Work Text:
Pale blue light began to filter in through the gauzy white curtains that hung in the windows; a sort of non-commital colour that would eventually, inevitably, give way to the brilliant golden light of a spring dawn. But for now, the sky would remain in that nebulous in-between of night and day for another handful of minutes.
Kieran couldn’t remember the number of times he’d been awake at this hour, when the ghosts and demons wouldn’t let him rest and he was resolved to simply sit in his chair by the window and read a book or sketch by the candlelight until the world outside awoke with the sun. The wooden chair he kept in his room was a familiar old thing he’d bought years ago; fitting to the contours of his body in a way that he couldn’t help but be comforted by despite the chair’s unyielding, rigid nature. For years he’d depended on that merciful discomfort to keep him awake, to make sure that his eyes never fell and that the monsters behind his eyes wouldn’t have an opportunity to claw at his soul again.
This morning, however, the old wooden chair sat empty by the window. The candle on his nightstand remained unlit. All of his books were in their place upon his shelf. His paper and pencils were tucked away in the drawer.
The monsters hadn’t come for him that night.
They rarely did when she was by his side.
Tangled in a mess of sheets and nothing else, with pale limbs resting on the pillow and beside her head, Lauren remained suspended in deep, blissful slumber, unaware of his current wakefulness or fixation.
A hard day’s work and a long night’s passion made sure of that.
He couldn’t see her face; she’d turned it toward the window, toward the pale pre-dawn light, leaving him with only the faint view of her mussed crimson tresses as they fanned across the pillow, wild and unkempt in a way she never let those in public see. He was one of the few allowed the small honour of seeing her in her most raw, authentic form, a fact he appreciated deeply.
His eyes slid down further to the exposed line of her muscled back, her ivory skin glowing with the same cool light of the sky outside. He felt his gaze tracing along the notches of her spine before moving back up again to follow the curves of her exposed ribs as they expanded and contracted with her slow, even breaths. His eyes caught on a single black mole just above her left shoulder blade; one that he’d had the pleasure of discovering the night before. He remembered how it felt under his fingers, his lips. The laughter he elicited when he continued to lather his attention upon it.
It wasn’t the only imperfection though.
Like him, Lauren had scars of her own.
Though not nearly as numerous or traumatic as his, the scars were still there, disrupting the otherwise smooth plane of her back. He felt like he could figure each of them out with little more than an assessing glance: the two thin, raised lines from a knife attack near her left side, the slight discolouration of road rash near the center of her back, a rough bloom of a bullet’s exit wound by the back of her right shoulder, twinned by a smaller scar on the front currently obscured from his view, among others here and there. Some of these wounds he’d treated with his own hands, other’s he’d heard about as short, matter-of-fact tidbits revealed along with more gripping tales of her encounters with criminals.
Lauren’s back held with it her strength and the story of her life, and she was all the more stunning for it.
Kieran was tempted to trace his fingers along the cool flesh of her back, wanting to feel with his fingers what he’d studied with his eyes. He’d felt it countless times of course; his calloused fingers had already mapped out every inch of her firm, muscled skin, just as she had when she’d charted the contours of his own scarred flesh. That intimate knowledge did little to satisfy his deep yearning though.
Yet his mind kept wandering back to the mornings like this when she wasn’t there with him. When the other side of his bed sat cold and empty and he’d come awake gasping and crying in anguish and fear.
What had compelled him out of his own calm, blissful sleep that morning?
Whatever it was, Kieran didn’t know. All he knew was that he couldn’t quite find sleep again now that he’d caught sight of the beautiful woman beside him. He felt his heart swell with gratitude and disbelief, as it often did when these kinds of intrusive thoughts buzzed around in his head.
That he had found someone who he could have and hold and love who, somehow, impossibly, loved him in return. That she had looked his monsters square in the eye and pushed them away, acknowledging them but not letting them take him from her. That she could keep the demons of his past at bay by virtue of her presence alone. That she let him see her own demons, allowing herself to be vulnerable in his arms when they tormented her mind. That her touch on his own destroyed skin could soothe every scar and bruise and burn and lash he’d ever endured in his life, calming the memories and bringing peace to his restless mind.
Lauren was beauty.
Lauren was healing.
And Kieran loved her for it.
The idea struck in his mind then like a match in the dark, drawing him out of his mental spiral, unable to look away. It compelled his heavy limbs and swirling mind to stop and focus on that one, small idea, burning brighter and brighter in his mind until he couldn’t help but act upon it.
He barely registered the moment he slowly rose up out of bed, making sure not to disturb her as he extracted himself from the tangled mess of the sheets into the chilly morning air, scooping his boxers off the floor as he silently padded downstairs into his sketch room. A few minutes of rifling around the organized chaos of drawings and stacks of paper eventually led him to what he’d been searching for.
A brief stint in the kitchen later and he was back in the bedroom, placing the supplies he’d collected onto the nightstand before carefully sitting back onto the bed. He waited a moment, breath held as he braced for her to begin stirring at his movements, yet the rhythm of her breathing remained as steady and undisturbed as ever.
A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he set to work, squeezing out the colours of paint that he’d meticulously selected onto the pallet in his hand. He carefully turned to face her once more, the blue light of the window just on the cusp of yellow as the sun inched up toward the horizon, bringing more of the details of her back into stark clarity. He could now see the fine hairs that dusted the skin there, adding more wonderful texture for him to admire.
Steady fingers moved to pick some green paint up onto one of his thin paint brushes and, with little more preamble, he carefully brought the brush down to the skin of Lauren’s back.
A slight twitch was the only reaction he got from her as he dragged the brush along her skin, starting from just above her right hip bone in a slightly curved line before arcing it along the back of her shoulders before coming to end over her left shoulder blade and down near her armpit. Another breath and no movements from Lauren and he went on to repeat the same motion, painting a smaller arc just to the left of the first; up and around and under her shoulder blade.
He felt himself getting lost in the art as he worked, caught up in bringing the image in his mind to life before him. He was used to paper and canvas, not fine, supple skin that was constantly in motion as she breathed. But Kieran grew used to it quickly as he fell into his usual habits of switching brushes, blending paint and applying light brushstrokes as the image slowly came to life before him. He barely noticed when the dawn had finally broken outside; shining its warm, honied light into the room, making the work he’d done pop all the more on her marble skin.
He did, however, notice the subtle change in her breathing as he began working on the sensitive skin near her side; the flex of the muscles in her back as his brush continued to tickle that skin as he worked, the little groan that rumbled up from her chest as she slowly came awake beneath his paintbrush.
He leaned down to plant a kiss on her shoulder, mere inches above his work.
“Morning,” he whispered into her skin.
Squinting eyes came open in increments, attempting to blink away the sleep and adjust to the light as best they could. Those perceptive golden eyes caught the early morning light like the sun itself as they gazed up at him.
“Wha-re you doing?” she muttered, voice raspy with sleep, attempting to get a glimpse at his impromptu project, “Painting-?”
A steady hand came up to halt her movements, earning him an even more confused, questioning glare.
“It’s a surprise.” He whispered into her ear, enjoying the little shudder his breath managed to pull from her. “Sorry to have woken you up, love. Try to go to sleep again. I won’t be much longer. I promise.”
He could tell that her curiosity still lingered, however it was stymied by the pull of sleep as it dragged her eyelids down once more. She settled back into her pillow, nuzzling a little, a small smile tickling at her lips.
“S’okay.” She breathed as she fell back into her doze. “Feels nice.”
Kieran pressed another kiss to her shoulder at that. He could have sworn he saw her smile widen slightly before relaxing back into a more neutral pout, her breathing slowly evening out.
He made sure to work with the lightest hand possible, not wanting to disturb her sleep further as he continued to work. Every now and then there would be another twitch of the skin as he brushed past more sensitive areas; small spasms here and there followed by the slightest unthinking sound of pleasure as the cool paint was dragged along her warm skin.
Hours must have passed as he added more colours; whites, purples, pinks and yellows, blending and layering and swirling them along the organic lines of the image until he was eventually left with a composition he was satisfied with.
A piece of art worthy of the woman whose skin it now adorned.
The sun had risen well above the horizon by the time he leaned in to press another kiss to her shoulder, followed by a kiss to her neck, before moving up to the back of her ear, her cheek, her forehead.
She stirred once more, a hand coming up to rub her eyes.
“S’Done?” she asked with the raise of her brow.
Kieran merely hummed, pressing a kiss to that very brow as his hand moved up to stroke her hair.
“You can stay in bed if you want to. It’s still drying.”
But Lauren paid little mind to his word as she pulled herself out of bed, dragging the sheets along with her to shield her sleep-warm skin from the chill of the room, taking care to leave her back exposed. Kieran watched as she made her way over to the mirror that stood at the other end of the room, looking over her shoulder and into her reflection to finally see for herself what he’d been working to put on her skin at such an ungodly hour.
He heard the sharp intake of her breath followed by an appreciative hum as she inspected his handiwork. He got up from the bed to meet her by the mirror, eyes catching on her back once more.
Twin stalks rose up from her right hip to arc over to her upper back before falling over her left shoulder blade, one larger than the other, cradling its smaller twin as they arced across her ribs. Sprays of unique, five-pointed flowers began sprouting around halfway up the stalks; white, rounded petals with magenta-purple centers and yellow spots in the middle. The flowers grew larger by her mid back before elegantly tapering off into smaller and smaller buds by the tips, curling around that mole he’d discovered the night before.
“They’re… orchids?” Lauren asked, astonished eyes glued to the flowers as her arm reached around herself to trace the line of the outer flower’s stem.
Kieran nodded, coming to stand in front of her, looking over her shoulder to catch her gaze in the mirror. His fingers reached up to trace near the curved lines he’d so carefully applied to her skin along the ripple of one of her many scars, purposefully left untouched by the paint, just like the others.
“I wanted to do something that would fit to your back well.” He felt her shiver as his fingers reached that sensitive patch of skin near the juncture of her arm. He turned his gaze to her back once more, to the orchids that twisted and grew among the scars.
“Why orchids though?” she asked, turning to face him and properly meet his eyes.
He remained silent as he continued to take her in; standing there like some ancient statue of a goddess draped in fine white silks, meant to be worshiped and adored or admired in a museum.
Yet there she stood in his bedroom, wrapped in his bedsheets with only his eyes to behold her magnificence.
“I read somewhere once that they’re symbols of love and beauty.” he whispered into the stillness between them, “That was nice and all, but it also said that orchids can be harder to kill than one would expect. They’re stubborn, resilient, and that dichotomy reminded me of you.” he continued to trace around the still drying paint, “I just woke up randomly and saw your back and… I couldn’t help myself.”
He didn’t mention his thoughts of his nights without her warmth, or the habits he’d developed to remain calm and collected after the nightmares refused to let him sleep. He didn’t need to. She’d seen it for herself a handful of times, just as he had seen her demons. She knew how much she’d helped him overcome that darkness. She knew how much he treasured her. Appreciated her. Loved her.
And by the look in her eyes, he could tell that she understood.
His hands fell away from her back. “Sorry for waking you up early just for that though. It was a stupid whim.”
Hands came up to cup his face, a shock of warmth, bringing him down for a quick peck before pulling his forehead to touch hers. He could feel her warmth spread through his entire being from each point of contact.
“I love it.” she said, delight ringing in her voice like a bell, “It never ceases to amaze me that you can just produce art like this from memory alone.” another astonished breath, “I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen something so beautiful.”
“Oh I’d beg to differ.” Kieran argued, grasping her by the shoulders and turning her around to face herself the mirror full on, “There’s something I think is more beautiful than any flower I could ever paint.” he whispered into her neck.
Her laughter did little to hide the rosy blush that had risen in her face. The glare she leveled him was disbelieving and exasperated despite them both knowing full well that he was speaking the truth.
“Well thank you anyways for my still-very-much-beautiful-artwork.” she said once she regained her composure. She turned in his arms once more to view the flowers again. “It’s a shame that this’ll just wash off once I shower.”
“I can always paint the design on canvas for you if you want,” he offered.
Lauren shook her head, “No, that wouldn’t work. You said it yourself: this design was made specifically to fit my back.” her lips began to form into their signature smirk, “If only there were a way for you to capture this remarkable artwork as it appears on my back to preserve it forever.”
A chuckle of his own escaped his lips, “Yes, I can always include you in the painting too if that’s what you want.”
“I do.” She said, voice dropping a little and regaining some of its earlier roughness, “I want to be able to look back and see what you saw when you finished painting this. Position, lighting, the whole nine yards.”
Another chuckle, more amused than before, “Is this your way of saying you wanna go back to bed while I work on it?” he asked.
“Well you did wake me up at the crack of dawn after the very long and adventurous night we shared.” she argued, adjusting the sheet draped around her, “The least I deserve is a few more hours of sleep on a Saturday morning.”
A huff of a laugh escaped his lips, because somehow, some way, he and his damaged soul and heavy baggage had gotten Lauren Sinclair of all people to fall in love with him. How he’d managed that was still beyond him to that day, but he wasn’t about to complain. Not when she looked up at him like that.
Instead he pulled her in for a proper kiss, long and languid just like he’d been wanting to all morning, the memory of the night before burning bright in the back of his mind.
“Of course,” he said against her lips, “Anything for you, love.”