large collection of them, some quite fluffy, “May I touch them?”
He huffs a laugh. “If you’re careful.”
She plucks out the most tempting of the bunch and looks at it skeptically in hopes that it will make him laugh again-- she's pleased when it does. His smile is nearing gentle when he takes the brush in one hand and her wrist in the other. He delicately traces the bristles across her skin, right above her pulse point, and the sensation gives her an unexpected shiver.
“It’s so soft! It feels like a rabbit's pelt. What are they made from?”
“Many different animals.” His smile twists sardonically, “Sometimes rabbits. But I think this was once a marten. Here, this one is boar.”
They spend some time like that, testing brushes, discussing tools. Alenca asks questions, Ernol answers them, again and again, until she runs out of technical things to talk about, and he no longer looks like he’s dreading to face his executioner. She watches from the corner of her eye as his shoulders soften, and only when he looks well and truly at ease does she wander to the other side of the room.
“And these are your paintings?” She says excitedly, “There are so many! Do you keep them all here?”
He stiffens like a board. “No. Not all of them. But many, yes. Some are very old, and others I don’t feel are… finished.”
These are not my best, she translates, If you say anything bad I will curl up and die.
Ernol hovers nervously as she rifles through the past few years of his work. Alenca is not some great surveyor of beauty, but she knows what she likes, and she finds herself admiring the cool grace of his paintings. Her eyes trace the shapes he placed, the colors he picked: black, gray, indigo, red, more black-- the colors of Gha’alia. The images he finds worthy of consecrating forever make her smile. A bloody sword thrust into the earth, the silver spires of the city at dusk, a lake in the rain. All things both lovely and fleeting.
“Ah! Are these Moon Drunks?” She asks with delight.
“Yes.”
“Oh. Perhaps… from The Bastion?” She can’t keep the smile out of her voice, though she valiantly resists the urge to look at him.
The seconds it takes for him to answer are satisfying. “...Yes.”
She can’t keep herself from turning to tease him then. She expects to find him irritated, or embarrassed, or perhaps some unholy union between the two. She’s wrong, as she so often is with him. Ernol is looking at her so softly. Suddenly, she is the one who is embarrassed.
Flushed, she looks down and quietly admits, “They are truly beautiful. I think I could look at your paintings all day.”
He presses a hand to the small of her back and draws her into his embrace. “Once I might have thought you were lying, but I feel the same about you.”
“Hush.” She demures, not sure if she can handle another earnest declaration. She allows his cool fingers to carefully lift her face to his. Their lips meet once, twice, before they truly sink into one another, studios and paintings all but forgotten.
--
When the Moon Drunk painting is finally complete Ernol declares that it is hers.
“It was always yours, really.”
She has it hanging in his bedroom above the very long chair (Haron says it is called a chaise, but Alenca thinks Gha’alians have too much furniture) where she can look at it whenever she likes, but she doesn't think it will stay there. In a few months they will have their own home at the docks, and Alenca plans to put it somewhere special.
His easel isn't bare for long. Eventually he makes a new canvas, and lets her sit beside him as he works. He answers all of her many questions about what he is doing, and in turn she tells him of her experiences with art in Edric (he is mostly interested in her knowledge of which plants make which dyes, the clothes horse). She leans against him as he paints a protective layer over the stretched linen, and gamely listens to him complain about the follies of painting on untreated wooden panels on the ever-wet island of Gha’alia.
Ernol never tells her what he plans to paint next, and Alenca never asks. She’d rather imagine, since she has always enjoyed a mystery-- and perhaps, in a moments of indulgence, she flatters herself into wondering if he might want to paint her.
Perhaps she should have asked, because for the next few weeks she walks into his art room only to find a blank canvas. Luckily, there is still much to explore in his little art room, so she spends time admiring what he’s already made. She finds a pile of folders filled with fast sketches depicting things more mundane than his paintings, as well as a few stacks of portraits, mostly of his family. She speculates on whether or not he’s given any of them to Duliae since Ernol's style feels oddly familiar, but she admits she might just be grasping. .
There are never any pictures of her, however. Alenca is beginning to feel a little offended-- they are soon to be married, are they not? But she’s yet to realize that her pictures won’t be found among the rest. Ernol keeps her pictures somewhere far more secret and difficult to find.
--
Her pictures are, of course, neatly tucked into the back of his nightstand drawer.
Alenca doesn’t find them intentionally. At least, she isn’t looking for them specifically, she is simply… examining her new room very thoroughly. It's only been a few days since her wedding ceremony, and the back of her brain still wants to refer to it as Ernol’s room, which would make her snooping very suspect indeed, but it’s their room now, and Ernol, bless his trust, didn’t had the foresight to hide anything from her.
At first, Alenca does not understand who the person on the paper is (she did not have a mirror in Edric, forgive her). But as soon as she realizes the lovely girl is supposed to be her she finds herself charmed. Ernol keeps a secret picture of her by his bedside! How sweet, how funny! But then she pulls out another from the drawer, and another, and Alenca realizes that Ernol has many pictures of her.
Carefully, she lays them all out on the bed and counts twelve. When did he do these? There is her profile; her small frown; her eyes downcast with a laugh on her lips; the beaded bend of her waist in a ballgown she’d worn the month prior. Most are small sketches that don't even take up the entirety of the paper, except for one-- in it she is sleeping with her head resting upon her folded hands, her lips parted, with a delicate wisp of hair lingering on the sweep of her cheek. How can this be her? She looks so pretty, content… precious even.
Is this how he sees her? Alenca dreamily touches a finger to that same cheek and finds it warm.
It’s all far too lovely to leave be, and she soon realizes that she is likely to combust if she doesn’t do something about it. Was she only still enough to sketch when she slept? Is that the problem?
Well, that can be remedied easily enough.
--
Alenca isn’t sure what to expect. When Ernol walks in to find her, his drawings of her, and a small smile on her face that he once dubbed ‘dangerous’, he at first appears mortified. When she teasingly asks if she might sit for his next piece, he says yes.
...He says yes?
--
The next time she enters his art room, the very long chair has been placed beside the window. Laid out on top of it is one of her nicer dresses, made of thin silk in a dreamy color that sets off her eyes. She strongly suspects it is his favorite.
After she’s changed, he is straight to business, settling her down with little fanfare, moving her limbs and chin around to his finicky liking. Only after he's satisfied does he start placing paint on the canvas.
By this point in their relationship Alenca should be used to being the sole focus of Ernol’s very intense attention, but there is something different about this portrait sitting business. There’s nothing to do but sit very still and be stared at.
Alenca tries to occupy her mind with important things at first-- she deliberates her recent investments, ruminates about her recent marriage ceremony, contemplates the Cuthintal… only to end up staring at Ernol with stars in her eyes (did she mention she was recently married?).
The way his gaze flutters to different parts of her, so focused and specific, makes her more conscious of her body than usual. Most people are only concerned with her Cuthintal, but she can't help but wonder what Ernol thinks of her looks. He often tells her she has lovely eyes, and in quiet moments he likes to trace the pout of her lips with his thumb. And has he ever noticed the little scar on her chin? Will he paint it, too?
She wants to see.
“Can I see it?”
He doesn’t answer her at once, simply stops painting to pin her with the most disbelieving look. He asks, “What do you think there is to see? It hasn’t even been an hour.”
Alenca wrinkles her nose, “Did you need so long to do the others? I can’t imagine Haron sat still for long.”
He snorts, but there is a smile in his voice, “You'd be surprised. Be patient, Alenca.”
She sighs, “If you say so.”
“I do say so.” He replies wryly, his hand once again on the move. “Perhaps I should have given you a book.”
“What? I could have been reading this entire time?”
His eyes shift awkwardly to the bookcase.
--
If pressed, it would be hard for Alenca to say what she read, because she did very little actual reading. At one point she even falls asleep. It’s colder when she wakes-- her book is bathed in a shaft of orange light, and a dark shadow looms above her. A cool hand presses into her cheek and she leans into the touch.
“Alenca.”
“Ernol.” She sighs, turning her head into the grasp of his palm, a bashful look on her face, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He says quietly.
“Is it done?”
“No. I’ll need more time before it looks... right. You shouldn’t have to sit for me again. The rest I can finish on my own.”
“I don’t mind sitting for you-- I like being with you. I can come in whenever you want, you only need to ask.”
“Then maybe I will.” His face flickers with a smile, his dark eyes focused wholly on her. Light as air, his thumb traces down the smooth skin of her cheek, before he stops at the softness of her lips. She is suddenly very warm.
“You are so beautiful. I’ve done little else but stare at you all evening, and you are still so...”
He leans close, so that their noses touch and their warm breath mingles. She knows he is about to be very sweet, but whatever plans he has in mind are tossed aside when Alenca’s bottled impatience bursts -- she rises to her elbows and fists one of her hands into his jacket. She feels his breath catch inside his chest before she surprises him with a forward kiss. Ernol, always willing to adapt to her wiles, lets himself fall into her. His fingers wind themselves into her long hair, while his other cool hand skims down the length of her body, digging into her waist with fervent intent.
“Alenca.” He murmurs her name, voice tight and a little lost. She steals a breath before his lips find their way back to hers, kissing her for all that he is worth, like all there is in the world is her and him and the heat they make together.
She tries to pull him closer to her, bending her body so that there is no longer any space between them. His lips burn down her neck, lingering in places she’d never dreamed could be so sensitive, drawing out her little gasps and sighs until she feels like her heart is likely to pound out of her chest. Alenca gets lost in the rhythm of it all, canting her hips into his with that instinctive desire to be closer-- he groans against the column of her throat, his hands clutching desperately to the warm curves of her body.
He could kiss her forever if she let him, and in times past she has, but she is more knowledgeable now than she was before, and she wants more, more, more. Her thumb traces the shape of his ear, skimming all the way to it’s sensitive tip. He moans and his hand grasps her ass, pulling her core close to his. All of her thoughts clip short from the pleasure.
“Please, Ernol. I need-- I want--”
“Anything.” He says into her skin, and she believes him. He leans up and over her, black eyes burning, “Anything you want.”
Alenca isn’t sure what she wants, only that she wants more of him. But she is his wife now, surely she can say it aloud. “I want… more. You make me feel so...” She sighs dreamily. His hands move up to cradle her head, and his thumbs press against the cut of her jaw. “Make me feel good. Please.”
Ernol looks overwrought, and she is not given enough time to wonder why that makes her want him more before he leans close to press his lips to hers. His hands skims up her hip, slow and lingering so that her muscles seize with anticipation. When his thumbs tenderly brush against the base of her breasts she gasps into his mouth.
Things progress at a rapid pace after that-- her elf has many fine qualities, but patience was never one of them. Ernol pulls at the thin sleeves of her lovely silk dress, considerate but clearly on a mission, and slips them down until her breasts are revealed to the open air.
He stares down at her, half-bare and well-kissed, with his lips parted as if just the sight of her has left him raw. Absorbed, he mutters something quietly to himself. Alenca is always willing to give a good show, so she flashes him a saccharine smile, full of guile and false innocence, and though he rolls his eyes at her theatrics, her smile is contagious. His thumb reaches out to tease the tip of nipple, chilled from the open air, before he bows his head and presses open-mouthed kisses onto her bare skin.
“So soft.” He murmurs.
He parts his lips to take the tip between them and licks. Her moan echoes in the empty room. She flushes, embarrassed. Ernol utters a curse that was never covered in her lessons in Gha’alian, but he's quick to regain focus, and she has never known him to stop when he's found something that works. He licks and suckles her, alternating between one breast and the other. She covers her mouth with her palm, for what little it is worth, while her other hand clutches at his broad shoulder.
She is not so distracted by him that she doesn’t notice the cool air traveling up her calf, nor the soft silk sliding up her legs as Ernol gathers up her skirts and tugs them up over her hips. His hand reaches in between her legs, and he groans against her mouth when he finds her bare (despite the fact that he is the one who hadn’t laid out any underthings for her). When his thumb brushes teasingly past her clit she can’t keep quiet her gasp of pleasure. His eyes snap to her face, watching keenly as she bites her lip and blushes pink. "Like this?" He asks.
"Please. More."
He is happy to give her more. His fingers are more insistent now, rubbing her until she is truly flushed and mewling. His lips brush her cheek when his hand slips lower, and she is embarrassed by the wet sound she hears as one of finger dips inside of her.
“Bewan.”
Ernol leans back to pry the needy grip of her thighs apart, before taking her calves and slipping them over his shoulders. He leans in towards her intimate center, peppering her thigh with biting kisses, pausing only to suck a red mark onto her most tender skin. He touches his tongue to her clit, feather soft, and it is so... so very unexpected and new for her. Already over-sensitive, her hips snap up of their own accord and her hand slips itself into his hair. Alenca has an apology ready on her lips, but when she looks down he shoots her a smug smile, and she realizes she hasn't done anything wrong. He winds his arm under her thigh and presses firmly down on her hips so that she cannot move, and the quiet satisfaction in his eyes leaves her speechless.
His tongue licks its way up her heat, and she cannot help but stare, mouth parted with shock and lust. She is so wet, she can feel it on her thighs, and worries it might be dripping onto furniture. She reddens at the intimacy, but when his eyes flick up to hers, dark and hungry, she decides she doesn’t care.
It feels so good, and he is so lovely. Tenderly, she brushes back the hair from his brow. It is all so much, almost too much, so she searches for the hand that holds down her hip and takes it in her own. When he squeezes back she smiles blissfully.
She is not sure how long it lasts, she is only sure that it feels wonderful. When his lips wrap around her clit and sucks, she decides that this is her new favorite game. When his fingers slip themselves into her cunt and press against her walls, tight and sensitive, she vows to to have him repeat this act as often as possible, because--
“Ernol--!”
The white heat that was building at her core cracks and her whole body is awash with light and warmth. She finds she no longer cares about her noises, or how slick she must be. Ernol’s grip on her hip is strong enough to keep her still, but his tongue still has not stopped, and she feels like she's flying.
After, Alenca opens her eyes in a daze. Ernol hovers above her, looking rather proud of himself as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
Woefully, she declares, “My love, you are overdressed.”
They both laugh. He sits up on his haunches on the very long chair and begins stripping off his clothes with military precision. She gets up to help, but quickly finds herself distracted by his naked chest. She kisses the lean muscles of his stomach as she unbuckles the belt that holds his scabbard, gazing up at him with an excited glint in her eyes. She sets it carefully on the ground and reaches for the laces of his pants.
Ernol’s palm covers her hands, “Don’t worry about me. I want to see you.”
“I think you can see most of me.” She says. Her bodice slumps beneath her bare breasts, and her skirts are wrapped around her waist like a belt.
The grin he gives her looks almost as dazed as hers.
Graciously, he helps free her from her dress. Naked at last, she enthusiastically returns to unlacing Ernol, but he catches her roving hands by the wrists-- she makes a half-hearted escape, just to see how much he means it, and the pitying look she sends him as he starts to unlace himself only serves to amuse him. In truth, it amuses her, too, and she is always game for something new.
“And why do you get to undress both of us? Hm?”
He shrugs a shoulder and smirks, “Try harder.”
She rattles her wrists again, but his grasp is firm. Any witty remark she has flies away when he firmly situates her hands above her head and pulls his cock out of the confines of his pants. Her eyes light up. Perhaps she is greedy, but she is eager for more.
“Kiss me?” She asks sweetly, although it is really a demand.
He leans down, and she arches up to meet him halfway. His face smells like her, and she nudges his nose with her own, deepening their kiss and licking into his mouth, curiously enticed.
She gasps when she feels the head of his cock pressing hot against her entrance. She is so wet she knows he’ll slide ride in, and she can’t help but moan in anticipation. However, he seems satisfied with teasing her, rubbing up and down, taking his time and refusing to just shove it in like she wants-- she's not sure if the teasing is for her sake, or his. She tries to pull down her hands, but his grip doesn’t give, and all she is left with are dirty tricks.
“Please, Ernol.” She pleads, her eyes very wide and fluttery. “I want you. Please.”
The look in his eyes tell her that begging was exactly he wanted to hear from her. Definitely.
He presses himself in and groans low in his throat. “Alenca.” He says, and she feels so, so good. He pulls out shallowly and pushes deeper. “Alenca.”
She wants more, because in truth she really is quite greedy. She lifts her legs and wraps them around his waist, nudging him closer with the heel of her foot. She turns her face into his pale skin to lick and bite at his collar bones, and then stretches to place an open mouthed kiss into the hollow of his throat, which flutters against her lips when he moans. Frantic with desire, she bites down hard. Ernol can take a hint, and he thrusts his hips with force, the angle burying him so deep that they both cry out.
Alenca has been worrying that she is loud. She needn’t have, because Ernol doesn’t seem to care at all. Some of the things he says are in Common-- how beautiful she is, how tight she is, how good she feels. Most of it is not. Gha’alian is a hard language even at its most jubilant, but to hear it gasped into her hair and against her mouth, broken and ardent as Ernol holds her body under his and makes love to her… There are no words, not in any tongue.
She finds herself close once more, standing on the precipice. Ernol picks up on her little hints-- her sharp gasps, the clenching heat of her cunt. He places a tender kiss on her brow and gazes down at her from above. Her mouth is open, panting, sweat sticking her hair to her temples. He is no more composed than she.
“Come for me again. I want to see it.” His thumb presses against her clit one final time, and--
Stars. Her hand rips free from his grip and fists itself into his hair, white-knuckled and tight. Distantly, she hears him groan his own release, before his head falls heavy into the crook of her shoulder.
The sun has set, and the room is wreathed in shadows. They stay like that for awhile.
--
Later, when they are clean and mostly clothed, she places her head against his chest and gazes at her unfinished portrait. It isn’t much yet, mostly just colors and suggestions. Her face is the only thing that could be considered finished-- her own eyes stare back at her, soft and keen in the gloom of the room.
Ernol aside the book before he lays back and settle them down on the too long chair. She buries her face in his chest, and his fingers begin to run through her hair, soothing and gentle. Alenca hums in satisfaction, truly content.
“Did you like it?” He asks in the dark.
“Yes.”
He laughs, not sounding nearly as tired as she. “Good. But I meant the book.”
“The… book?”
“Yes, the--” She doesn't see him roll his eyes, but she has her suspicions. He leans to the side, plucks the book off the floor and starts flipping through it with his arms wound round her (she doesn't know why he is trying to show her, she can't see it with her measly human sight). “I thought you might enjoy it. It’s about art in Kalec. Mostly music. I know your ancestors had to flee with what they could carry, but you can bring a song anywhere. But if you don't recognize anything...”
“That’s-- Oh.” She blushes. If he were a human he wouldn’t see it, but he isn’t, so he does. She is sure he is looking at her like she’s mad, and maybe she is. “I didn’t get to read very much.”
“No?” He sounds confused, “You didn’t sleep that long.”
“I was… distracted.”
The seconds before he answers are not satisfying. “Distracted by what?”
“Um. You were looking at me, and I suppose I was… looking at you, and, well... Suffice to say, I’m pleased by how things ended.”
He barks a laugh. She burrows her face deeper into his neck, preparing herself to be teased as his fingers find their way back into her hair. Instead, he presses his lips to the crown of her head.
“I love you. More than anything.”
Oh. Her heart can only take so much. She wiggles in his lap and looks up to face him. “Really? More than anything?” She demures, flushed with love, before pressing her lips so sweetly to his.