![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
I am sincere, even when I lie
Jean-Claude found the whole request terribly amusing. And more than a little gratifying to his ego, less so to have his power acknowledged and more in terms of how representative it is of his success in ingratiating himself to the human world. Vampires have not been legal ten years yet, and already Jean-Claude is considered approachable enough, dangerous yet safe enough, to receive requests like these.
There was a considerable amount of work behind that, and more than being a Master of the City or even a sourdre de sang, it is not something another vampire could do, or has done.
So it puts him in a good enough mood to accept. He has many questions of his own, but he prefers to ask them in person and on his own territory. Although he knows phones and computers, Jean-Claude has never gotten comfortable with them, as they remain a peculiarly human insistence. Important vampire functions are always carried out in person, no matter the distance to travel. The time involved feels immaterial when you are immortal until killed.
Of course, he puts on a show for his visitor, awaiting him in an old-fashioned receiving room beneath the Circus of the Damned. The Circus itself might've been an experience just to walk through on the way down - there are a couple truly singular acts, such as the world's last living lamia, a fierce and inhuman woman with the lower body of a snake. On entering the restricted area, the Circus's dark gothic decor meant for tourists gives way to a more sincere and lavish set of living quarters. Bronze sconces and both fine and modern art line the stone walls, far enough underground to be devoid of windows, and tufted area rugs scatter between clean white and black furniture. Staff and residents mill about, casting the visitor curious and sometimes covetous looks, but leave him alone given his escort, who he sheds at the door to the receiving room.
Jean-Claude himself is arranged on a wing-backed armchair, an over-the-top vision in lace and leather, as always, one leg slung over the other. He has an empty wine glass in his hand as a prop, and water and wine set out on a coffee table between the chairs and couches.
"Monsieur Sims, welcome," he says in his smooth, tactile voice, without standing. "Have a seat. Help yourself. It is a pleasure to receive such a distinguished guest so unattached from my normal circles." He smiles a politician's smile, polite and sincere while giving away nothing of substance.
There was a considerable amount of work behind that, and more than being a Master of the City or even a sourdre de sang, it is not something another vampire could do, or has done.
So it puts him in a good enough mood to accept. He has many questions of his own, but he prefers to ask them in person and on his own territory. Although he knows phones and computers, Jean-Claude has never gotten comfortable with them, as they remain a peculiarly human insistence. Important vampire functions are always carried out in person, no matter the distance to travel. The time involved feels immaterial when you are immortal until killed.
Of course, he puts on a show for his visitor, awaiting him in an old-fashioned receiving room beneath the Circus of the Damned. The Circus itself might've been an experience just to walk through on the way down - there are a couple truly singular acts, such as the world's last living lamia, a fierce and inhuman woman with the lower body of a snake. On entering the restricted area, the Circus's dark gothic decor meant for tourists gives way to a more sincere and lavish set of living quarters. Bronze sconces and both fine and modern art line the stone walls, far enough underground to be devoid of windows, and tufted area rugs scatter between clean white and black furniture. Staff and residents mill about, casting the visitor curious and sometimes covetous looks, but leave him alone given his escort, who he sheds at the door to the receiving room.
Jean-Claude himself is arranged on a wing-backed armchair, an over-the-top vision in lace and leather, as always, one leg slung over the other. He has an empty wine glass in his hand as a prop, and water and wine set out on a coffee table between the chairs and couches.
"Monsieur Sims, welcome," he says in his smooth, tactile voice, without standing. "Have a seat. Help yourself. It is a pleasure to receive such a distinguished guest so unattached from my normal circles." He smiles a politician's smile, polite and sincere while giving away nothing of substance.
no subject
Because his personal attention doesn't fade with time. It is a long game. Seduction and skillful sex are all about patience, and Jean-Claude is a master. For example: leading Jonathan to ask this himself, to lay it out there in the open as a participant, rather than a recipient.
"Of course," he replies, not too fast, not too eager. A shade of warmth to his tone. Jean-Claude can hear his heartbeat, and he is enough of a predator to find it enticing, a promise of something delicious. "Whether in this city or here in the Circus. You may have my protection if you follow my rules - the same as every other preternatural who reside in my territory."
no subject
"And - and we'll need to go over the risks of having me here," he manages a bit more firmly.
no subject
"Certainement, I would expect nothing different," Jean-Claude murmurs. It's a good sign, trying to negotiate; it means it's an offer considered seriously. He smiles slightly. "There is no written list, per se, but perhaps I will let you write it down. If it is not for academics, but for your particular interest in how to keep monsters from acting too monstrous, I will indulge it."
Some of these rules don't make them look good to the public, which is why they tend to be unspoken. But true to form, Jean-Claude always finds personal motivations more compelling.
no subject
no subject
Jean-Claude's normal seductive recline is suddenly replaced with him sitting upright, the pull of the ardeur clinging to his senses and fogging everything.
He closes his eyes to eliminate at least the visual temptation.
"Ma petite is calling on our power," he says in a tight, clipped tone. "If you do not wish to be drawn in to the ardeur, Jonathan, you must leave now. It will compel us to participate in sexual acts no matter our feelings for one another. You have very little time to decide."
no subject
He's halfway through getting up when it occurs to him that Jean-Claude asked Jon to make a choice rather than ordered Jon to leave. This might well be his only chance to experience it. He could interrogate Jean-Claude's taste, but the many was centuries old. If historical portraits were anything to go by, Jean-Claude had dealt with people far worse off in looks than Jon. And Jon was an expedient choice at the moment.
"It's unlikely to have a conventional effect on me, anyway," Jon says, sitting back down.
no subject
He opens his eyes again, feeling the insistent push of lust crawl up his throat and resisting the urge to ensnare him already. "Do not mistake me: I have never encountered a being that was immune to its effects. It does not respect age, sexual orientation, or consent, and it will not release us until we both climax." There is an interesting lack of innuendo to Jean-Claude when he talks business, and for him, sex is frequently business.
There's about thirty seconds until it's all a moot point - he is an expert by now at knowing how to ride the ardeur, and how far he can push it - but Jean-Claude insists on making as much of an attempt at informed consent as he can.
no subject
Besides, Jon was considering rearranging his entire life around Jean-Claude not five minutes ago. It made a certain kind of sense to see what Jean-Claude would do with Jon fully in his thrall.
"If - if you're not telling me to leave, then I am staying." Jon makes sure to look Jean-Claude in the eyes when he says it.
no subject
Especially as it seems Jonathan is rather more interested than he'd given credit for. That quashes his reservations. Jean-Claude offers out a hand from across the table, the lace of his wide cuffs spilling around his fingers, eyes gleaming a dark night blue. "Very well, mon égaré, I will not insult you by questioning you further. Take my hand, and you will feel it."
There is a piece of information Jean-Claude is extremely careful with, and no one outside his close circle knows: that Jean-Claude ends up as much in the thrall of the ardeur as anyone he's with. It's a powerful urge when it's unaddressed, but once it identifies a partner through physical contact, it's overwhelming, a hot surge that makes anything and everything absolutely irresistible. And it is power. Jean-Claude does feed this way, so it is more than pure lust; as they indulge it, it will raise power, echoing through them in a positive feedback loop with the sexual desire.
no subject
no subject
He presses a kiss to the back of his hand, then turns it over and keeps going directly on the scarred tissue on his palm without pause, slow deliberate presses of his lips. Jean-Claude doesn't do things by halves; if they're going to sexually satisfy each other, he will make it as pleasurable as possible.
"Did you know, I have a particular attraction to survivors," he murmurs against his skin, propping his hip against the dining table to steady himself. "You make these comments as if you think it would be a hardship for me, but there is nothing further from the truth."
no subject
"I'm not - experienced," Jon says faintly. "I-I don't normally, I won't be... any good at it." Jon's words sound unconvincing even to himself; none of that seems to matter when just the touch of Jean-Claude's mouth through the thick, insensitive scar tissue makes him want to writhe with sensation.
no subject
Jean-Claude lowers his hand and places it on his chest between the deep opening of his shirt, where that perfect cross-shaped scar stands out. His skin is notably cool to the touch, but there is a faint, sluggish pulse beneath it as he'd fed soon before dinner.
He wants it to be clear that this needn't be one-sided. Jean-Claude doesn't mind directing things, but he doesn't insist that that is the arrangement. With them cooperating and slowly indulging the ardeur, it is more of a steady thrum of insistence than a mind-numbing flood of lust.
no subject
The first tug is too gentle to pull the shirt free from Jean-Claude's trousers and Jon mutters about how they'll need scissors for the trousers, tugging again to pull the shirt tails loose. But he does quite have the nerve to stand up and pull the thing off of Jean-Claude
no subject
He certainly has no objection to showing more skin, if it helps Jonathan get more comfortable with the situation. It's more forward than he'd expected for someone who said he was inexperienced, but Jean-Claude takes great satisfaction in willing seduction, which by necessity is patient and full of give as well as take.
Jon's instinct that there might be more of his history revealed on his skin bears fruit: from the front there is just the cross shape for scarring, and on his forearms there are some telling splash burns from holy water, but across fully half his back is a thick stretch of old half-healed scarring, wealed stripes like from a switch or a strip of leather in varying widths layered atop each other. It is difficult to scar a vampire after their death, and if Jon knows anything about it, he will realize these must have been made during Jean-Claude's human lifetime - only holy objects will leave permanent marks otherwise, as the rest of his scars indicate.
Long past feeling ashamed for it, Jean-Claude is nonetheless disinterested in getting into stories about his human life, none of which are suitable for seduction. After his shirt is discarded and he's left with long black hair curling over his pale skin, he raises a hand again to cup Jon's jaw with his palm, meeting his eyes with incredible self-restraint. A way to pause him, and distract.
"Tell me before this goes further if you would like me to have your blood as well, or not, or manipulate your mind, or not. It can be only sex if you wish, mon ami, and it would be my pleasure." There is a sincerity there that makes it hard to doubt. At the same time, Jean-Claude knows that some very much enjoy those particular aspects of sex with a vampire, and he's not about to keep restraining himself if there's no need to.
no subject
Jon feels a flash of guilt, but it is comforting to see that the world has marked even someone as untouchable as Jean-Claude. He's not quite bold enough to reach out and touch one of those marks, or the cool expanse of Jean-Claude's chest, so the distraction and direction is welcome. Jon shivers in pleasure, wanting to rub his cheek all along that welcome chill. His eyes, when they meet Jean-Claude's, are lidded.
"You, um, you can have my blood - a-as much as you want, actually. I'll regenerate." There is a spike of tension at letting that information go; Jon plows ahead. "The uh, mind control—manipulation—we can save." For next time, but Jon seems to realize that that's presumptuous on both their part's, and bites it off there.
no subject
The difference between Jean-Claude and so many other vampires - other monsters - that he knows is that he is satiated by having, not by doing. He doesn't need to play with his food. Normally, Jean-Claude keeps himself scrubbed clean of the more truly predatory aspects of his nature, a showman and a businessman teasing humans with a glimpse of something more. With this tacit permission, he has an internal sense of a wolf leisurely stretching out and yawning, showing all its teeth. Well then. Time to wake up.
It heightens the singing tension of the ardeur.
"As you desire. I will not take much," he promises, with a smile that is its own promise. "You are to be savored like a fine liquer. I have my own food; you are a delicacy. Without the mind tricks, it will hurt... but you will enjoy that, won't you?"
Jean-Claude sounds thoughtful but self-assured, a heavier weight of intent behind his voice, something of a giveaway before he leans in without waiting for a reply and kisses him, hand still holding him in place. Boundaries agreed upon, he doesn't make any attempt to withhold his fangs; it's an assertive kiss, demanding, the ardeur pulsing more sharply with lust at his surrender, waves building higher gradually as they give in.
no subject
It had been painful and terrifying, knowing Jared could play with Jon's body like clay, but Jon remembered how he had felt, after. Aching, hot, and empty. Emptier in more than just the sense of the two ribs Jared had taken out. Jean-Claude brought that feeling searing back and promised to give Jon succor in the same breath.
Jon didn't like pain. But he wanted to feel it. He groans softly into the kiss, wanting to savor the process of Jean-Claude's hunt but wanting more. Jon was no less a predator himself but a stranger one, like a Venus flytrap with a taste for tigers.
no subject
It's not quite intentional, but it always happens eventually when deeply kissing a vampire -- Jon's tongue scrapes across one of Jean-Claude's fangs and nicks a drop of blood. Tongues heal quickly, Jean-Claude knows from experience, so this won't last long. Just enough for a very brief taste. Despite himself, he makes a low, involuntary noise, breaking off the kiss and leaning back with an exhale without an accompanying inhale. A strange, unique kind of power, the taste enough to give just a hint of... something more that he cannot place yet. Almost like - attention. It's heady.
"A fine liquer indeed," he murmurs. "I could easily get drunk on you." Something he'll have to be careful about in this first encounter, if he wants to do it again, as Jon had implied.
Sliding his hand down from his jaw to the crux of his neck and shoulder, Jean-Claude lets it rest there passively, saying, "You wished to feel me, did you not? Come with me to the couch, and finish undressing me."
no subject
"That ah, that might be a real concern..." Jon says faintly, echoing Jean-Claude's own thoughts. He moves his own tongue in his mouth, feeling for the cut that is no longer there. Then he swallows, using the table to push himself up. He's uncomfortably aware of how stuffy his own clothes feel, stiff clothe brushing and pressing against his hot, sensitive skin as he moves. "Right then."
no subject
Stepping backwards, he draws Jon along with him almost in a dance until they stop in front of the couch. The delicious crackle of arousal is familiar to him, an old partner Jean-Claude could not divorce if he tried, and he licks his lips as he watches him, still savoring the aftertaste.
"I will restrain myself, but you need not. Anything you wish to do to me, or with me, I will indulge."
This is a bold claim to make, but Jean-Claude knows how this goes -- if he wants to earn some trust, some vulnerability, he must give some of his own. He has more cards to lay down here, so he will go first. And he does not truly think Jon would request anything he wouldn't like. He's a good judge of character, or he wouldn't be so attracted to him in the first place. Plus, he knows by now how inquisitive Jon is, and thinks this might be the right tactic.
no subject
"R-right, you should, ah -" Jon looks at the waistband of Jean-Claude's pants, but the first thing he does here is take off his own sweater and set it to the side. It doesn't reveal any more skin, but Jon does feel more naked in only the thin cotton of his collared shirt. That done, finally reaches for Jean-Claude's fly, and drags the fabric down Jean-Claude's thighs, enough to free his cock.
—Only to remember Jean-Claude is still wearing shoes. Ears hot, Jon kneels down in front of him, hyper conscious of Jean-Claude's aroused organ inches from his face and the way the position presses the seam of his own trousers against his organ. Of course he's not wearing a sensible pair of loafers. Jon hooks his fingers into the soft leather of his high boots and starts to tug it off, grumbling slightly when he has to lift Jean-Claude's heel.
no subject
He keeps in his laugh, because Jean-Claude is nothing if not a consummate actor when he needs to be, but he doesn't hide his open mirth in his eyes. There's nothing embarrassed about him with his pants about his knees, stuck on his boots; he knows he's a sight to take in, and he knows they will be having each other, and right now is the time when they learn each other as lovers. With Jonathan, this seems to come with some absurdity.
"Let me help you," he offers, the laugh contained in his voice. His power so close to the surface, there's an even more seductive quality to it than normal -- not mind tricks, as he'd said, but very close on the line, a bright and edged sensation with his humor like teeth against skin.
Jean-Claude stretches down and loosens the laces his boots with nimble fingers, somehow making the motion seductive, like he's teasing at something with the laces. If his partner isn't providing the sensual strip-tease, he certainly can. It also puts his mouth rather closer to Jon's ear, which he uses to his advantage.
"You are so charming, my little stray. We do not have the luxury of time today," he says softly, leaning back into his seat again to let Jon remove his boots, "but on another occasion, perhaps, you can look your fill." And Jean-Claude would, obviously, stage that whole scene carefully for great effect.
Even now, as he leans back, just about perfectly naked and perfectly comfortable with it, there is a statuesque sculpted quality to him, a vampire's closeness to death and surreal beauty combined with limbs draped at alluring angles. With the ardeur helping, his erection is obvious, full and insistent, and reddened from the blood he'd had earlier. A tell for his impatience, and his level of control.
no subject
Jean-Claude's words brush against him, and heat blooms in Jon and consumes any air he could have had to reply. Jon tries not to think of what the Eye thinks of him—Jon tries not to think about whether the Entities can even have thoughts—but he does think about what soil the Eye found in him, that it has flourished. And he thinks about how naked his hunger is to Jean-Claude, who seems to know it better than Jon himself.
Jon's hands are shaking when he reaches for Jean-Claude's boot again. Consciously, despite the awkward angle, he uses his scarred hand to brace so he can feel the unnatural sleekness of Jean-Claude's calf as his unmarred palm slides down it with the leather of his pants. He repeats the gesture on the second side, and folds the pants, and sets them and the boots to the side in a neat line.
Jon sits back again slightly, thighs shifting in restless discomfort as he looks over Jean-Claude's naked body. Then, remembering Jean-Claude's warning about time, he starts froward, bracing a hand on Jean-Claude's thigh so he can lean in and press the tip of Jean-Claude's cock into his mouth.
no subject
As much as he's had living beings put their mouths on him before, Jean-Claude has never gotten used to the heat and intensity of it; his hips jerk upward into his mouth briefly in surprised hunger. He lets out a breath, suddenly breaking the illusion of a deathly statue, and he watches Jon with lidded eyes, unwilling to miss a moment. He is far from taking this for granted. He wouldn't have expected Jonathan to be this assertive, but now that he's seeing it, it makes sense somehow -- and it suggests to him that the rest of the time, he is only hiding his nature behind the veneer of a ruffled academic. Jean-Claude is eager to coax more of this out of him.
"You have been hiding this, haven't you?" he asks in a deeper, lower voice, a hand raising to scrape through Jon's hair and end on an affectionate caress. "Not the desire, I would know if you were hiding that, but this forwardness. What an unexpected delight." For now, he tries to keep himself still until he has a sense of how comfortable Jon is with the position, though he doesn't manage it entirely, his hand a little controlling, his cock sometimes pushing forward to try to find a rhythm.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)