: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]

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.

[aristopire]

Looks like a certain Priest is gonna be without their vestments for a while, likely until they were found wadded up in the woods or something.

As it stood, Valerian watched Anton leave, the door slamming behind him with a force that only made him flinch a little bit for the fact that he had not precisely expected that. But he did by all rights deserve that huffing and scathing commentary on his schedule-- this was unfortunately the way of it with Valerian in that he lacked emotional acuity when it came to how to deal with someone that he did still adore.

Quite a bit, in fact. He was used to dealing with people that he did not like, or blood bunnies that he was only using for a quick bite to eat, and not Anton Stiendl who still featured rather fondly in his memories before the world shifted to the blackest of nights. He walked out into the night though a scan and he could not see which way that Anton had gone and so he headed toward the car that was pulling out. He would offer up an apology of sorts in the only way that he knew how to.

Through gifts. Would it be sufficient?

Likely and probably not but this would be good for Valerian, a lesson would be learned as well.

Once he arrived back home, he finished up business that could've waited and then the night after that he went to a jewelers and picked out a red lapel necklace, a rosary cross encrusted with rubies. This was not the normal gifts that he sent out to people, he usually just told Marguerite to send something 'suitable' and then let her pick it out. This one was handpicked by him and accompanied in a black velvet box which would be delivered to Anton's residence.

Enclosed with the black velvet box was his business card with his cellphone number. Of which only five people had access to in total. On the back was written, ~Still thinking of the sacrament I took against you -Valerian~

[irrecoverable]

Anton had sulked and nursed his wounded ego for a few days and nights before deciding that this sad pining after someone was not going to be his fate. Or so he told himself anyway. And okay yes, maybe he still couldn't get Valerian out of his mind, but he could pretend that he could. Maybe if he pretended long enough he'd start to believe it too. That was how this worked, right?

When the gift had been delivered, well, he hadn't expected that. Somehow though it only made it all feel worse. He'd -- in a very adult reaction -- screamed and thrown the jewel-crusted brooch hard enough against the mirror to shatter the glass. Seven years bad luck. That figured.

After composing himself, he shoved the cross back into the box (with perhaps a few shards of shattered mirror that may or may not have some of his blood on them from when he'd scooped up the mess without worrying about the sharp broken glass) and shipped it and the business card straight back to sender (maybe he added the number to his phone, shut up, he put it under "stupid mistake" in his contact list) with an added note that read, 'I'm not in the business of dwelling on disappointments.'

And just to prove how totally not obsessing over Valerian he was, he started making dates, accepting the advances from men that he'd normally have waved off without any particular interest. Maybe he just needed to feel wanted. If he couldn't have the man he wanted -- and needed, though he'd never admit that -- he'd at least have someone to properly treat him like the prize he thought he ought to be.

[aristopire]

The black velvet box came back to him, shards of bloodied broken glass and all.

He set the case on his vanity table and stared at it for a long time. It had been there resting when he'd arisen for the evening, and so now he was pondering his next steps. The card lay there where it could glimmer at him with a reminder of his hubris. He had no way of knowing if his number had been added to Anton's phone, he assumed that it hadn't with the way that it winked at him-- some of the honey-blood biting into the fine cream of parchment.

His tempestuous and tumultuous Anton who was like waves crashing on rocks. Always passionate and always as vibrant as a sunflare-- he knew that he was going to need to tread carefully and yet with enough assurance that there could be no doubt. He knew how to pull strings and so he had to do so very carefully.

This came in the form of a pair of Opera Tickets, balcony seating for La Boheme. Reportedly, the tickets had been a gift from a Patron and had only now found their way to Anton? A pair of tickets, not one. Meant for him and a date if he so choose-- certainly Valerian would never send him a pair of tickets to go with someone not him, right? Absolutely could not be from Valerian.

[irrecoverable]

In retrospect, once it came clear, Anton would realize that he should have known that the opera tickets were a trojan horse from Valerian. But hindsight was effortlessly clear in a way any sort of precognition never could be. And Anton was an absolute sucker for opera. A gift from an anonymous patron was enough of an explanation.

He didn't question it. He did find a date -- one of the more musically cultured beaus that he'd been distracting himself with. He dressed up for it, of course, because that was what one did for the opera. If he was going to be seen in public, he wanted to look impeccable.

So he arrived at the opera on the arm of the handsome distraction that he'd invited, actually looking forward to the distraction from his own thoughts for the evening. He'd been far too much in his head (and his poor, neglected heart) since that reunion with Valerian. As he took his seat, which was an excellent seat just delightful, he was looking eager for the show to start.

[aristopire]

It was patentedly something that Valerian would do and he honestly did not think that Anton would up and leave if he saw him attending the Opera, though Val did not plan on taking a date-- Cass had offered to attend with him however he had assured her that this was something he needed to do alone.

He was very careful not to run into Anton in the foyer, in fact Valerian preferred not to do any real socializing when was at the Opera unless he was there with Cass-- otherwise he legitimately came not to be seen but because he did enjoy the music, and that was all Anton's fault that he did so.

So it was a few moments after curtain'a rise, once the lights had dimmed in the palatial house, that he took his seat in his own personal box, dressed in a very streamlined yet polished outfit-- with his hair pulled back, he cheated to the side chair so that he could see the stage, did not directly look at the box across from him for the first thirty minutes.

This too was calculated, it was only after a while that his eyes started to stray toward the box across from his own, almost as if having his attention drawn to it for the first time.

[irrecoverable]

Anton did not notice him at first. He was far too interested in the opera itself, losing himself in the swell of the music and the pageantry. He knew La Boheme by heart, of course, lyrically, musically, in both song and score. The emotion of it rolled over him, and he was quite ready to disappear entirely into the experience.

And then, across the way, directly in line of sight, he saw Valerian Ostell. His stomach dropped in a cold and unpleasant way. For just a moment he let himself wonder if Valerian was here alone before mentally chiding himself for even caring. Why did the other man have to matter so fucking much? It wasn't fair.

His date seemed to notice his agitation, and fussed over him gently, to which Anton managed a distracted smile and leaned close to murmur. "I suddenly feel I've lost my taste for this performance. Let's go make our own music somewhere private, mm?" So he could stop thinking about Valerian, so he could stop feeling the emptiness that longing left in him and hating himself for it more than he could bring himself to hate the object of said longing. Infuriating. He brushed his lips against the handsome arm candy (whose name he thought was Martin but might be Mark)'s cheek by his ear where he whispered something that was apparently salacious and wicked enough to have poor Martin-or-Mark's face flushing red and brought the man straight to his feet.

It was the middle of the first act, and while he was pissed that Valerian had managed to ruin opera for him now, he took his date's arm, draping against him like an adoring lover and leading him from their seats and out into the hallway. Anton pointedly did not look in Anton's direction, and even more pointedly tried to pretend that he didn't care if the object of his loathing and yearning noticed his departure. He didn't even know where he was headed, just away. Hooking up in a men's room wasn't beneath him, exactly, but it certainly wouldn't be his finest moment. Oh well, at least it was a classy restroom.

[aristopire]

A lesser man would have taken this as a very pointed rejection; people like Mark (or Martin, or whoever) would've backed down almost immediately. This was not how people like Valerian Ostell operated, he had not risen to where he was through the power of complacency-- neither in Saintsmourn where he had graduated as Class Valedictorian or in Harvard where he had pulled comparable honours.

He had a feeling of where Anton was headed and so he edged quietly out of his own box and down the stairs, the gilded bathrooms on the lower floor would be monitored but the second floor bathrooms? Not so much-- so he move to cut them off at the pass if needed.

He was not afraid to he blunt or forceful either, the human that was accompanying Anton-- he had a fairly accurate read on him, a nice enough guy but likely with a spine of jello or marshmallow. Would be easy to walk all over, and invariably bore Anton to tears in the process.

This was not unlike the good catholic boys of Saintsmourn who had been discarded with nary a moment's notice, he has seen them come and go so he would deal with it as it came up, if it came up.

Prepare for impact because there was a Valerian striding purposely toward Anton and his date, ready to cause a scene. And Valerian would not be thrown out, he'd invested too much money where that was simply not an option-- they would likely block off this area.

"We need to talk." Valerian said right out the gate, looking Anton straight in the eyes as he did so, then he directed an offhanded comment at Anton's pet algae but only for a fraction of a second, as if he could not be bothered to expend too much effort on him. "And you, leave us."

[irrecoverable]

Oh Anton was absolutely bored with Mark-tin, but he had a point to prove. To Valerian, but more so to himself, didn't he? If he was convincing enough, he could make himself believe that this was fine and he wasn't spending every waking hour out with one handsome man or another wishing they were one very specific man, sharp-featured and sharper-edged. God maybe he did have a streak of masochism in him, after all. And maybe he was too hopelessly gone where Valerian was concerned.

It seemed more and more likely, especially the way he could feel his heart leap violently against his ribcage as if trying to break its way free the moment he laid eyes on Valerian walking towards them with that single-minded, laserbeam focus. He mentally scrambled to remind himself that he was mad at Valerian and his feelings were hurt and he totally deserved better. But it was hard with the other man standing in front of him, knowing now that Valerian had been the source of those seats, that he'd set up this encounter. That he was here, standing in front of him. Maybe some part of him preened at that attention, at the fact that Val hadn't just given up despite the fact that Anton had been extremely pointed and bitchy in his attempts to be dismissive.

He swallowed around the surprising tightness in his throat. The man at his side started to open his mouth to protest, though the confused stammering came first. Anton hesitated a long moment before slowly and deliberately unwinding himself from his date. "Go watch the show, Martin. You really shouldn't miss Quando me'n vo."

'It's Mark...'

"Of course it is, Mark darling. Now shoo. I doubt I'll be long. Mr. Ostell has an extremely busy schedule."

His own attention was already fixed back on Valerian, as if daring him to say something, do something that would say otherwise. Mark, entirely confused and so out of his league he couldn't even imagine, headed off the way they'd come.

[aristopire]

Did Anton not even realized that this was the first time that Valerian had actually given chase? He'd let him go those times in Saintsmourn, had watched him dance away from him as if their little encounters had not meant much of anything but perhaps a deeper part of him knew that his butterfly always returned. Until he did not, until he had not.

But there had been reminders, in the forms of bouquets of flowers. A low-level stalking that had not stopped even when the night had embraced him. It likely made his Sire angry to know that he was not the center of Valerian's world-- but that was besides the point, really. He barely flicked a glance toward the Service Dog as he padded back in the direction of the carefully curated theatre box.

No, that gaze met those deep chestnut brown eyes that flashed sparks like heat in his general direction, could feel the fire that was almost visceral against his cooler than average skin; although he fed perhaps because he had anticipated passions getting the better of himself-- was easier to keep a handle on his hunger if he was being honest with himself.

A few steps closer, until he was infiltrating Anton's space-- he reached out and he hooked his fingertips against a lapel and then with a gesture that was entirely forceful, he pulled Anton to him. But he did not kiss him, just got his lips in nearly painfully close. They were in kissing distance, but he poised with anticipation a hairsbreadth away and those grey eyes were nearly luminous within the solar system of intensity glimmering in the dim-light of the hallway. "I have sent you flowers every Friday evening for years upon years, and have attended opening night for each performance you play in."

Leaning in then to whisper against a jawline. "Tell me to unhand you, but you have to say it like you mean it.. then I will let you go back to content yourself with the mediocrity of whatever his name is."

[irrecoverable]

Anton had no idea that he was witnessing a first. He only knew that Valerian was the first man that he'd bothered pursuing rather than simply waiting for them to inevitably come his way once they caught his interest. He'd played coy in their high school days too, as if it was meaningless fancy, attraction that was simple enough to be sated by clandestine trysts. It wasn't. It never had been, and that had never been clearer than it was after their reunion in the church. Meaningless and simple did not spin a mind into wounded obsession and sleepless nights, but that had been his life since that moment.

Anton met Valerian's gaze as if he weren't a trembling mess of hope and desire inside, as if the way the other man pulled him close didn't make his knees weak. He was a brat, yes, and something in him needed that firm, controlling hand. Brown eyes widened, pupils subsuming the chestnut until it was nothing but an umbral ring around the eclipse that Valerian had set in motion. Each new word that fell from the vampire's very distracting lips felt like some priceless treasure dropped at his feet. Those flowers -- and god knew he'd come to expect them like clockwork, enjoyed the beauty of them -- had been Valerian? He'd come to hear him perform even in New York? It soothed that hurt from the sacristy, from hearing Valerian make that phonecall as if his time with a cheap, unremarkable whore had unfortunately run a little too long. It made him think that maybe he meant something to the other man after all. What a dangerous, exciting thought.

He let his head cant to the side ever so slightly as those lips brushed his jaw and spoke those thrilling words. His heart was racing, the start of a smile tugging at his lips -- the first genuine form of that expression that had graced his features in days. He lifted a hand, his fingers warm against the chill of Valerian's skin as he brushed them down that sharp jawline, turning his own head so that his lips grazed the other man's in a whisper of a touch as he murmured, still smiling, "Unhand me." And then he surged up to kiss the other man properly.

[aristopire]

There were never dates, there were just assignations in shadowy corners and secluded rooms.

Every year he had pondered a room switch so that him and Anton could dorm together, but the thing that stopped him was the jealousy he would have felt if he had to see Anton going off to meet with someone else. But he knew that he was the best now, he knew that there would never be anyone better than him, and that confidence propelled him forward.

"Not convincing at all." he purred against that mouth even as his arm wrapped around Anton's waist and he locked their bodies tightly together while his mouth plundered Anton's own, tasting fire and spite on that mouth, like whiskey cinnamon; open mouthed deep kisses that he would make sure that Anton could feel throughout his entire body.

Oh, his hands were not going to keep to themselves, he was roaming his palms all along back, slipping underneath jacket; to hell with anyone who came by at this time, could they not see that they were busy with other matters. "I will.. take you to see La Boheme in Italy if you wish." he knew how Anton adored music and there was a deep seated part of him that wanted to make the other man happy, to delight him.

"Until then, we can go back to my box and draw the curtain; thus allow the music to move us in other ways."

[irrecoverable]

"No? Shall I try it again? Once more with feeling?" He teased, but there was laughter in his voice because no it had not been very convincing. They very last thing he wanted was to be unhanded. Quite the opposite, actually. He was very interested in what Valerian's hands were doing, and wanted them to continue, wanted more of them, and it seemed like he would be allowed that. He'd been deprived, clearly, and now he was thoroughly ravenous for the other man. Anton had no care at all if anyone came upon them while Valerian was feeling him up in the corridor. They could deal with it and the inevitable jealousy that it would spawn. He had Valerian's attention now, and he did not plan on sharing. A quiet hum at the mention of La Boheme in Italy. "Mmhmm. La Scalla will do nicely." It was his turn to brush his lips against Anton's jaw, then below, down along his neck, nibbling at the cool, pale skin just above his collar. "And I want my present back." ...it had been a gorgeous brooch, Valerian. But his desire to lash out defensively and be petty had been stronger than his desire for the pretty shiny thing. "Is that wise? I'm not a quiet man when I'm moved. Do you think the arias will drown us out?" The way his eyes sparkled in wicked delight as he leaned back enough to seek out that gray gaze, he was clearly game for finding out. "Show me your box, Valerian. And I'll show you mine."

[aristopire]

A soft chuckle against those lips, he had forgotten what it felt like to laugh. He was not the laughing sort, but with Anton perhaps it came a little bit easier. If he had a pulse, it likely would've quickened at the touch of mouth against his neck, but that was not to say that there was not keen interest in what Anton was doing and how he wanted him to keep doing it.

"Your voice is lovely and everyone should be lucky to hear you, no doubt they will think they have been graced by a heavenly choir." that was Valerian's insistence that Anton not make himself small for anyone, not even the people in this opera house. He pulled away only as far as it would take to lead Anton back toward his own box.

"Come with me minx, I will give you that pendant back and anything else you desire-- all you need do is name it." he was rich, he could give Anton whatever he wanted. In fact if at this moment Anton demanded a car, he'd have one bought and delivered by the time the Opera was over. But for now, just a necklace broach, that felt like something small and inconsequential, easily granted as far as wishes went.

Once near the door, into the box-- at the hidden alcove-- he lightly pushed Anton up against the door while his mouth fell upon his once again, with one hand he reached for the rope toward the edge to pull the curtain decidedly closed. As much as he would not mind proving himself the alpha in this situation to Martin, there were other times to indulge in a bit of highly prolific cavorting.

He was not shy, and he knew that Anton was not either.

[irrecoverable]

Anton couldn't help the impulse to nip at Valerian's lips at the sound of that laughter, like he wanted to bite it and swallow it down until it was a part of himself. The relief was strangely overwhelming. Did he really care this much about what one single man thought about him? Clearly he very much did, when that man was Valerian Ostell. How the hell had it come to this? A laugh of his own as Val basically encouraged him to throw any caution about the volume of their upcoming activities straight into the wind. This was more than fine with him.

He let himself be led, even if it perhaps was not without difficulty the way that he couldn't stop his hands from roaming, from touching, refusing to break contact with Valerian for even a moment. "Just the pendant. And Italy. And you. The last is entirely non-negotiable." Valerian was the real treasure here, and Anton was fully aware of it. That said he would not complain about being spoiled with fancy, expensive, pretty things. Why would he?

A soft gasp as he was shoved up against the door, but he melted eagerly into the kiss and into the vampire. Honestly he'd forgotten that Mark or whoever existed entirely. Out of sight and so far out of mind when the man in front of him was all that he could possibly think about. It was true neither of them were shy, and if Valerian wanted to prove a point sometime with a deliberate public display, Anton would not be the one to object. In fact he'd encourage it. That was what he wanted, to be possessively and loudly desired, in a way that left no room for doubt in anyone who saw that this lethally sharp blade of a man was his. For now though, he contented himself with reaching up to hook his fingers at the nape of Val's neck and pull him closer, as if there was any space left to close between them.