A brief author's note: I tried for a vaguely Renaissance era inspired setting/aesthetic for this but I wasn't aiming for realism.
Soft light glowed through the thin curtains of my front windows. It promised a mild spring day, but for now everything was still chilly from the night. I audibly groaned as I forced myself from the warm burrow of my blankets.
The floor was cold and the studio felt so empty. I have a little cot, but this wasn't really meant to be a living space. I can't cook here and I have to go to a public bathhouse. The easel, canvases, and a cabinet of paints, brushes and palette knives are basically all that I own.
Sure, I have some finished work hanging up and leaning against walls. Those could potentially make a lot of money, but someone had to be interested in buying them. At least there was some hope today. My friend Leo had apparently met a potential client that he thought would be perfect for me, whatever that meant. He said it was all set up and I just had to be in my studio to show off my work. Of course even if the client liked my style, most likely they would want to sit for a portrait. Hopefully they would be someone easy to work with.
I stretched and swayed restlessly, wondering if I could safely go get cleaned up and find breakfast without missing my opportunity. I looked down at my paint splotched chemise and reached for my simple overdress that had even more paint on its sturdy fabric. Had Leo given me any sort of timeframe? Of course not. I should have asked more questions about this mysterious art lover.
Without a better plan, I dove into my current painting. I Hoped to ignore hunger and other bodily needs for a while at least.
The painting was a huge scene that had begun as a study in a forest nearby and then had been layered with surreal elements. Soft fog rolled between mossy trees and the light had taken on an eerie quality. Ephemeral hints of manmade indulgence were woven into the forest in draped fabric, plush cushions, and carved details on the living wood. Butterflies that seemed to be forming from fragments of colored glass, were vivid against the dark scene. They were almost enough to distract the viewer from an imposing figure in the background. A masculine silhouette with branching antlers, almost perfectly camouflaged and yet utterly commanding.
The knock at the door hadn't been excessively forceful, but it had made me jump and feel strangely like I had been caught doing something obscene. I shook my head at my own reaction and went to the door.
The man outside was tall and lean, without looking frail. The almost harsh angles of his face were contrasted by soft russet ringlets, held back loosely by an emerald ribbon that matched his eyes.
"Hello, I'm Colette. Welcome into my humble studio," I offered, a little too slow and quiet. The man gave a slight smile and returned,
"Thank you, I'm Aiden," before he immediately moved to look at the paintings. I nervously tried to comb my hair with my fingers as I watched the stranger. His clothes were not overly ornate. He wore an undyed shirt belted over green trousers, which tucked into soft looking calf high black boots. Come to think of it every inch of him just looked so soft... besides the sharp planes of his face and broad shoulders. A subtle tightness low in my abdomen signaled a second type of hunger.
I practically shook myself, knowing this instant fixation on a maybe client was a bad idea. He had spent some time with each painting so far; a couple of landscapes, a portrait of a beautiful prostitute that lived nearby, some with architectural and still life subjects. I found beauty in so many things and liked to explore them all through my art.
When he reached the easel, he took it in and then looked at me for the first time since entering the room.
"There's something very special about this one," he said.
"Oh thank you sir," I responded and curtsied graciously. When our eyes met again, something wicked danced behind his.
He pointed to another painting "That portrait is beautiful and I would pay to sit for that artist" he took a deep breath and exhaled as he faced the easel once more. "This painting isn't even a portrait and it holds so much more ...lust?" I flushed a bit at the accusation and wondered how he could have possibly seen that. "What inspired this?" He asked with an insistent tone.
"Equal parts reality, theater, and dream," I answered. He nodded thoughtfully and my confidence was bolstered by his interest. "This forest is mostly painted from life. Then I saw a marvelous play at the theater and elements of the building, set, and costumes inspired me more than the story." I was starting to worry he would find me shallow but I pressed on. "Finally I suppose it came to life and took on new character in my dreams.
Aiden looked pleased and reached into his satchel to retrieve more money than I had seen in many months. " I want to hire you to paint a portrait in my home. Half payment up front, half after the painting is complete. I would like to ride back with you today, begin work tomorrow and your needs would be met as my guest from now until you are returned to your studio.
I hadn't been commissioned by a lot of wealthy clients, but this sounded like a very generous offer. Sort of nice that he was so direct and I couldn't think of any reason that I couldn't leave today.
"I accept your offer, but how soon do we need to leave? I haven't had a chance to bathe or eat anything yet today." I probably seemed easily flustered and his smile was bemused.
"That's no problem, neither have I. Why don't you show me to the bathhouse and then we will figure out breakfast after that." He scanned the room before adding. "We can come back for anything you need before we head to the stable."
I could tell that he was used to some sort of leadership or position requiring strategy. It was very easy to be swept up by his direction and trust his foresight.
It had been a cold enough night that the morning sun was a balm to my muscles as we strolled down cobblestone hills to the bathhouse.
I instinctively veered toward the archway that led to the women's communal bath, but was suddenly hooked by the back of my bodice.
Aiden gave my wide eyes an impish look, but his words were utterly polite. "I can afford a private bath and I'll want to pose nude anyway, so you might as well reap the benefits of my purse." I was a little startled by the offer, but of course I had painted nude men before. That was perfectly acceptable and private baths definitely had perks, like hotter water.
"Thank you Sir, I timidly stepped back as he paid for the bath and some soaps for each of us. I wondered if the stoic attendant assumed I was a prostitute, but the idea didn't really bother me.
The room had a private stall to relieve oneself, which we did in turns. When I returned to the large tub, Aiden had already stripped and relaxed into the clear steamy water. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed in a peaceful expression. My eyes wandered down a smooth chest and noticed a hint of definition to his pale stomach. My cheeks flushed as I took in the sight of his cock, appearing half erect and he seemed utterly unconcerned about hiding it.
I swallowed and peeled away my clothes as I watched the stranger's face, wondering when he would open his eyes again. I looked down at my soft curves that probably could have benefited from a bit more physical activity and did my best to gracefully step into my side of the stone tub.
Aiden's gemlike eyes opened lazily like a cat as our legs bumped together and I sat up a little, trying to respect his space. My breasts were kissed by cool air and I realized how strange it felt to be on display. I was very comfortable with being around nudity, even studying it for hours. I had been naked in front of men too, but this felt like something new.
"Have you ever modeled for a painting?" Aiden asked as he reached for the soaps. I took one of the little bars and it smelled like lemons.
"I've sat for my friend Leo, but just for sketches." I worked up a lather and started on the parts of me above the water. I couldn't decide if I should try to make it seductive or just act unphased by his presence. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh I'm just a hobbyist, but I imagine painting you would be quite pleasurable," he answered. He was an artist and he was flirting? I could be a bit dense about these things but I was starting to think that he had more in mind than the commission.
Aiden had stood to clean himself and I wasn't sure if he was trying to be enticing, but it was working on me anyway. I tried not to stare too obviously as I waited for my turn to stand, concerned that I might accidentally bump into him if I didn't. I focused on scrubbing at flecks of burnt umber and cerulean paint on my arms.
When I rose from the water, he made eye contact and it felt like he could see my thoughts. I tried to make my movements flattering without doing anything too overt. I had such a strong urge to touch myself or reach out and touch Aiden, but I focused on breathing slowly and got through soaping up without incident.
The embrace of warm water as I sank back down was blissful and a soft sound escaped my lips that immediately embarrassed me.
Aiden grinned from across the pool
"I hope that I haven't made you uncomfortable with my lack of shame," he whispered in a low, rich tone. I had a thought that if this was uncomfortable, Aiden could be my torturer but I pushed it away with a laugh.
"If anything, I might be a little too comfortable right now sir," I countered playfully. I glanced aside at him as I set to washing my hair and he began to do the same. When his curly tresses fell around his shoulders, a breath caught in my throat.
Aiden was the first to eventually leave the bath. He rose beaded with water and draped with dripping burnt sienna locks. Once I accepted that I wouldn't simply melt, where I sat, I followed his lead.
"What do you usually have for breakfast? He asked as we dressed.
"Either I get some fruit and nuts from the market or bread and butter from my favorite bakery." I responded chipperly. Aiden groaned with food inspired lust and I felt it in my spine.
"Definitely bread and butter" he decread. He smoothed his boots up his calves and stashed his hair ribbon into his satchel, before looking at me expectantly. I was ready to go, but I noticed the effect his wet hair was having on his billowy shirt and mentally swore. I suddenly had a painful thought that I could still be imagining all of the tension and decided to throw myself on that pin before it could grow into a sword.
