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Jean-Claude ([personal profile] sourdre) wrote in [community profile] barrayar2020-07-09 10:42 am

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.
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[personal profile] end_recording 2020-07-31 12:12 am (UTC)(link)
Not even Jon's tongue is fully intact: there is a rough patch of scar tissue on both the top and the bottom. But the small cut heals instantly, yielding only that small drop.

"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."
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[personal profile] end_recording 2020-07-31 01:15 am (UTC)(link)
Jon is fairly daunted by the scope of possibilities, but he supposes that among those activities would be him telling Jean-Claude to get on with things, and besides that Jon highly doubts his own sexual creativity.

"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.
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[personal profile] end_recording 2020-07-31 02:48 am (UTC)(link)
Jon sits back on his heels as Jean-Claude leans forward, hands dropping into his lap. Jean-Claude's voice is a sharp, precise strike that echoes through him, freezing him in place to watch the tableau Jean-Claude presents. Jon does watch him, eyes heavy but unblinking. A taxonomist's disinterested gaze: what compels his interest is not that Jean-Claude body is a perfection of the human form, but that it is a vessel optimized to hunt a certain prey, and hunt it well. Jean-Claude is hunting him even now.

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.
Edited 2020-07-31 03:42 (UTC)
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[personal profile] end_recording 2020-08-01 09:55 pm (UTC)(link)
Jon's not expecting the reaction from Jean-Claude. Rather than break the illusion, the chill, unyielding length pressing his jaw open feels as though the touch of his mouth had brought a statue to life. The thickness of it traps a noise of surprise thrumming in Jon's throat.

He can feel Jean-Claude's skin growing warmer in his mouth and he presses deeper, seeking more that that unnatural coolness. Pressed flat against the cock in his mouth, Jean-Clock can feel the slightly rougher patch on Jon's tongue rubbing against him as Jon takes more of him down. He has to shift forward and brace his forearms on Jean-Claude'a thighs, pressing the cheap cotton of his shirt into his smooth skin.

Jon had been mocked and rejected so many times for being too relentless, too nosy, too demanding. To have Jean-Claude praise the part of Jon that most often alienated those around him burned in him to verge of pain until it became hunger: A hunger he eager to fulfill and unashamed of. Another noise spills out of back of Jon's throat, caressing the tip of Jean-Claude's cock as he shifts with restless need, caught between the weight of his hand and the length stretching his jaw trying to fill him even more.
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[personal profile] end_recording 2020-08-02 03:59 pm (UTC)(link)
There is certainly nothing subservient about Jon, scowling up at Jean-Claude with his lips wrapped around his cock, knee-jerk irritation at being told what to do - even when it's for his own good. The touch of Jean-Claude's hand so close to his own cock feels obscene and Jon swallows him deeper just because he can, jaw flexing under the touch.

But after a moment he does follow the instructions, pulling off long enough to say, "I do know how to give a blowjob." Before taking the wet, glistening tip of Lean-Claude back into his warm mouth. Jon's thumb strokes along the underside, slick with his own spit, while he bobs shallowly on the length, tongue curling and lapping against the contours as though trying to map it.
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[personal profile] end_recording 2020-08-03 02:34 pm (UTC)(link)
Jon had been afraid that Jean-Claude would take forever given his experience. He is gratified when instead Jean-Claude climaxes with a reasonable application of effort. He's not even fussed about having to swallow— not that he gets a chance, as Jean-Claude scruffs him like a kitten and then kisses him, rubbing his own semen between their twining tongues.

Jon groans lightly in indignant arousal. It had been easy enough to ignore his own need when he was focusing on Jean-Claude. He had never cared for pleasure for its own sake which, combined with the inherent absurd sloppiness of the act, had left him largely indifferent to sex. But the kiss brought Jon back to the insistent physicality of it. His own cock still swollen in the confines of his trousers, sweat-damp cotton clinging to his sensitive skin when he shifts. Jean-Claude's hands on his bare skin would be a relief.

He shudders lightly as Jean-Claude's voice ghosts over his lips, shifting in Jean-Claude's immovable grip and dragging friction against his half-hard cock. Swallowing, Jon reaches up to loosen his tie and the top button of his shirt. Dotted along his throat are a couple more of those pale, round scars and there is a jagged knife scar at the base of his throat. He can't grouse much about the double-sided nature of Jean-Claude's gratitude: they both know what being fed from will do to Jon, and it fills him with a fluttery anticipation, anxious and eager to lose himself to it.

"V-very well," he rasps softly. He tries to clear his throat to sound a bit firmer. "As I said—you can have your fill."
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[personal profile] end_recording 2020-08-03 11:22 pm (UTC)(link)
The more skin uncovered, the more scars make themselves known. The circular scars are everywhere, dozens of them scattered in no discernible pattern. Two more knife scars on his wrist and upper arm.

Jon is tense and awkward with being disrobed but considering he just gave Jean-Claude a blowjob, he feels more settled about it. He can't wrap his mind around why Jean-Claude desires him, but a part of him is at least beginning to believe that might actually be true. He shudders and twitches under Jean-Claude's mouth and hands, breath coming in ragged exhales. Each touch only emphasizes how much control Jean-Claude is exercising, how much more he could do to Jon.

"I'll give you a statement on the day you give one to me." He mutters. There's an attempt to sound surly, but Jon's voice is too breathy.

His hips jerk when his erection is touched, his legs automatically spreading to allow more access. It is all so novel for Jon it hardly matters what tricks Jean-Claude tries; everything has him twitching in reaction, the tip of his erection spilling glistening drops. One hand grips the back of the couch by Jean-Claude's head while the while the other digs into his thigh for balance. Trembling with tension, he uses the leverage to press into Jean-Claude's hand, looking for a stable source of friction less overwhelming than Jean-Claude's seeking touches.
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[personal profile] end_recording 2020-08-15 11:43 pm (UTC)(link)
It is that promise that draws a sharp gasp from Jon, so he has no breath left to moan when Jean-Claude's fangs pierce him. The pain keeps Jon aware of the edges of his body as sensation overflows him in endless waves of satiation, hunger stoking and satisfying hunger. Jon's blood spills hotly, eagerly, endlessly into Jean-Claude mouth as he and the Eye feast on Jon's shaking, overwhelmed body. There is a maddeningly small hint of something strange in Jon's blood, a novel taste for a seasoned gourmand almost like a taunt.

At some point his grip shifts from the couch to Jean-Claude's shoulder, slipping in his own sweat on Jean-Claude's marble skin as he tries to find another anchor. He barely feels his physical orgasm—orgasms. With each one the relief turns swiftly to ache for more and more and Jon writhes in his grip, unconsciously daring Jean-Claude to satisfy himself truly and completely until his limbs fall slack. Jon's voice is continuous and inarticulate, strangled cries and half-words; he can't even get through Jean-Claude's full name.
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[personal profile] end_recording 2020-08-22 08:14 pm (UTC)(link)
It takes some time for the riot of sensation in Jon to calm enough to let him feel the outward sensations of his skin, hot and sweat-stuck wherever it presses against Jean'Claude's. The light touch of Jean-Claude's breath against his damp neck is blissfully cool, and the sharpness of feeling combined with the spice of his own blood rouses him mostly back to himself.

"I don't think I can walk regardless," Jon acquiesces with a faintly put-upon mutter. He's still trembling now with exhaustion, and the press of Jean-Claude's hands feel like the only thing keeping him upright. Jean-Claude will discover with his thorough and solicitous touching, another anomaly of Jon's body: two soft gapes where ribs should be spaced asymmetrically down his sides. Jon twitches slightly when Jean-Claude's hands stroke over those absences.
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[personal profile] end_recording 2021-01-17 09:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Even being in Jean-Claude's inner sanctum does not give Jon energy enough to lift his head to look around. Jon could dredge up some embarrassment under all the stated exhaustion, but in truth being handled as though he weighed no more than a matchstick when his body feels so heavy and clumsy sends an giddy thrill through him. He has never felt so light; he's almost afraid to keep talking lest he say something to ruin the effect.

"O-only because I'd drown if you put me in a bath right now," he chuckles weakly, buoyed by Jean-Claude's voice. It's really a somewhat daunting prospect but the part of Jon that wants to sustain this feelings is, for once, stronger than the part of him with all the reasons to shut Jean-Claude out.
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[personal profile] end_recording 2021-01-17 10:57 pm (UTC)(link)
Jon has the urge to cover himself but given how absurd that would be in the circumstances, settles instead on clasping his hand together in his lap. Jean-Claude is, usefully, very distracting. Jon finds himself cataloging all the little ways Jean-Claude differs when he is well-fed. Compulsively, he reaches out to sweep the curtain of Jean-Claude's hair away from it brushes against his sticky, sweaty thigh. It's tantalizingly sleek and cool, and Jon twitches his hand away from the temptation to slide his fingers through the soft weight of it.

"I, I believe you," Jon says, voice subdued. It's quite an admission given how fanatically Jon has clung to suspicion in the past. But the revelation he had during dinner, that nothing Jean-Claude was likely to do do him would be worse than the institute, gave him ground enough to hope. He offers the other man a strained smile. "I, um, I'm very glad it did. However."
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[personal profile] end_recording 2021-01-21 10:21 pm (UTC)(link)
"I, I should be thanking you as well." Jon's thinking of Jean-Claude's offer, of course, but he is too scattered to think to explain himself. He feels dazed and fluttery, his paranoia turned inside out: it breaks through his pleasant sense of well-being only sporadically, quickly subsumed.

The moment Jean-Claude offers a statement Jon wants it. He's paralyzed for a moment struggling with if he should have it. There was danger in gorging himself; Becoming complacent would allow the Eye to gain an even greater hold on him.

But he was fascinated by the idea of being touched while, well. Feeding. It certainly seemed to enhance Jean-Claude's meals.

"J-just, um, a short one," Jon says. "If that's alright? I do tend to get a bit, er... out of it."
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[personal profile] end_recording 2021-02-11 10:42 pm (UTC)(link)
Jon's become conscious enough of his nudity that his shoulders curl in on himself slightly, but Jean-Claude's ease seeps in to him as subtly as the bath steam. All of Jon's insecurities are, well, human insecurities, and even as he grips the edge of the bathtub to keep from trying to cover himself, he feels ridiculous that the impulse was so strong. At some point Jon would have to tell Jean-Claude about the strange scars and missing bones, but he need not fear his ridicule. Jean-Claude might even find it charmingly novel.

It was heady, too, to think that as dangerous as Jon was Jean-Claude could simply handle him. Jean-Claude had shown he could handle him, amply, with his collection of supernatural oddities. Jean-Claude could lie, but he could not deceive on the scale of his entire life, and many under his rule seemed content.

"I, I have, um... lost control. Before. But only when I've been hungry." His eyes flick to Jean-Claude, compulsively looking for judgement. "A-and I may receive—Visitors. Unwelcome visitors."

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