Tension over what Herbert would say to the endearment gives way to surprise - his hands twitch against his back, then rub little circles there, his voice going a bit softer still.
"...No one? But you're...."
This is still so new, expressing himself like this. He struggles with words at the best of times, and this is...it's hard, even though it's nice. He tightens the embrace a little, wibbling a little before finally settling on a simple statement.
"I'm not going anywhere. I...I think of you as Engel, because you're...you're mine. My guardian."
"Your Engel," Herbert sighs and turns his head to press a kiss to the side of Alfred's neck. "I'm happy to be that, for you.
You make me feel so very important, when you say such things to me, you know. It's quite nice. I've never had anything like this before. You do wonders for me, Alfred."
"I do regret that it wasn't me who bit you, but I was the one to give you my blood. To fully turn you. So you belong to me, now." His fingers press against Alfred's back, a little possessive.
"Good. I'm glad you're happy. I am, too. How could I not be, with you at my side? Painting such handsome portraits of me."
"They say the eyes are the most important part," Herbert nods, and goes back to sitting very still for Alfred. If Alfred asks him to, he can behave himself. For a little while, at least.
"I'll hang it above my fireplace, in my bedroom, when it's finished. I'm certain we have a lovely frame that would fit it."
"They are, I think," he agrees, going back to flicking his own gaze between the painting and the subject with a little smile fixed on his lips. It's the same as when he's sewing, or working on anything...there is a contentment there, a relaxation that comes over him.
Did he ever feel that way with the Professor?
"I would be flattered if you did. I'm...I haven't painted in a while, and I mostly used to do flowers, or trees, or...or sometimes landscapes. I'm glad it's turning out. I've been working on it for...weeks."
"Well, I love it. Especially because you've put so much hard work into it. It really does look amazing, Alfred. I'm certain Father will think so, too. I can't wait to show it to him.
Oh! Maybe some day, if the inspiration catches you, you'll paint Father as well." He knows Georg would be beyond flattered by the gesture. And likely demand a portrait of Sarah as well, but Herbert won't be the one to suggest it.
It makes Alfred feel nice, being told his work is worthy. It's with a lot of heart that he has taken the time rendering Herbert onto the canvas...for reasons he's still trying to internalize, slowly but surely.
The idea of painting the Count is...just a little more harrowing. But he does seem as though he would appreciate it, after all. "Maybe I will," he agrees, lightly, finalizing the strokes that make up his subject's painted lashes. "It's been... it's been fun, doing this."
He goes without mentioning Sarah, either. She is still a sore topic, an open wound too easy to prod.
"I can't wait to be able to see myself every day again. Though I do so love it when you help me with my hair. It feels so much nicer when you brush my hair then when I do it myself." He watches Alfred's hands as he paints, how gracefully they move. His long, talented fingers. So mesmerizing.
Alfred knows he's being watched...but he finds that he really doesn't mind, a bit to his surprise. His hands are something he's always been a little embarrassed about, if he's really honest. They're the roughest thing on him, callused and coarse from work, from whittling stakes, from cuts and scrapes he never had time to properly bandage. The least he can do is keep his nails neat.
"I like doing that," he murmurs, pursing his lips for a moment as he adjusts the colors in the painting's irises. "Something about it is really...calming, for me. I like quiet things like that, I think."
"It's very relaxing for me, too. It's very calming. The way your fingers work through the worst of the knots, before you run the brush though it as well. I absolutely adore your fingers, Alfred. They're able to do so much. So much skill, in those long lovely digits."
Oh. He blushes a little at that, stealing a little smile over towards Herbert. Does he know how Alfred feels about his hands? Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't...but he always seems to find a way to celebrate everything about him. It still flusters him.
"...I try," he says, stepping back from the easel. "And...speaking of that, I...I think I'm finally done."
It's true - it looks more like Herbert now, the nuance to the eyes corrected, a bit more highlight added to the spots moonlight tend to illuminate.
"It's exquisite!" Herbert declares, wrapping his arms around Alfred and kissing his cheek. He can't believe that's what he looks like. Or, at least, that's how Alfred sees him. Which is what really matters. That this is how Alfred sees him, and that's so important to him. To be seen well by Alfred.
"You're exquisite, and this means the world to me. I can't even put into words how much this means to me."
Glad his effort is appreciated, he leans back into Herbert, into his arms, into the kiss, breathing deep his floral perfumes. Emotions well up inside him, warm and bright, and he just...savors them. He's happy. He's happy that Herbert is happy, but he is also simply...happy, himself. It keeps surprising him, how happy he is to be here.
"I'm really glad you like it," he murmurs, wrapping his arms over Herbert's. "You...you talk a lot about me deserving nice things, but...but so do you. You've done so much for me, Herbert. So much."
"Oh -- you'll make me cry again, you silly thing," he sniffs, but doesn't sound too upset about it. It's just that he's overwhelmed with happiness, with his love for this boy in his arms, and and with the idea that he, too, deserves nice things. That despite -- everything, despite being what he is, he also deserves to be happy.
Twisting in Herbert's arms, he looks up to the older vampire, reaching up to cup his cheeks in either hand, tracing the lines of his face again, smiling.
"It's only fair, isn't it? With how often I cry?" Gentle. "And at least I won't be startled anymore, if you do. Or...or at least, I will know what it is." There is a beat when he remembers that first day, that first time waking, and all the blood on Herbert's face....
It makes sense now, where that blood had come from.
"It's sweet and sad when you cry, when I cry I make a mess." But he smiles at the gentle touches, nuzzling into Alfred's hands and enjoying his touch. "I love you so, Alfred. I know I say it a lot, but I mean it whenever I say it. I hope you realize that."
"I will, eventually, too," he counters, reassuring him gently, not letting Herbert speak poorly of himself. Shyly, he climbs on tiptoe, placing a light little kiss on the vampire's cheek, then immediately drawing back into himself with a little blush.
"I know you mean it. I do."
He's not ready to say it back, not yet, but...the outlines of the words are there, dancing in his eyes.
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"...No one? But you're...."
This is still so new, expressing himself like this. He struggles with words at the best of times, and this is...it's hard, even though it's nice. He tightens the embrace a little, wibbling a little before finally settling on a simple statement.
"I'm not going anywhere. I...I think of you as Engel, because you're...you're mine. My guardian."
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You make me feel so very important, when you say such things to me, you know. It's quite nice. I've never had anything like this before. You do wonders for me, Alfred."
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"...I feel the same way. I feel...I feel stronger. I really meant it when I said I think I'm...I'm happier here. Than ever."
He pulls back, kissing the blonde's forehead.
"I'm...glad. That I got bitten. It was worth...this."
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"Good. I'm glad you're happy. I am, too. How could I not be, with you at my side? Painting such handsome portraits of me."
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But now...now it makes him feel...safe. He leans into it, soothed by it. It feels right.
Turning, he picks up the paintbrush and paint again, smiling a crooked little smile. "...Speaking of portraits, I...should really finish the eyes."
It's hard not to get distracted, though, around Herbert.
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"I'll hang it above my fireplace, in my bedroom, when it's finished. I'm certain we have a lovely frame that would fit it."
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Did he ever feel that way with the Professor?
"I would be flattered if you did. I'm...I haven't painted in a while, and I mostly used to do flowers, or trees, or...or sometimes landscapes. I'm glad it's turning out. I've been working on it for...weeks."
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Oh! Maybe some day, if the inspiration catches you, you'll paint Father as well." He knows Georg would be beyond flattered by the gesture. And likely demand a portrait of Sarah as well, but Herbert won't be the one to suggest it.
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The idea of painting the Count is...just a little more harrowing. But he does seem as though he would appreciate it, after all. "Maybe I will," he agrees, lightly, finalizing the strokes that make up his subject's painted lashes. "It's been... it's been fun, doing this."
He goes without mentioning Sarah, either. She is still a sore topic, an open wound too easy to prod.
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"I like doing that," he murmurs, pursing his lips for a moment as he adjusts the colors in the painting's irises. "Something about it is really...calming, for me. I like quiet things like that, I think."
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"...I try," he says, stepping back from the easel. "And...speaking of that, I...I think I'm finally done."
It's true - it looks more like Herbert now, the nuance to the eyes corrected, a bit more highlight added to the spots moonlight tend to illuminate.
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"You're exquisite, and this means the world to me. I can't even put into words how much this means to me."
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"I'm really glad you like it," he murmurs, wrapping his arms over Herbert's. "You...you talk a lot about me deserving nice things, but...but so do you. You've done so much for me, Herbert. So much."
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"It's only fair, isn't it? With how often I cry?" Gentle. "And at least I won't be startled anymore, if you do. Or...or at least, I will know what it is." There is a beat when he remembers that first day, that first time waking, and all the blood on Herbert's face....
It makes sense now, where that blood had come from.
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"I know you mean it. I do."
He's not ready to say it back, not yet, but...the outlines of the words are there, dancing in his eyes.