: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

[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.

[aristopire]

The urge to all but devour Anton was hard to ignore, so as his mouth opened against his Anton's, every sharp part of himself could be felt, the teeth scrapping against tongue, the way that he could taste Anton-- and some unnamed part that was not Anton. Oh, he kissed deeper to wipe away all previous kisses, to wipe away all remanants but his lover.

Dim light surrounded them though the music still rose up as if the curtains could not block the folds of it-- he was pushing aside Anton's jacket, was slipping his hand into shirt that was not quite buttoned up.

A soft growl against mouth, something primal while he slipped his hand underneath thigh, against knee and lifted it to encase his hip.

Deliberately, he ground into Anton so that the other man could feel his stiff hard length underneath dress slacks, could feel how much he was unapologetically wanted. "Nothing could keep me away from you tonight, you have every single moment of my time Kitten." He said in between searing heat of his kisses.

Unlike most box seats, this one had a rather comfortable couch so when they did fuck, Anton would find himself pressed into comfortably plush squabs of a red velvet sofa. And Valerian fully intended on fucking Anton until he forgot anything and everything about himself.

[irrecoverable]

Now, of course Anton did not know that Valerian was a vampire, but that probably wouldn't change even a single shred of the fact that he would all too happily be devoured by the other man. He was all too happy to hook his leg over that hip, drawing Valerian closer that way too, anything to feel Val against him, the evidence of that desire as good as a drug.

He heard himself moan softly to Valerian's mouth as their hips ground together, his own prick hard and aching and eagerly needing that pressure, that friction. It took longer than it should have for those words to register, but they did and he couldn't help the smile even in the middle of those molten hot kisses.

"Good. I'm still very mad at you," he lied with a purr in his voice, entirely weak to Valerian and the touches and pet names and promises. His fingers found their way to the buttons to that no doubt designer shirt, working them undone with a deft nimbleness that came with being a musician who made his living with his hands in a very literal sense.

[aristopire]

"If you are still angry at me, then I expect to feel the force of it when we fuck." he murmured, feeling the way that Anton unbuttoned his shirt, leaving his skin quite vulnerable to teeth and claws; the clothing slid to the ground; he was not too entirely worried about the rumpled state of his clothing especially if Anton made a mess of him to begin with. His shoulder-length hair, the hair that could never decide whether it was gold, red, ginger, or brown was already touseling itself unspeakably in response to Anton's ministrations.

Valerian unpinned Anton from the wall but only long enough so that he could manipulate him onto the couch, pushing him back before he took a knee on the couch between where his lover was sprawled. One arm draped over the back, looking as if he was about ready to pounce on his beautiful one.

"You are such a brat... and I am going to systematically take you apart over and over again." he growled in direct response to the purr that lingered in that sexy musicians voice. "And enjoy every single moment of it."

[irrecoverable]

Anton's fingers went exploring as soon as those buttons were seen to, running along skin, along a body that looked like it had been carved by some master hand out of pure alabaster. There was a chill to it that surprised him, but he was only determined to see what he could do to warm Valerian up. "You're so cold, darling. ...physically. I mean, emotionally too, but that's part of your charm, especially when you start to heat up for me..."

He wasn't entirely certain of how he wound up on the couch, but he certainly wasn't complaining in the least, not with Valerian looming above him, looking like he was quite ready to go in for the kill. Anton smiled a smile that had melted hearts on more than one occasion at being called a brat. Well, he wouldn't deny it at least. Instead he lay back into the couch, back arching, arms stretched above his head.

"I'm trying to decide if that's a threat or a promise."

Either way, he liked it. Anton shifted enough that he could stretch one leg up to rest against Valerian's shoulder. He was very flexible, always keeping up with his yoga for that exact reason.

[aristopire]

"I think you are the only one who could warm me up." He murmured, and it was true; he'd had his share of lovers but they all chased what they could get from him, and he gave them a gift for their troubles and then he promptly discarded them-- they had never been Anton, could never ascend the pedestal that he placed the other man on. A throne of gold and rubies, that was his Anton-- though it was also nice the view of Anton sprawled out like this.

Curls riotous on burgundy velvet, those cheekbones and warm sparkling eyes lined with eyeliner.

Fuck, this did not feel fair whatsoever-- considering the awareness he loved Anton more than Anton loved him. Perhaps he did not mind too much though when Anton looked at him like that, like he was something worth spending time with.

Leaning forward to clasp a wrist with his slender fingers, the other reaching between them to massage and knead the outline of prick underneath Anton's trousers-- he was purposely teasing but this time they both knew there would be no sudden stopping, that Anton would find himself fucked like he'd wanted previously.

"You can consider it both, Kitten."

[irrecoverable]

"Good. I never really liked sharing." Anton wanted Valerian to be his, and no one else's. He didn't want there to be any other string of lovers, no matter how disposable they might be. There was a rapacity for him that was possessive and hungry, and he was quite certain he'd burn something down if he couldn't truly have him.

Was Valerian really certain that Anton didn't love him in an all-consuming way? Because Anton rather felt the same, that he was fortunate to have this much of the other man's attention, that he had gone and lost his heart to Valerian, and he'd have to live with the consequences of losing his heart when he'd not been gifted one in return. But it was Valerian. It would be worth the inevitable heartbreak, wouldn't it?

A testing twist of his wrist as those fingers wrapped around it, and he let his head fall back with an impressively musical moan as Val kneaded at his cock, hard and aching already and only growing more so with that attention.

"But I do like it when you call me Kitten..." If anyone else had tried it he'd have likely thrown a fit or put a stop to it immediately. Valerian, as always, as the exception. Because Anton would happily be Valerian's kitten, would arch and purr for him, might occasionally scratch deep enough to draw blood. For now though his claws were retracted, and he was being a very pliant, well-behaved kitty.

His hands slipped down between them, down to find and begin working open the fastenings to Val's trousers, his fingers accidentally grazing the bulge still trapped within that fabric.

[aristopire]

How did Anton do that? Manage to pluck the exact notes out of the aria being sung and harmonize with it to a level that was nearly unprecedented; likely the entire audience was going to leave enchanted thinking that they had attended the best performance in years when really it would be Anton's voice rising and twining with the sound of the prima soprano, linking magic through the music like it was DNA that could be manipulated.

Valerian was caught irregardless, had always been breathless every time that the other man had opened his mouth to sing either on a stage, or sexually like this.

He leaned down then and another searing kiss, teeth lightly scrapping lower lip only hard enough to tease out the faintest hint of copper which his tongue lapped out, he wanted to taste that moan in his mouth.

And all the while Anton was freeing his cock, hard marble that was starting to dribble precome, there was hints of blush to the near inconclastic length as he had fed before coming here-- it was why Valerian was a little bit warmer than he had been at the sacristy. He postively ached for the other man and it showed.

"You are trying to ruin me, Pet." he murmured as he played his next move which happened to be releasing Anton's own prick from it's confines with the hand that had been stroking.

[irrecoverable]

Maybe the single most dangerous thing about Anton Stiendl was the fact that he was entirely unaware of what he was and what he could do. Oh he knew that music was in his blood, could always feel the way something deep in him stirred when caught in the midst of a melody. He knew that he had the tendency to be able to charm nearly everyone he met, or well, at least everyone who heard him play or sing. To a lesser (but still very noticeable degree) anyone that he spoke to. Somewhere along the line, the knowledge of his heritage, of the legacy of the siren creature that had decided to fall in love with one of their victims rather than drown them, had faded from family memory. The power, it seemed, had not -- though it had lain mostly dormant for generations before flaring to life in Anton. Thankfully he felt no compulsion to drown or eat people, so that was good.

Well, okay, maybe he wanted to consume on particular person but only in the extremely carnal way that one could imagine. That was fine, wasn't it? He needed Valerian like he might die if he didn't have him, all of him. He noticed the sharp scrape of those teeth, but only murmured his approval. He finished his short battle against the other man's pants and, without a single iota of hesitation, slipped his hand inside to draw him free, to wrap his fingers around him properly. He let his hand roam, fingers tracing the shape of that hard, no doubt aching cock. He very much wanted to make that ache worse before he made it better. It was only fair. So it was perhaps too light, too teasing a touch to offer much in the way of satisfaction just yet.

"I am, darling. Is it working?" He sounded entirely too smug. This would all likely backfire immediately on him given that when Valerian's hand found his own arousal, it stole the breath from his lungs entirely.

[aristopire]

Think of it as keeping Anton's powers in check, the touch of Val's fingers as he skidded lightly against ridged flesh-- the taut throb of it as it begged and wept prettily against his fingertips, and it was dripping, could feel it. But also? He knew Anton and how he adored to tease and tempt but how it was a different case when the tables turned.

Val was quite sure he could have Anton begging just as prettily-- he was unaware that perhaps he was the only man that could have him in such a state.

"Maybe a little bit.." Val allowed himself that answer as he worked his fingertip around that cockhead-- thankfully he had dispensed with his evening gloves so there was the mercy of his hands. It was easy for Anton to control the situation in other cases, but not with Val-- he would give into the other man when he felt like it and not a moment before. "Do you understand how much it turns me on for you to lay here underneath me while across from us your little Service Dog is completely unaware that I am going to fuck you raw?"

Was it precisely fair that Val's words were whispering against an earlobe, lightly nibbling while his hand tightened softly around the root, guiding his palm upward. "No one will ever be able to fuck you like I do... and I am going to prove it."

And that confidence was a decidedly new addition to Valerian-- perhaps it was the power of his postion or perhaps it was more supernatural reasoning behind it.

[irrecoverable]

Look. Yes, he fully embraced his hypocrisy of being a horrible tease and sulking when he didn't get his way immediately. Though it was very hard to sulk right now when Valerian's teasing was undoing him piece by piece like the other man knew the exact way to drive him as crazy as possible. Or Anton was simply weak to him, in a way that he'd never felt for anyone else.

His hand tightened reflexively around Valerian's prick, a more substantial touch, when the vampire spoke those words, a firmer more deliberate stroke. Fuck but he'd forgotten about Mar-whoever's existence entirely. He heard himself moan, the sound resolving into a quiet whimper. No, no one would ever be able to fuck him like Valerian. He was certain of that already, and fuck the confidence was incredibly sexy.

"Fuck me then, Darling... show me who I belong to. Ruin me for anyone else."

He wasn't asking too much, was he? He just wanted everything that Val had to give.

[aristopire]

Very deliberately Valerian shifted to unhand Anton's wrists for now, enough so that he could reach down and hook his fingers in Anton's trousers, and then pull them down and then up, a delightful thrill at how the other man undulated for him. Then it was cast ceremoniously to the side where it would fall into a heap right next to his own jacket, and then his eyes surveyed the other man with a raise of his brow. "Still not a fan of underwear, I take it."

There was that hitch of his breath even as his gaze followed the trail that led to the nest surrounding Anton's cock, neatly trimmed of course. His eyes were hungry for each angle as if he had been denied for far too long.

There was always that blood hunger for Val but at this moment it twined into something far more carnal. This led him to pushing those legs back, putting his weight against one thigh while his finger moved to Anton's lips. "Suck..."

This was a command, even as his forefinger tapped lightly.

[irrecoverable]

"Mm-mm it just slows me down." Now granted, the underwear he did have was all silks and lace and satin and sluttier than it had any reason to be. He'd introduce Valerian to it sometime, but tonight? Nothing in the way of those eyes or that touch now that his pants were tossed in the direction of the fuck away.

And oh the way that Valerian looked at him was as good as any touch he'd ever felt, to have the other man's attention fixed so fully on him, to see the hunger in that gaze. Of course he didn't know that there was certainly a literal hunger as well as a carnal one, not that it would matter if he did know it. So long as Valerian was looking at him.

He found himself bent near in half, a low moan trembling its way out of him again even as he parted his lips oh so obediently to first let his tongue flick and drag along that finger to guide it past his lips, doing exactly as he was told and sucking at that digit, dark chestnuts eyes fixed on Valerian.

[aristopire]

For a single moment, Anton got the boon of seeing exactly how Valerian was being affected by it, it was the darkening of those grey eyes while he watched tongue dart out to lathe, to suck and still looking at him with challenge beneath those seduction-lidded eyes; his own mouth parted to let out a hissing breath; the obedience was there but there was also a 'come-hither' look, permission to fall into that spell. He swallowed rather visibly and then he sank another finger into that mouth.

Saliva danced across his digits.

And then he leaned in and removed his fingers but only to replace that mouth-- so he could drown in that warm wet heat of lips, diving with tongue and senses while his hands slipped between them and trailing a path between legs, cupping balls for a moment and giving them a squeeze before his fingertips started to play with Anton's hole.

It was just as hungry as he remembered; he had kept it to himself but he had been fascinated by all of Anton and by the fact that Anton allowed him to touch; though he tried not to lose his head over it and he had succeeded for the most part. He was still fascinated, but this time he was going to take freely as well as rise to the challenge. "You have no right being this gorgeous." he murmured against that mouth as he started to stretch Anton out, massaging walls with the first finger.

[irrecoverable]

Always a challenge, because Anton knew that Valerian would rise to it, would surpass it. That had always been true about the other man, that Valerian was not one to back down, was not one to leave anything half-done. It was one of the things that had drawn him in, one of the parts of Valerian that he admired, that he wanted.

Honestly though, he wanted all of him. Maybe that was too much to ask, but Anton had never been shy about his wants and needs and going after them. ...when they weren't just falling at his feet anyway. That did happen. A lot.

He sucked and licked at the fingers in his mouth as if they were something much more phallic, murmuring a wordless, pleased sound as those fingers drew free and began probing at his hole. Anton let his head fall back to welcome that kiss, all invitation and eagerness for more. His next moan as Valerian began working him open was lost to the other man's mouth. His body yielded to the other as if it had been waiting for this moment, waiting for Valerian in particular. Lifting his hands, he let his fingers slip into Val's hair, gripping at thick, soft strands.

A laugh bubbled past his lips. "And what about you? The audacity of being this sexy. It's offensive, Valerie."

[aristopire]

Valerian never thought that he would feel like a schoolboy again, he honestly imagined that he had put that part of his entire life and world behind but when Anton had laughed out the nickname that he'd given him.. Valerie. It did ridiculous things to his unaliving and unpumping heart-- perhaps it was like an unfurling of emotions that centered right there at it's integral core.

He'd never been fond of the nickname 'Val' and the only one who he tolerated calling him was Cassandra, but she never called him this name. That was because it was something so inherently sacred and only for Anton.

The kiss that Anton recieved in response was encompassing, even as he worked in deeper and harder, far more rougher then perhaps he should've been; and that was because he knew that Anton did not need to be treated like something fragile, but also because this man.. belonged with him, at his side.

Stealing that breath from Anton's mouth, allowing the other man to come up from air as he angled for that spot deep inside, angled until he found it-- until he touched it without mercy, pressing his mouth then against an earlobe to murmur. "You are the only one who can call me that, you realize-- my Angel."

The laughter was just as intoxicating as the moans, and so he shifted so that he could put his hips behind the pistoning of his fingertips, to see if he could combine the two in some sort of biological science experiment. He could never tell this beautiful wonder of a man that he was in love with him because he did not want to get his broken, but he could bask in his glow and in his song, could make him come and make him laugh.