Chapter Text
Belle checks the address of the flat again. Is she really doing this? It’s better than the alternative she supposes. This, at least, is her choice. Taking one last deep breath, she raps on the heavy green door. After a moment, a woman with loose auburn hair answers. If the silk robe she wears is any indication, she definitely isn’t a maid.
“Hello?” She asks, not bothering with a formal introduction.
All of the worry bubbles up in Belle's tummy anew. She reminds herself of all the assurances from the women at the brothel. Ross Gold is harmless. A little eccentric— but most of them are. He pays well.
“I—” Belle pauses to swallow the nervousness that’s lodged itself in her throat.
The woman eyes her skeptically. “Here about the sitting work?” She asks.
Sitting work. Belle figures it’s supposed to spare her dignity. “Y-yes.” She stammers, her cheeks flushing pink.
“Of course. Come in, girl.” The woman bows her head and ushers Belle through the door, hastily locking it. “I take it this is your first time?” She asks, leading her through the series of modest rooms.
There are paintings and sketches all over the walls and floors. They cover every surface of the space. They depict men and women, some of them nude, some of them clothed. Some of them are in respectable, stately poses, while others are less dignified— their bodies contorted into grotesque positions, hands on their private parts, limbs mangled, and heads thrown back in ecstasy. Belle finds herself drawn to shameless eroticism of them all. All her life, she’s been guarded from such filth, and now she’s surrounded by it. The woman stops and looks back to Belle with a knowing smile. “...Definitely your first time.”
Belle feels her cheeks grow hot and shakes her head, embarrassed for failing to answer the question. “Yes, Miss—”
“No Miss,” the woman corrects her. “Cora, if you please.”
“Cora.” Belle repeats. “I'm um, my name is Belle.”
Cora’s eyes wander over Belle's figure for a moment. “...Such a pretty name.” She smiles, but her tone isn’t friendly. “The studio is this way,” she says, resting a hand on the doorknob briefly before twisting it open.
Belle is stunned to see two naked women lying on a pile of cushions on the floor. They’re locked in an embrace, their legs entwined as they pleasure each other. Belle feels she shouldn’t be watching, but she cannot pull her eyes away. They’re kissing and they look happier than Belle has ever felt in her life. The novelty of the sight begins to wear off, and Belle glances around the room until her eyes land on a small man with shoulder-length ashy brown hair. He’s situated behind an easel and has an intense expression on his face. His eyes are darting back and forth between his work and the scene playing out before him. Wielding a piece of charcoal, his arm sweeps over the paper in motions that are just as graceful as they are precise and deliberate.
Cora clears her throat. “Ross, the new sitter is here,” she says with a smile.
The artist tears his eyes away from his work. They land on Belle and she inhales sharply. There’s a feeling in her belly she can’t quite place, but she sets it aside. If she’s going to do this, she needs to get comfortable with having his eyes on her.
“We'll see about that,” he mumbles, setting his charcoal down. His accent is western, unexpected, but welcome. This man is an outsider here too, and Belle takes comfort in the fact. “...Ladies,” he says, gesturing at the two women. They lazily rise to their feet and throw their robes on before shuffling out of the room. The artist approaches slowly, walking with a pronounced limp, and begins pacing in circles around Belle. After a few rounds, he stops abruptly.
“Well— are you going to undress for me or not?” He asks impatiently.
Belle’s heart pounds in her chest and she feels tempted to slap him for asking. But she reminds herself that this is going to be her life now, and so she clears her throat and holds her chin up high.
“Yes, sir.” She nods, beginning to unbutton her dress. She slips out of it awkwardly and begins removing her corset. When it falls to the ground, Belle feels equal parts relieved and vulnerable. The temperature in the room seems to rise as she struggles to take off her boots. When she begins to remove her stockings, Ross interrupts and asks her to leave them on. Ross and Cora continue watching silently and she isn’t sure what their silence means.
Ross begins pacing around her again once she’s finished undressing, and Belle suddenly feels conscious of her pale skin, her small breasts, and the curls between her thighs. She’s pulled away from her worry when Cora steps behind her to pull her hair loose, letting it fall over her bare shoulders.
“...What's your name?” Ross asks.
“Belle.”
“Belle.” He echoes dryly. His brown eyes flit upwards to meet hers, and there’s a slight smile tugging at his lips. “...Beautiful.” He whispers. After a pause, he looks back to Cora. “I suppose she'll do. You can go darling.” He says, pressing a chaste kiss to Cora's lips. “I'd like to work with our new guest here.”
“Of course, my dear.” Cora flashes Belle a smile and disappears into the next room.
“Please. Belle.” Ross insists, gesturing towards the divan in the corner. “Sit for me.”
“Y-yes.” She steps over and seats herself stiffly, waiting for him to say something, to do something. Anything. To grab his sketchbook and graphite. Instead he just stares at her for what seems like an eternity. Belle begins squirming under his scrutiny.
“Not like that, dearie.” He finally instructs, waving his hand. “Relax.”
Belle rolls her eyes before she can stop herself and sinks into the divan a little.
The faint smile pries at his lips again. “You've never sat before, have you?”
“No, sir.”
“You'll get used to it.” He says.
Belle believes him, but she can’t shake her nerves just yet. “Is there—” She stammers, “I’m sorry, sir, is there something I ought to be doing? A pose of some—”
“No, no, no.” He shakes his head. “I'm not interested in your body so much as the spirit that inhabits it. Do you understand?”
Belle fidgets in her seat. “No, I uh, I'm afraid I don't, sir.”
“Just be yourself, dearie. Imagine I'm not here.”
Belle wants to, but she can’t.
“I’m sorry— I don't think I can do this,” She frowns, her arms reflexively folding themselves over her chest in modesty.
“Of course you can, dearie.” He assures softly. “There was a reason you came here today. I don't know what that reason is, though I might wager a guess. What I do know is that you must be very brave, Belle.”
Her arms slide back to her sides and she nods. She could do this. She had to.
“Close your eyes for me, Belle.”
She hesitates for a second, then obliges.
“You're— you're at home,” he offers. “You've just taken a bath... Your skin— it's soft and dewy, and your hair, it smells of lavender, or maybe you prefer roses. It’s a lovely day outside...”
“I-okay…” Belle sighs and begins to recline over the divan, letting his voice guide her as she conjures the tranquil scene.
“You've no obligations for the afternoon, so you lie down. The sunlight is coming through the window and it warms your skin… You’re looking outside— or perhaps you're reading.”
Belle nods. “Yes.”
“What are you reading, Belle?” He asks softly. “Is it catalog, full of pretty dresses? A favorite book? Or perhaps... it’s a letter from your lover.”
Belle feels herself blush at the suggestion, but nonetheless finds her body relaxing, sprawling and opening to him.
“That's beautiful, Belle.” His uneven footsteps shuffle back to his easel. “Just like that.”
Soon Belle can hear the scraping sound of charcoal on paper, and she makes an effort to be absolutely still for him.
“No, no.” He whispers. “You’re getting tense. Let yourself breathe, dearie. It's alright if you move a little.”
She releases some of the tension in her muscles, but is reluctant to let go entirely.
“Relax,” He whispers, “smell the lavender, feel the letter in your hands, the way the sunlight kisses your skin. ...But it's not just the sun, is it?” He asks. “You're indulging in the fantasy of your lover's lips on your body...”
Belle feels her body surrendering to the image he's describing to her. A forbidden and vaguely familiar tension builds in her belly and she allows herself to relax more deeply. She soon feels compelled to trace her fingertips over her sides, but restrains herself.
The gentle scratching of his charcoal becomes louder. Its rhythm becomes something more staccato, and Belle is relieved that his muse seems to have carried him away.
“You're doing wonderfully, Belle.”
Encouraged, Belle submits to her urge and glides a hand across her skin. It sends a chill through her nerves and she can feel her nipples beginning to pebble in response. The reality of the situation hits her— that no one has ever seen her like this before, yet this complete stranger is studying her and immortalizing the moment on paper. It flatters her somehow. Excites her. She smiles, feeling an unfamiliar confidence with herself, and shifts on the divan again, melting into it. She finds herself turning toward him, inviting him to behold more of her.
“There we are…” he whispers. “That's it, Belle. You look exquisite.”
His voice is warm and gentle, and Belle wishes he would say more to her. Her mind replays the sound of her name on his tongue. Belle, Belle, Belle. A sigh escapes her and her hand meanders over to cup her breast. The feel of the pert nipple against her palm affects her somehow, and she shivers.
“What are you thinking about, Belle?” He asks. “Describe it to me, take me there.”
“I'm... cold,” she finds herself saying. “I'm in the sun, but… it's not enough.”
“Why not, Belle?”
“I need...”
“What do you need, Belle?”
Without thinking about it, her hand wanders over her mound. She's lightly combing her fingers through her curls and inhales sharply at the sensation it sends through her body. The scratching of the charcoal stops.
“I need—”
“That's enough.” He blurts before she can finish.
Belle's eyes flutter open and she looks over to him in confusion.
“Would you look at that,” Cora snickers from the doorway. “She's a natural.”
Belle jerks upright on the divan and begins covering herself with her arms.
“That will do for now, Belle.” Ross coughs. “You can get dressed. I would like for you to sit for me again sometime, if that's agreeable to you.”
Belle nods and scurries to her pile of clothes on the floor.
“Thank you, Belle.” He pauses and turns to Cora. “Cora dear, please see Belle out and be sure to give her a krone for her time.”
Ross steps out of the room and Belle is ushered out before she has a chance to see what he’s drawn.