:Saintsmourn - Valerian & Anton :

[aristopire]

Valerian Ostell's life was fairly busy all things considered.

It was filled with meetings upon meetings, midnight brunches and forays with his best friend Cassandra into the Boston social scene, the world passed by in a whirl for him; was it how he expected his life to have gone? In some situations yes, he had expected he would always go to Harvard Business School, he had always expected he would take over the family business-- that he would take a wife for appearances, and a lover to his own preferences.

What he had not expected was being turned into a vampire at the age of 26, poised forever on the edge.

So some of those things came true, others did not. They were never mutually exclusive, he supposed.

Upon the death of his mother and father, some horrific accident that had been spread throughout the papers (it did not affect him, he had not been to terribly attached to them in the first place. They were largely neglectful as he did not require constant supervision to do what he needed to do, and that was get top grades and make it so his reputation was beyond reproach. No scandal in high school and none whatsoever in college, he was without blemish-- if a bit ruthless.

Ruthlessness was not necessarily a fault when it came to being rich, it was just part of the landscape.

Being a vampire and being a rich boy seemed like a fairly good combination, he knew how to invest his money to watch it grow throughout the adges; he'd cut his teeth on the Dow Jones and had a Swiss Bank account for as long as he could remember. He approached all of his with a calm efficiency that was in keeping with his core personality. Boston was his home turf but there was a part of him that called to Saintsmourn, it was perhaps memories-- he was still human enough where there was that lingering shadow of sentimentality within him.

It did not help that he sat on the Board of Directors for the Prepratory School and University, as his father had before him-- an inherited piece of baggage; ironic due to his vampiric nature though he could walk in churches as he had never been completely catholic in nature-- only catholic insofar as much as it figured that he would turn out gay in a all boy's school.

That was an exceedingly catholic thing to do.

He did enjoy the arts, for all of his practicalities. He had season tickets to the Met, to Broadway, he usually took off for New York Fashion week to cavort with Cassandra, and he sank down money into patronizing the arts in whatever form or fashion it took. If his eyes lingered a bit to long on a certain violinist in the Broadway orchestra, he made no true indication of his preference.

But it was true that Saintsmourn had one of the best choirs in Massachusetts, and he found himself drawn to them. Even as he sat there on the balcony watching the performance, he remembered one who had sung the most enchanting of all of the choir members, who would sneak out to play his violin in the empty gardens at midnight-- perhaps that had truly instilled the love of music within him, of all things beautiful in a world dominated by numbers and analytics.

Underneath his Dior shades, his eyes were closed as if he was feeling the music. His fingers tapping against the armrest lightly-- it was a spot that was reserved specifically for him, a little pocket which was a kickback to the board of directors but which only he untilized for attending a simple choir recital. Most thought it beneath them, but he did not.

But he would never willingly admit that he took time out of his schedule; no-- he was merely in the area.

Comments

[irrecoverable]

When Anton had left Saintsmourn for university, he had never planned on coming back. It wasn't that he didn't like the place -- god knew he was pale enough that the omni-present mist and fog kept the sun from viciously attacking his complexion -- it was just that he'd never felt that much attachment to it. He thought.

He'd been accepted to Juliard, and he and his violin had never looked back. Mostly. He'd graduated and found himself gainful employment in the orchestra at first off-Broadway productions and then later Broadway itself.

Anton lived something of a charmed life. Even if he wasn't entirely aware of how or why, something in him had the tendency to draw people in, draw people to him. People wanted him to like them, wanted his attention and favor. He hadn't bought himself a drink in his entire life. It was an unfailing thing, men, women, young, old. People fell at his feet. Except one.

Valerian had been an anomaly, and that had been the first thing that made him interesting. They were in high school together, and Anton was very deliberately not entertaining any of the various suitors who wanted to date him. He had more important things to concern himself with -- mostly his music. But then there's been Valerian, and his resistance against Anton's usual magnetism. The more he'd gotten to know the other boy the more interested he became, and eventually for the first time in his life, Anton was the pursuer rather than the pursued.

It had never amounted to anything serious. Teenage hookups in the school's orchestra storage room. Heavy petting behind the gymnasium bleachers. Blow jobs -- that Anton expected had helped his overall embouchure for flute improve by leaps and bounds -- in the back of the library.

And then they'd parted ways, amicably enough, with Anton pretending that he hadn't caught feelings for Valerian Ostell. It was fine. They both had dreams to pursue. Maybe every now and again he wondered if some of the anonymous flowers and gifts might be... but no, surely not.

And now he was back in Saintsmourn. The Saintsmourn orchestra was very well known in the area, remarkably talented and renowned for being outside the bounds of Boston-proper. The invitation to audition for, and the offer of becoming first chair violin was intriguing. He could not, and did not, pass it up.

He also did not pass up the opportunity to appear as a guest soloist with the choir as a welcome home. Though he considered himself more of a violinist than anything else, music flowed through him, and his singing voice was a clear, rich tenor.

"Ladies and gentlemen, for our final piece of the night, we're honored to welcome back an alumnus of Saintsmourn high school, recently returning from his time in New York playing for Broadway productions -- our guest soloist, Anton Stiendl."

He stepped out onto the stage, smiling beatifically as his eyes swept the audience. He took his position at the microphone and let the music wash over him. It was towards the end of the song when his gaze was suddenly caught, drawn like gravity catching a comet as it passed too close to a planet, his eyes fixing on that familiar figure in the private box in the first balcony.

[aristopire]

He had known this.

Of course he had known this, that Anton would be there-- that he had been invited to play, it was after all a coupe for someone returning from the world to grace his home stage with presence. He leaned forward ever so slightly as his eyes riveted on the figure on the stage, the first strains of the voice which had been familiar to him.

Leaning against the armrest as he watched with those intense eyes through his sunglasses. It was a darkened church but he could see clearly, he knew every single line of the other man-- perhaps he had memorized it nearly intimately. The gaze was edged sharp like glass, like the height of his cheekbones that could likely cause someone to bleed-- he'd always been angular but he knew how to work with it.. now.

Valerian did not look away from the stage or the man singing, rather he listened with his gloved knuckles pressed against his mouth, though there was that air of considering and even a little bit of calculation. The entire auditorium was silent as the music swelled and ebbed like the rushing tide and it lapped around him until he was standing there and the only one who existed in this world was Anton down below.

Could Anton feel the way that the other man looked to him? It had been years but it was there, that strange magnetism that had guided the two of them together, but both playing it off as if it was not something that had been integral-- and oh, Val had been fascinated but never star-struck like all the others.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but only a fraction.

[irrecoverable]

Valerian Ostell. No mistaking who he was looking at, even if stage and the lights set up to illuminate the choir made it a challenge to focus on anything too closely. Anton was certain he'd recognize the aura of the other man anywhere, as if something in Valerian insisted on calling to him.

By the time the music finished, the slow fade out of the final note, Anton's thoughts were almost entirely on the other man. He still dropped a graceful, demure bow and made his exit. His mind raced. He couldn't just try to go find him. No, that would be too direct and not really either of their styles.

No, there was a game to be played here, a dance with choreography that they both instinctively knew even as it was made up as they went along. So, Anton instead chose a marginally subtle approach.

Valerian would find himself approached by a teenager who'd been given a note and twenty dollars. The twenty dollars went into his pocket, and the note was delivered to Valerian. Perhaps the penmanship would be familiar to him. Hopefully it would, since Anton hadn't bothered to sign it. It read simply, and to the point. 'Meet me in the sacristy? For old time's sake?'

[aristopire]

The demure bow may have fooled the rest of the people into thinking that the musician on stage was pious, but it did not fool Valerian, even as he had lifted his own hands to clap alongside everyone else. He had memorized the peacocks ways and habits when they had been schoolboys at Saintsmourn Prep-- the way that he had been the brightest and most flamboyant flame to have danced throughout the halls.

Perhaps Anton had thought he had done the pursuing, but there had been calculation in Valerian back then.

It was no mistake that he had picked the spot in the library that was the furthest away from where people normally studied, perhaps it may have been coincidental that Valerian had been wandering by during secluded practices.

The vampire flicked the note open and read it, it was familiar. He tucked away into the inside pocket of his jacket and then he sat there and he waited through the rest of the choir recital, clapping along with everyone else quite politely and then when everyone started to filter out of the auditorium and toward the foyer of the cathedral, that is when he wound his way down the stairs and as quietly as possible, toward the back and yes, where the rooms where located that the Priests could prepare for the service.

He strolled, his movements were languid and unhurried.

And perhaps he could hear the beating of a single heart in the cathedral, and it seemed to rise above all the rest that came at him from a distance; it fluttered like a dancing butterfly- he wondered if it was like that because of anticipation? It was not something that he had been able to hear when they had been students at school, and yet now-- it was a nuance to this game.

[irrecoverable]

It was not a mass, so there was no one -- and need for anyone to be -- in the sacristy. That was the one thing about the Catholic church; the institution and everyone in its loved their rules and rituals, and rules and rituals had times and places. This meant that the little room full of the various vestments and accoutrements of the clergy was a perfect place, currently, for an impromptu tryst.

Anton took his time once he'd left the stage. He'd made the usual polite thank yous and small talk to the behind the scenes organizers before making his excuses that he ought to get going. He surreptitiously snagged a flower -- a white rose -- from the floral display set by the door, twirling it between his fingers as he wandered, casual as anything. When no one was looking, he slipped himself into the sacristy to wait.

That was about when his impulse control failed and his blasphemous side got the better of him.

By the time Valerian showed up, he would find Anton waiting, perched on the marble table against the far wall of the room. He'd stripped out of the black and white ensemble he'd worn for his performance, setting the clothes (neatly folded) out of the way. At the moment he was dressed only in the chasuble that he'd borrowed from the closet, having chose a fairly elaborate white and gold one from the various options (all specific to one holy day or liturgical calendar week). The way he sat, legs crossed, the soft material artfully draped and pooled, leaving his legs bare and on display straight up to his thighs. He tucked the stolen rose behind his ear, and he waited.

Like this was nothing. A fun reunion of an old spark that never had the chance to turn into the flame he'd wanted it to be. But oh his heart was fluttering, fast and full of anticipation.

[aristopire]

There was no sound past the inner chambers, and the cathedral was never locked-- who knew the wayward souls that would need saving at 9pm; the opulance of the catholic church as it endeavored to save as many souls as possible. A shame that the soul that slipped into the sacristy could never be saved.

The door opened and then a figure stepped in, no knock of warning before the door was shut firmly behind him, the crisp scent of ocean and redwood that surrounded him-- fragrances that possessed very little warmth, but regardless you never forgot them.

And then Val turned and stood there-- clad in tailored clothing, branded by Gucci likely-- a suit jacket and a waistcoat underneath, followed by slim fitting trousers. Over his arm he held a greatcoat for those slightly colder Saintmourn nights. No matter though that his eyes took in Anton slowly and carefully, like he was drinking him in from the curve of the ankle to the way that the thigh slipped underneath the vestments, the other man always could make a sin look like something holy.

"You have not lost your flare for the dramatic, I see." And then Val slowly reached up to remove his sunglasses, folding them in a very precise one-handed movement and then tucking them into his inner jacket pocket. Those grey eyes were as sharp and as unyielding as they ever were, perhaps even sharper and filled with depths of mists. "You are radiant as ever, Anton."

Teasing the other man with small talk, this had been a part of the game.

[irrecoverable]

"I have a degree in it now," Anton responded, flashing Valerian a smile, a coy tilt of his head. Seeing the other man up close, after all this time, he took his time to look him over as well, eyes lingering quite deliberately. Valerian looked flawless, and Anton hummed softly in approval.

"And look at you, still sharp as a blade ready to draw blood." It was, truly, an excellent look on the other man. It always had been. But the small talk, the dance, was thrilling even as it was entirely frustrating.

He held out a hand, long elegant fingers reaching towards him before he turned his hand over and crooked a finger to beckon him closer. "It was such a delightful surprise to see you in the audience. I hadn't expected the choir to be your taste."

[aristopire]

There was a part of Valerian that enjoyed frustrating the other man, though he did walk over at the crook of fingertips but not before he paused just as he got to that wrist and wrapped his fingers around it, and then very lightly ran his fingertips right over the pulse which he could feel thrumming there. "Perhaps a bit of nostalgia?"

Or perhaps he knew Anton was going to be there, though he did not give his secrets away that easily.

He graced Anton with a Mona Lisa smirk and then drew only a little bit closer so that he could touch his lips ever so gently at the pulse there, the first touch in what seemed like forever and yet? It was different-- there was a sensuality about it that burned against the lightly blue veins; a worldliness that had been missing from Valerian that was now edged quite clearly replaced the biting, acerbic and slightly mean Valerian.

Still mean though, but also magnetic too-- perhaps even moreso?

"Did you come to Saintsmourn alone?" valid question, though that probably would not have stopped either of them. There had been a few evenings where Anton had skipped out on dates to make out with him, that would not be a deterrent in the slightest.

Never had.

[irrecoverable]

That was a new trick, that sensuality -- and it was intensely effective. No doubt Valerian would be able to tell, the way the pulse beneath his fingertips quickened at the touch, and even more when those lips brushed there. The sensual, urbane move wasn't the only thing new at all. Those lips were surprisingly cool, like the kiss of frost against a windowpane, and he half expected to see ice blossoming in fractals across his already snow-white skin.

Oh. Oh he had missed him.

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, the chasuble slipping off one slender shoulder with the movement. Anton made no move to fix this. "Would that change the program for this little rendezvous?" That wasn't really an answer, and a moment later Anton relented. "I'm all on my own. Well, aside from my cat. Nicco is the one constant in my life."

[aristopire]

"Did it ever?"

He answered, just as coy. The whispering ghost of a smile as it flittered against those sharp lips before he surveyed the curve of the shoulder, the milky paleness. It did much for his ego to know that Anton had brushed someone off for him, did even more so for his ego now that the other man would continue to do so. But he was not unaffected whatsoever, and so he very carefully cheated his way in between those thighs, one hand sliding just underneath a knee then while he lightly thumbed the delicate skin there.

"How long has it been?"

Casually, as if it had not been years upon years where he'd only seen and not truly touched. Part of him knew that it had been inevitable that one day this beautifully vibrant man would find him-- or maybe this time he had decided it was time to be found? His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip while he considered Anton, considered committing all sorts of blasphemous things in this room, he could almost scent out the blood rising through Anton's body.

Arousal.

Oh fuck, he was hungry and Anton was here with that flush of warmth tinging his skin, and he was tempted. Sorely tempted to make a feast of the other man's body. What he did not know was that Anton's blood would likely be like candy to him, the sweetest of siren's blood-- but he would not know that until he took a draught of it. Fingertip against a chin to tilt Anton's head up so that he could look into those velvet eyes. "Should I take confession against your prick, Father Stiendl? Mouth all my darkest sins against your flesh?"

Oh yes, Val had changed.

[irrecoverable]

Anton's only answer to that question was to smile, bright and utterly shameless. No, it never did. It never would, not when it was Valerian. Who wouldn't he brush aside in favor of running to the other man, even after all these years. He shifted his thighs apart to allow Valerian in closer, quite near purring at even the first beginnings of touch.

He hummed softly, looking up through half-lowered lashes before he tilted his chin at the coaxing of that fingertip, deceptively pliant. "Too long," he purred before reaching out to hook his fingers into Valerian's waistcoat and tugging him closer. Arousal was right. The violinist was incredibly turned on by everything about the man in front of him.

His head fell back with a laugh. "Darling, confession implies you want to repent. And I don't think you have that in you." He shifted his leg enough to wrap around Val, sliding down the back of his thigh to the back of his knee where he hooked his ankle, hoping to start that knee bending for Valerian. "But you you should absolutely try. Tell me all your deepest, darkest sins. I'll think up a suitable penance."

[aristopire]

"You are right, I am quite married to my sins." he murmured, could feel the purr as well as the warmth of body pressed to his own; he was rock hard underneath his fine trousers and he very carefully, indolently slowly started to rock his hips right where the beautiful man would feel it-- though he was slender, there was nothing soft about him whatsoever-- edged and honed.

He leaned in and pressed his mouth to a delicious jawline, there was a slight chill to his breath while he nipped. Not with teeth, but with his lips, playing a very light and aching tune with his mouth against needy skin.

The Valerian had only the seed of ruination within him, but now with time it had grown fully-fledged into utter destruction, and this time he was going to allow for Anton to taste of what he was now. His fingers pushed Anton back against the marble table, palm flat against chest, then he worked his gloved fingertips just underneath the fabric and pushed it upward so that he could see legs and inner thigh, and yes, the curve of that cock.

"We shall have the remedy this." this was spoken with authority even as he ran the back of his fingers right against flesh, fine italian leather-- likely droplets of precome were going to stain them, but he was not worried in the slightest about his own garments. "But not before I tease you a bit, you are still used to getting everything you want, I take it?"

[irrecoverable]

Anton was far too pleased at feeling the press of the other man's cock against him, knowing that Valerian desired him. It was as good as any drug he'd ever tried, a far more thrilling high than he'd ever felt before. He let his eyes fall shut, thick dark lashes landing against pale cheeks as he -- with utter indolence -- savored the cool feeling of those lips at his jaw.

His blade edge of a man had grown up in the very best way, and Anton was ecstatic to discover it. He resisted that push for the briefest moment, just to let Valerian knew that he wasn't that easy, but he yielded to the pressure and settled back on the cold marble of the table.

A soft, musical whimper of sound at the feeling of those gloved fingers touching against his prick -- which was indeed going to stain that sinfully soft leather with his precome given how excited he was by this little tryst. He pursed his lips into a pout at that statement. "Not everything."

"But yes, generally. Most people aren't as mean as you are." He was very used to getting what he wanted. And this moment right here was something that he had been wanting for longer than he would ever admit out loud.

[aristopire]

His sweet precious kitten of a man-- then one who he had thought of constantly though he would not let him know that; better to have him think that he was enjoying him because he had given himself up like the offering bowl passed around in church and with Anton needing a tithe; he would give him a suitable tithe alright.

"It woould be remiss if I did not give ten percent to the church, Father." And then he knelt down on the floor and slid his gloved hands back down so that he could spread them.

Cool kisses rained down against a knee, deliberately teasing Anton with darts of his tongue against flesh, sliding upward with clear and methodical intent, perhaps he allowed the slight scratch of teeth but only a little bit-- religion and blood did go hand in hand after all. Once again gloved hand wrapped around dick but then his opened mouth was at the base and he was memorizing each ridge with his hungry tongue, sliding and pressing-- feeling the blood as it cascaded within confines that separated it from Val's satiation.

"Brat..." he said before he ran his tongue all the way up shaft and then cool tongue lapped at the juices held within the cockslit.

[irrecoverable]

They were both keeping secrets then, about how much they wanted this, and wanted each other in particular. Matching secret agendas that led to this familiar but somehow new and thrilling dance between them.

"Only ten percent? Mm... with your sins, you may need to try harder." Yes, brat was right wasn't it? But despite the deliberate provocation in his words, physically Anton was melting for him, and had no defense against any of it. God he'd missed Valerian. He'd also never expected to be quite so turned on by the feel of good Italian leather, but here he was, learning new things about himself.

He sighed, a low, trembling and frankly luxuriating sound as that mouth went exploring. As that tongue dragged up his length, he reached a hand down to slip into Valerian's hair, his own lips pursing into a pout. "Me? Never..." Always. Always always a brat.

[aristopire]

It was something that Anton would have to grow used to, luxury. Though Valerian would not commit to anything just yet, after all this was for old times sake, right? But Valerian was calculated, he wanted to slip into the other man's blood stream-- it would invariably work both ways however and he had no idea of the addiction that would pose on his tongue.

"Like this?" and the he gave Anton more than 10 percent of his mouth, engulfing the head and then even deeper still while his tongue slid the underside-- his teeth scraped slightly though already from that scrape his saliva lathed lightly, and the waves of bliss would get in through the cut made and spread a sense of euphoria.

It was how vampires preyed easily on their marks without drawing too much attention.

The droplets touched his tongue however and a sharp sizzle of pleasure ran through him, a low deep moan that reverberated around prick, as if he was close to coming undone with the taste of it-- and then he felt Anton's fingers burrowed within his locks of thick auburn and he forced more of that prick down his throat.

His free hand shifting to ease Anton's leg over his shoulder while he took deep methodical sucks, working tongue and throat in tandem.

[irrecoverable]

Oh luxury and Anton would be fast friends without a doubt. Right now Valerian's mouth felt like the height of luxury as it enveloped his cock. He was not ready for the sudden rush of ecstasy that rolled over him. This was not the first time he'd had his dick sucked. Hell, this wasn't even the first time (far from it) he'd had his dick sucked by Valerian. But this was something different, something new.

Anton's head was spinning, even as his fingers tightened into Valerian's hair, holding on for dear, sweet life. Something in him was singing with the pleasure of it, his prick throbbing at the attention.

"Oh.. god..!" Now he was praying. Of course it would take an act of complete sacrilege to finally inspire a moment of worship in him. It was not aimed at any god though, except this sharp-edged man currently taking him apart with his mouth.

[aristopire]

For the both of them, there was no helping this nor was there any stopping it.

It felt even better than the nostalgia that propelled this forward, far better than previous times they had sneaked in here to fool around, Valerian had been quite focused on his studies but he remembered those eyes seeking his out-- and the unspoken invitation to meet here after Anton's choir practice. It had been hurried and with the childlike thrill and worries of being caught-- now, that was the furthest thing from his mind.

If they were caught, well then they were caught.

He would ruin his gloves, but that too was the least of his concerns-- especially when his mouth rose back up and he released cock, but his leather-sheathed fingers held strong as they pumped the beautiful man spread out before him, his mouth finding that sweet vein between cock and balls, testing it lightly as he found that he needed to taste him.

Teeth scrapped in tandem with his fingers stroking and then as saliva lathed over the sensitive spot, he lightly bit down on it, just a prick, just enough to coax a very light drizzle into his mouth. It sparkled like snow on his mouth, flavored with whatever drug that Anton had always possessed-- it had been in the blood and now it blossomed and sang just as sweetly as Anton's prayers.

[irrecoverable]

Anton was entirely lost in the pleasure right now, lips parting around a moan that may have been intended to be words, but dissolved into nothing but sound, trembling and needing. But he couldn't find the focus try to play coy with his reactions to Valerian's touch, not when he felt like he was being consumed by the other man.

Fucking hell. Valerian Ostell was a menace, a threat to his entire existence, and Anton had never wanted anything or anyone more.

His back arches into that hand, another moan on his lips. "You are... going to be the end of me." And oh what an end it would be. Anton would embrace it fully. "Valerian..." It was a plea disguised as a demand.

[aristopire]

This was exactly the sort of reaction he was hoping for, though he had once upon a time feared that Anton would grow bored of him-- he did not have that same fear now, not when he wore his confidence like a mantle around him. The words spoke to collaborate with that, the very fact that he was a menace? Well he would add it like a beautifully crafted cloak pin to his mantle.

He knew what Anton was begging for-- his cock.

And honestly? The vampire was not inclined to give it at this time-- no, if he gave it-- there would be nothing for Anton to work for and he could not have that. So he redoubled his efforts, lapping against the blood like candy while his fingers worked the other man over and over, it made such a filthy noise there in the silken quietude of sacristy, coupled with the gasping moans from his musician.

But Valerian was getting something, that hummingly sweet trickle of blood that was unlike anything he had ever had before, he would dream of it in his own death sleep, dream of the taste and richness of it as it waltzed over his tongue, he quickened his past while he murmured, his voice hissing out like near cutting glass shards. "Come for me? For old times sake?"

[irrecoverable]

That was what he was begging for, thank you. Anton was not used to being disappointed, so he'd undoubtedly take this personally. Valerian would have his work cut out for him. But at this point in time he was oblivious to it, caught up only in the building pleasure of those fingers working over his arousal.

The marble was cool against his back and the other man's lips cool against such a sensitive area, and Anton meanwhile felt unbearably hot, like the entirety of his body was on fire. He groaned softly at those words, shaking his head. "Mm... no... not before you're.. ah..."

Well for all his fussing, Anton didn't really have much choice. He was teetering on the edge, and brat though he was, there was some part of him deep down and buried that wanted to be a good boy, but only for Valerian. Another secret that could not be told, except for where it could be read between the lines as he arched halfway off the marble table as he came, making a mess of those nice leather gloves.

[aristopire]

Which is why perhaps Valerian was the perfect one to tame this brat, though when it came down to it he did not truly want to change him-- perhaps only make him squirm a little bit. As he spoke, he could feel the seed lava down his fine italian leather and then dripping down, which his mouth caught. Oh gods, just a taste and it was heaven enough that he lapped at it nearly greedy for it. Was he purring because of the taste? Of course he was, though he had not precisely gotten what he had desired, he had gotten a little bit.

He wanted to build a frustrated fire in the other man, one that he was hoping would be quenched by him.

Perhaps it was ego that was spurring this on; but these two men were driven by ego-- both wanting to be the world to the other but not knowing healthy ways in which to express this. No, edging would do just fine in lieu of more mature communication methods.

Pulling back, he divested himself of his gloves and threw them down onto the ground before he pressed a very light kiss against the navel, just against the thin line of hair which cast shadow over cock-- and his tongue once again lapped at his lower lip much like a cat did when having consumed cream.

[irrecoverable]

Anton nearly melted atop that marble table, boneless and breathless in his release, panting softly. He shivered at the continued touch, looking at Anton with lust-hazed dark eyes. He reached a hand down to run through Valerian's hair as that kiss fell at his navel.

But his own lips pursed into a pout. "That wasn't playing fair, Valerian." The way the other man had spun him up and propelled him over the sheer-faced cliff of his orgasm. Clearly though, Val had learned to do utterly, sinfully exquisite things with his mouth and his hands.

[aristopire]

A chuckle as he rose up from his knees to look down at Anton, those piercing grey eyes denoting a glimmer of wry amusement, a teasing touch against a thigh which he had touched so intimately. "I have not played fair in years, Anton Stiendl." and then downward tickled fingertips. "It was quite lovely catching up, we should do this again."

He was about ready to do something that was going to incite Anton to anger. Even as he slipped his cellphone out of his pocket and then dialed the familiar number and pressed it to his ear. There was a bit of a ring before he said quite calmly. "Marquerite, will you have the driver bring the car around to the front of the Cathedral and also call my next meeting with the investor in Bulgaria and tell them that I will be late."

[irrecoverable]

Anton sat up, eyes narrowing at him. He started to open his mouth to say something snarky back to him, something about catching up and what that ought to mean. All his words paused when he saw Valerian pull out his phone.

The flush it sent through Anton was a mix of anger and hurt and embarrassment. That was how it was, was it? Anton had deigned to squeeze in the time for a rushed handjob in his apparently very busy schedule, and was eager to move on from it. Fine. That was fine.

He picked up his clothes, still dressed in nothing but the priest's robs -- which suddenly felt ridiculous, what had he even been thinking? -- and move to leave, pausing briefly to glance back at him.

"I wouldn't hold your breath. Sorry for inconveniencing your schedule." With that he slipped out of the sacristy, not quite sure where he was going to change before he got caught walking around in church vestments, but fuck it he'd figure it out. He just needed to make an exit.

What an idiot to think that that something special that Valerian had been to him would have been a mutual thing. So stupid. His ego was wounded, and he was not used to that sort of hurt at all. It didn't feel good. He didn't like it. Maybe this was an important lesson to have learned.