: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]

Another cry, louder than before, louder than intended really, but Anton had lost any conscious awareness of where he was and who may here, and fuck it, it didn't matter anyway. The only thing that mattered was Valerian, was the pleasure that the other man was giving him with each touch and taste and each word that fell from those beautiful lips. His back arched again as Valerian buried himself inside him, as if the force of it nearly had him levitating from the couch.

He could feel the pleasure building, an insistent pressure that seemed to blossom brighter and more vibrantly with each roll of Valerian's hips to his ass, of each plunge of his cock inside.

"Would...will you let me, my Valerie?" Because he wanted to, to consume him, to possess him, and oh to belong to him completely.

[aristopire]

Valerian's own knowledge of Anton was that he usually did not care what other people thought, but he was so enticingly charming about it that people usually allowed him to do exactly what he wanted. Oh the Priests that would've fallen if but a crook of Anton's fingers, so many hearts broken and so many lives destroyed because everyone would've died for but a crumb of attention from this man.

Each curve of that back upward off the couch sent Valerian still even deeper into the other man, nearly rending him in two with the impact. He could feel each spasm, each way that the other man begged for him deeper.

Valerian could go no further and yet there was that desire to try.

"You are consuming me right now, my Angel.." he whispered, leaning in. He released the wrists so that he could slip his hand underneath Anton's neck, fingers curling in hair and then he bit lightly at the lower lip, scraping his teeth. The hunger was starting to rear it's head, and the throb of Anton around him, the heart that was pumping all the more fast with the exertions of their bodies. "Can you not feel how I ache for you? How this is not close nor deep enough for me?" open mouthed against Anton's lips.

"A mutual devouring.... that is what I want."

[irrecoverable]

Once his wrists were freed, Anton immediately moved to touch Valerian, hands running up the other man's chest, greedily splaying over skin, up and around to wrap his arms around him, holding and clinging to him as if the rest of the world was shattering around them. Let it shatter for all Anton cared. All he needed was Valerian.

He gasped, breathless and overwhelmed but fully swept up in what Valerian was saying, in those perfect, thrilling words. He felt the scrape of those teeth, purred his approval of it, of all of this. Sex had always been fun, an enjoyable distraction, pleasurable and a decent way to pass the time. That wasn't how it was with Valerian though, instead if felt like he lost some piece of himself to the other man with each encounter -- but he gained something too, irrevocably changed by each moment spent entwined with one another.

"It's what I want too. I crave you, Valerian. I want... I want all of you, every piece, every inch. I want you to be mine." He curled his nails against Val's back, dragging them down skin, scratching though not quite hard enough to draw blood. "All mine." No one else's. "And I want to be yours."

[aristopire]

This was not how functional, well-adjusted people expressed themselves but for both Valerian and Anton, this was how they said they loved each other, through nails and teeth-- it was a violent sharp thing that they felt, nearly cannibalistic in nature, as if they could devour and consume the very essence of each other.

Those words made him understand that he had to try, and as his fingers curled in those curls of dark, he did with his hips pumping and waging a further war against that pleasurable spot lodged deep within. He shifted to open hid mouth against that neck-pulse, murmuring against it with the vibrations of his words.

"I hunger for you, and I will never truly be satisfied by anyone but you." The depths of his obsession knew no bounds, he realized this and he was prepared to sink into it. "I have seen you with so many useless people and wanted it to be myself." He scrapped his teeth against Anton as he rocked into him with no mercy whatsoever, launching such an assault.

"Are you going to come for me, Pet?" His fingers tightened in those locks of hair and he pulled back lightly to bare that neck even further.

[irrecoverable]

They matched in their dysfunction, at least, their sharp and jagged broken edges aligning perfectly with one another, spilled blood and all. Anton was almost mindless at the moment, each thrust shaking his thoughts loose and making certain that the only thing he could hold in his mind for more than an instant was Valerian and how desperately he needed him.

His own obsession was deep as well and enduring, and he wanted to burrow his way inside Valerian and live there. Hearing Val tell him those things, that he'd been watched and noticed, that Valerian wanted to be with him. "None of them were you... and I wanted them to be you. Every one, every time."

As if he could possibly hold back any longer when Valerian asked that question. "I..." His voice broke as his hair was tightened, as his head fell back at the pressure and he bared his throat to the man he did not know was quite literally a creature of the night, a predator. Even if he knew, it wouldn't have changed a thing. He came then, hard, with a cry, his voice breaking on an attempt at his name.

[aristopire]

It did much for his ego that Anton came on such command for him, but he thought in a state almost near mindless that it was probably the fingers in the hair; he could sense that Anton craved such treatment-- a manhandling like this. And he did so, his mouth opening against the flutter of pulse at neck and then after his tongue dragged against flesh, he bit down into supple flesh, and then he tasted the other man and ecstasy infused him.

Mind blown with pleasure, he came hard and fast right into that tight clenching hole and the creamy splash of crimson was that catalyst, and he drank of that honeyed blood. Oh he'd had but a hint of it in the sacristy but this taste was full-bodied and sweet, a sweet singing hum as it waltzed across his senses.

He moaned before he willed his teeth to slip from their neck-cozy, so that he could lap out that which flowed as if it could be enough, and he sucked hard and in such a way that there would be a mark there that was noticeable to anyone who caught sight of him out and about. He continued his slow thrusting though, feeling the seed splash against his own stomach, making sure that his lover was spent and satiated.

A soft purr then as he pressed a kiss against the spot that he had worked, tasting cinnamon spiced copper; a smile against skin as he remembered those words that had brought about his own orgasm, alongside the river of blood-- that none of them could be him. "None of them were you, no one could ever be you-- your soul is a music that mine own craves. Do you know how many times I have come here to be alone, and to listen to the music and think of you?"

He settles down atop Anton like a warm blanket and he is warm with the spiced blood running through him-- extra heat and perhaps that was the siren's blood within Anton that does that, he does not know but it is.

[irrecoverable]

Anton would be a good and obedient pet (sometimes) for one person and one person only, and that person was fucking the life out of him, pinning him to the couch while he lost himself in the rush of his orgasm. He was so caught up in the wash of pleasure that he hardly noticed when those teeth at his neck pierced skin. He did, however, notice the sudden added flood of ecstasy as he was fed from. He had no idea where it came from, and he didn't care.

He clung more tightly to Valerian, fingernails digging into that alabaster skin. He gasped for breath, vision gone into nothing but a field of stars that weren't truly there, his own personal universe expanding and contracting as he felt Valerian fill him with his seed. And then oh the weight of the other man atop him was perfect, grounding and warm and exactly what ne needed.

His hands relaxed their grip, moving in a soothing gesture. He turned to nuzzle his way against Valerian's jaw, leaving a kiss there. "How many times, Valerie? Tell me..."

[aristopire]

"Thousands..."

He murmured softly as he was also experiencing his own high from the pleasure that drifted through him, singing through the hallow caverns of his veins and painting life there where normally it was empty. He felt full for once, and quite happy to drift into the lull of post-feeding, his fingers stroking lightly through Anton's curls before he twirled a particularly rebellious one right around his fingertips.

He shifted so that he was only halfway on top of the other man, one leg thrown against the other, and at a spot where he could burrow his face against the skin of neck to inhale the scent of their mingled sex. He never took lovers to the Opera or to the Theatre, as if that could mar his thoughts of music and how they were tied inexplicably with Anton, with his musical voice and the violin playing.

It would've felt like a travesty, a blasphemy.

"Though I have never counted the times, they have been numerous-- My Angel..."

[irrecoverable]

"Too many..." Anton murmured, voice soft and almost dreamlike. God it felt like a dream, like he was floating unbound from gravity. It was only Valerian keeping him here on the earth at all, and that was reason enough to stay bound to the ground. He shut his eyes, humming softly. "Think of me and be with me."

No more nights alone at the opera. They could make their own music, sweeter and more melodious than any opera composer could truly hope to capture on sheet music. "I have had a taste of you again and I am not inclined to give it up again. Regret doesn't suit me. I don't like it."

And he had too much regret on things that could have been with Valerian, and they have distilled down into something potent and strong and intoxicatingly dangerous. "Don't be my regret."

[aristopire]

Regrets, they were numerous for him as well. If he had been perhaps even a modicum of confident as he was now, perhaps he never would've stood by and let the other man wander off, even though what he had felt had been powerful and all-encompassing. Something that a teenaged boy perhaps was not so equip to face about himself. Withdrawing his hand, instead he picked up Anton's and then pulled it to him so that he could brush his now warm lips against thrumming pulse.

"Have dinner with me tomorrow evening?"

They had never been on a date before, it had never been a 'dating' thing between them. It had been torrid moments in cramped spaces and tight corners, in secret little vestibules; it had coloured every single part of their interactions. But perhaps he could properly woo the other man, properly spoil him as he deserved to be spoiled. (because that was an excellent idea to spoil brats, you know-- make them worse)

"I will take you to the most classy restaurant on offer in Boston, where you can be seen to your hearts content.. on my arm." he hoped that would be enticement enough, he would call up Marguerite and have her make reservations though there was usually no need. No matter where he went, there was no waiting-- he would be taken straight away to the best table in the house.

[irrecoverable]

He'd very much enjoy being spoiled and made worse, yes. That sounded like a perfect plan to him.

But Valerian was right. The pull between them had been too strong from the start, too big and too consuming for the children they had been. Maybe that was why it had never been something they dared make more than stolen trysts and clandestine lust, always a rush that made Anton feel more alive than he had known was possible.

They were older now, grown men who'd been out to the world and only just now had their orbits finally aligned them once again. Maybe they were ready, braver or just unable to fight that obsessive magnetism anymore. Anton didn't want to fight it. Even so, there was clearly surprise in his eyes at that invitation. An actual date?

His fingertips trembled at the kiss against his wrist, before they brushed along Valerian's cheek, back through his hair. "I won't share you, you know." It was a quiet warning perhaps, that Valerian ought to be aware that if he were going to let Anton believe he was his, he wouldn't give up an inch of him to anyone.

[aristopire]

Valerian could not fight the magnetism between them but also he knew what he himself was. He felt no shame in what he had turned into, what was created from him-- he barely felt any guilt for the death of his parents, maybe if he had a better relationship with them but honestly he had been shoved into boarding schools all his life so he had never known them same for their distant expectations that he rose to meet.

But if he was to be Anton's, he should know-- give him a choice. He pulled away leaving a coolness in his wake, perhaps it was distance to give Anton a chance to run if need be.

"Then you deserve the truth." He settled there on the other end of the couch then-- enough space for the two of them to think clearly, but also if Anton choose not to run, to stay then he would be able to come back to him. "Because you should not say things like that without knowing exactly what you are getting into, yes?"

Oh this could be many things, even the "I am married" talk that the rich was so fond of giving to dalliances. But if he were to take Anton like this, the man should know him at his worst, at his most hungry and starving self-- should be able to make that decision with alll the cards on the table.

Fear would have kept his mouth shut from the truth but also likely the same guided his hands to make sure that Anton was aware.

[irrecoverable]

Valerian moved away from him, and Anton's lips pursed immediately into a pout. Still, pouting or not, he did let the other man draw back without trying to stop him, even if he immediately missed the weight and warmth (sort of warmth) of his lover against him.

He moved to sit up, naked and frankly a mess with his own spend splashed across his skin and Valerian's quite likely leaking from him; this couch would likely need to be cleaned, but he wasn't thinking about that right now. Instead he was trying to figure out what knowing exactly what you are getting into would mean? There was no secret spouse. Anton was certain of that. He'd kept an eye on Valerian and his career and all of it as much as he could over the years. Certainly he would have noticed if Valerian Ostell were married.

So what was this? "Then tell me, Valerie, what am I getting into?"

[aristopire]

Did Anton understand how beautiful, how inherently alive he himself looked?

And in comparison to Valerian who was pale, far more pale then he had been previously when they had attended Saintsmourn. He watched Anton carefully, could see the wheels turning in that head of his. "You do not need my permission to leave, with what I will tell you. I will still give you the trip to Italy and the pretty jewelry regardless." he did not say 'You can take someone else if you wish'.. that was rather implied in between the lines.

"I am what some would call a monster." he made a gesture with his hands, spreading them apart. "I do not consider it a insult so to speak, and most people do not notice-- I have come to understand that the more wealthy and powerful people are, there is a certain level at which they overlook eccentricities-- in fact it's rather to be expected."

He leaned forward then, clasping his hands together. "Do you remember anything about the news when my parents died? It had happened while I was on break from college, we were coming back from a holiday party when my father had to stop at his business office to grab some paperwork. When they died, I was on the brink of death, but for some reason I was spared, I was spared and..." he leaned forward then and with a very gentle touch, he pressed his fingertip against Anton's neck.

Perhaps a touch would bring the soreness to life?

He then pulled back. "Well, surely you have noticed how cold I am? Or perhaps when kissing me, my overly long incisors?"

[irrecoverable]

His brow furrowed further. Look, yes, he liked presents and pretty things, liked being spoiled. A lot. But the promises of those things still being his if he... left? Why would he leave? For all the fancy trips and pretty baubles, he wanted Valerian more than any of that.

Still he kept quiet as the other man spoke. A monster? What did that mean?

Anton did remember the article about Valerian's family's deaths, remembered seeing the news and nearly having to pick his heart up from the floor before he found that Valerian was still alive, that the wicked, sharp and shining light of his muse still existed in the world. He went still when that gentle (chill) touch touched at his neck, drew attention to the faint bruised feeling there. No, more than bruised. Anton's eyes widened, looking at Valerian as he lifted his fingers to replace that touch at his neck as Val withdrew, feeling over the faint lingering marks there.

Fang marks. Cold, pale skin. A monster. A vampire. That was impossible. It should be impossible. But Anton was perhaps primed to believe in the world beyond the ordinary, maybe by some piece of his blood that was not quite human itself. He forced himself to breathe, his heart hammering away in his chest.

"You... drank my blood?" It seemed to easier question to ask than actually saying the v-word just yet.

[aristopire]

A sharpness that lent itself well to what Valerian was.

Perhaps his Sire had recognized that within him, that sharpness that had been wasted in the mortal realm. But the other man had gotten someone who had slipped into what he was with surprising ease, and with very little guilt; though he was far more discriminate when it had come to who he drank from. He placed his hand back in his own lap and gave a very slight incline of his head.

"Both times, yes."

He continued however. "I did not approach you to drink your blood, that was not my goal. I wanted to be near you, and I had spent years upon years watching you from afar. When your eyes met mine, I knew that it was impossible to resist the draw of you, and so when you sent me the invitation to meet you in the sacristy, I did not hesitate." he allowed himself a shrug. "I do not tell you this to gain pity, this is not a sob story and I am not unhappy with what I am. The only inconvenience is the fact that I have hard bedtime that I must adhere to, and when I wake up I must feed."

[irrecoverable]

Both times. Well, that certainly spoke to the vampire's subtlety and skill, now didn't it? He hadn't noticed at all, not anything but the frankly exquisite ecstasy that Valerian had visited upon him. And here was his Valerie confessing again to watching him over the years, to having wanted him all this time.

Anton was an emotional creature, reactive and temperamental at the best of times. Perhaps someone else would have taken the time to consider this rationally, that perhaps quite literally inviting a vampire inside him might have been a dangerous and ill-advised thing to do. Perhaps someone else would've questioned the danger to their life.

The only even remotely rational consideration that bubbled up through the tumult of his emotions as he processed this was that he'd rather die in his muse's arms -- and at his hands, he supposed -- than be kept from them.

He moved then, closer, pushing Valerian back against the couch so that he could settle himself in his lap, winding his arms around the vampire's shoulders. "Do I taste good?"

[aristopire]

Valerian was pushed back against the squabs of the couch in a manner that not unwelcome, perhaps part of him had expected that this would be exactly the reaction. But he had to tell Anton the truth, especially if they were going to jet set to Italy in close quarters; his personal plane was equipped to shutter out the sunlight to his own personal quarters and there were two doors (steel) between the cockpit and his own lounging area-- so that the sun would not disturb him.

He reached up to cup that sharp cheek, lightly grazing his thumb against the skin. "You do, you have the sweetest blood out of any that I have tasted." he held that gaze with much seriousness. "If I did not care so much about keeping your alive for my own personal pleasure, I would be tempted to drain you dry."

No apologies for that admittance, at all.

[irrecoverable]

Anton, who apparently did not actually have a shred of self-preservation in the entirety of his being, laughed delighted at that particular confession. "You say the sweetest thing, Valerie. Bloody murder has never sounded so romantic."

He leaned into that light touch at his cheek, chestnut brown eyes never leaving those pale, almost colorless gray ones that held his gaze.

"You may be a monster, but you are also my muse. I wonder if you knew that." Well, now it was out there, spoken as another plain truth. "And I would rather die at your hands than live without you. So there's not much help for it I guess."

[aristopire]

His Anton was positively insane, but Valerian thought it rather adorable in a manner that perhaps any well-thought Vampire would think perhaps would not work in their favor; but Valerian had always adored Anton and it would take some life shattering events that no one could control to prove him otherwise. He lifted that hand once again, turning the wrist and then brushing his lips against the pulse that beat fire against his mouth.

It was both an act that asserted dominance, but also it was something surgingly protective as well.

How easy it would be for Valerian to kill Anton, and yet he would not-- refused to do so, and the softness of his lips against wrist spoke to that. "Am I your muse, Angel? I do not consider myself particularly muse-shaped." he could not see himself inspiring anything, but perhaps that was just his own opinion of himself. Cold, hard and ruthless. "I am just selfish enough to take it however."

"Then we are still on for Italy?" he would show Anton all of his favorite places, Vienna in the evening, the Coliseum framed by the moonlight and the Sistine Chapel in the quietude a few hours before dawn.

[irrecoverable]

Oh no, yeah. Valerian had it right. There was a deep fissure in Anton's psyche that was entirely too catastrophic to match up to any diagnoses the DSM-V could provide. The gentlest assessment was artist, and it was not an uncommon affliction among those who were more likely to bleed oil paint or music notes or frantically typed pages rather than blood. It was the sort of fracture that would be spoken of as genius in low and lamenting tones, usually when discussing the untimely death of the afflicted and the body of works they'd left behind.

Anton's lips turned upwards at that gentle kiss against his wrist, sure that Valerian would feel the little thrill that his pulse gave, a stutter and a quickening. He did not miss that dual meaning, of dominance and claiming but also of something deeper and stalwart.

"You are and have been. ...which is why, I think, my well has run dry these past few years. I've only found myself wandering the measures and movements of others rather than penning my own since... ah well, since I funneled an entire youth full of unfulfilled desire in a sonata." He brushed a fingertip along the vampire's sharp jawline, down to catch under his chin, tilting it up ever so slightly if allowed. "I'm finding myself inspired again."

He couldn't help another laugh at the mention of Italy. "We are, yes, though I'll temper my expectations about lying on a beach in the sun, mm? And we'll make the best of the Italian nightlife."

[aristopire]

His beautiful genius, his entirely mad Anton.

He nuzzled that wrist, with both lips and nose before the other man took it away. He was fine with that as well, perfectly content to lay here back against the couch while Anton commandeered his lap for his own purposes, then his head was tilted up and he could not keep back the slightest shiver that went through him at the touch, the mention of 'unfulfilled desire' and the very pointed look that Anton gave him.

This man was allowed to do whatever it was he pleased, especially when Valerian was absolutely taken by glorious surprise by the movements, the acceptance. "You may still lay on the beach in the sun, however I regrettably will not be able to attend the sight of you glistening with oil." which, to be fair, he'd probably be a little bit pissy about all told, half naked and where he could not reach? Oh that set a low knife through his chest.

"Though, the beaches are quite lovely in the Mediterranean during the evenings.. I'm told."

He probably would not get in the water, but he could lounge around on a beach chair and make the most of it. "Also, a sonata? Something of an original creation of yours that I have not heard? I would love to hear it."

[irrecoverable]

"Oh that's fine. I'll make sure that Antonio and Giovanni take lots of pictures of our sunny beach time for you." Because he was, at his heart, a brat, he could quite resist the teasing little remark about imaginary hot Italian men who apparently would be running his seaside photoshoot and probably fanning him and feeding him fancy Italian pastries. It wasn't an unpleasant image, though Anton (pale as he was, though not quite Valerian-the-actual-vampire pale) was not exactly one for lounging in the sun all that much anyway.

Leaning in he stole a deliberately soft, lazy kiss from Valerian's lips, a happy little hum accompanying the gesture. Anton was clearly pleased with himself at the moment, or maybe just relieved this big confession of truth that the other man had made didn't involve telling him they couldn't be together or that -- much worse than Val being a lethal supernatural predator and Anton being perfectly snack-shaped -- there was someone else. His priorities were completely and unimpeachably in order. "Moonlit beach does sound romantic. I could be persuaded to forgo the SPF and take that approach instead." It would be a very easy persuasion, given that his interest was mostly in being with Valerian rather than sun and surf. He was still very concerned with getting his full dose of Vitamin D, just... the less sun-generated kind.

At the request to hear his Sonata, Anton actually looked suddenly shy. Valerian would be forgiven for not knowing that this was an emotion or expression that the musician was capable of. It certainly had never come up before. But his own music, especially those pieces written to exorcise the yearning in his heart, those were intimate and part of himself. It was a vulnerability he seldom felt in any other aspect of his life. But even still, as he glanced down to trace his fingertip along Valerian's sharply defined collarbone and then looked back up through dark lashes, he wanted to share this with the other man. "It was my thesis culmination in University. That was the only performance of it I've ever given. But I'd... I'd very much like you to hear it." And then, quieter, as if this last detail was a secret. "It is called Valerie."

[aristopire]

There was the sharpening of his eyes at the mention of these named men, and he spoke and perhaps it may have come out in a teasing tone, but assuredly was not teasing in the slightest-- he pulled the other man against him a bit tighter. "You may want to have understudies for Antonio and Giovanni, I cannot attest to their longevity.." it was that hint of toxic that could potentially be thrilling because it meant that Valerian wanted him above all else, and wanted him to want him. But also, he had admitted to Anton that he leaned into being a vampire, that he did not mind committing atrocities if he needed to.

He had not lied to Anton on that score.

It was true though that Anton was deliciously snack-shaped, it was hard to resist it; he was not a well-seasoned vampire and resisting the blood that thrummed was a play on his willpower. The shyness disarmed him however, it was not something that he'd ever seen Anton evidence on his face-- in fact, it was hard to marry the term with what Anton was exhibiting right now. However, he did pull up Anton's hand and pressed a kiss against the knuckles, giving the other man a look that was somewhat akin to reverence, but also it perfectly twined with bedroom-eyed as well.

"I would love to hear it, my Angel... I can only be honoured that you would write music about me." a kiss up to the top of hand, lightly against wrist-- anywhere he could get his hands upon. "Though I am convinced you are made of music, of arias and crescendos. Looking at you, I feel music."

[irrecoverable]

Anton's smile widened as Valerian's hold tightened around him possessively, blossoming into a laugh -- worryingly delighted, perhaps -- at the threat of murder. Because it was, truly, a little thrill of reminder that Valerian wanted him with the same vehemence that Anton wanted the vampire, with all his atrocities and everything. In fact, he was more curious about this new state of Valerian's being than anyone with any common sense likely would be. But common sense was just that, common, and that was never something that Anton had been accused of being.

His laughter quieted into something a great deal softer, that settled in his eyes as he watched Valerian press such gentle, reverent kisses against his hand and spoke such pretty poetry to him. "You say the most beautiful things. It wasn't a choice. My heart was full of wanting you, and you weren't there. The desire had to go somewhere..." So it had gone into that song, and likely this renewed ardor in him would spill out onto sheet music too. For all the various men he'd bedded, how was it Valerian who was the only one who ever made him feel alive?

A soft sound halfway into a purr as those lips brushed his wrist again, and a thought very clearly came to mind. "I want to watch you feed from me. Show me." He deliberately turned his hand in Valerian's grip to present his wrist to the vampire's attention.