I am sincere, even when I lie

[sourdre]

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.

Comments

[end_recording]

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.

[sourdre]

If he had not just had him and if this were not an opening salvo in what Jean-Claude hopes to be a much longer exchange, realizing he is missing two ribs and that he is affected purely by running a hand over the softened space where they used to be would have set Jean-Claude back on him once again with desire. But this is not the right time to get that story, he knows (I'll give you a statement on the day you give one to me, and he takes that as a promise), with them both shuddering with the after-effects of the ardeur and such intensity.

Jean-Claude nips at his lower lip with his fangs one last time, out of playfulness and as a distraction. He lowers his hands away from that intriguing evidence, and slides them under Jon even as he stands, picking him up in an effortless bridal carry. Normally he doesn't display the excessive strength given to vampires so obviously. Here, now, the rush of power is still heady, corresponding gratitude and appreciation welling up. This could have been a debacle, Anita causing yet another problem for him to clean up, and instead it is a delight. Jon is much more than he'd expected.

"We are both a mess. I hope you will allow me the indulgence of bathing you." Cool silk lines his voice as he walks to a hidden panel in the wall and opens it with a brief press. Jean-Claude doesn't exhibit an ounce of hesitation or shame at walking around with both of them perfectly naked. These are his private quarters, and beyond the hidden panel is his bedroom, a lavish area with dim lighting, scattered with personal effects: worn books, a chess set, a basic laptop, a luxurious dressing-robe thrown over the end of an unmade bed where he'd awoken Jason earlier.

Jean-Claude ignores it all to stride toward the door leading to his en-suite bathroom. He will agree to let Jon put himself back together alone if he requests (Anita has trained him well), but he sorely wants to do it for him. As much sex as he's had, aftercare with someone he's fond of is rare and special.

[end_recording]

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.

[sourdre]

Hedonist that he is, Jean-Claude's personal bathroom is exactly as over-the-top as one might expect: he has an inset soaking tub large enough to fit four people, and he sets Jon carefully on the edge it, coming to kneel beside him. He reaches over to turn on the taps - old-fashioned, one each for hot and cold - and his skin is warmer than before, flush with blood and a slow pulse, where he presses against him as he leans over, hair falling forward in a tousled curtain.

Jean-Claude chuckles softly in response, settling back onto his heels as he waits for the tub to fill. One hand rests on Jon's knee, the other comes up to swipe the smear of blood off his own mouth before it can fully dry. He licks the blood from his thumb almost idly, not willing to waste any. It is like having the last bite of a decadent dessert: almost too much, but he is unwilling to leave it behind.

"That would be a poor way to repay you. You are continually a surprise, Jonathan," he admits, the honesty meriting his name rather than an epithet. "I did not imagine this would be the end of our evening when I invited you here." Lest he think this was all some plan - Jean-Claude cannot plan everything, more's the pity.

[end_recording]

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."

[sourdre]

There's almost a flush to his cheeks now. He smiles in reply, an uncontrived expression entirely without artifice, and with the slight warmth of being recently fed, it makes it abruptly obvious that Jean-Claude was young and human once. It's only a short glimpse before Jean-Claude takes up Jon's hand and presses a chaste kiss to the back of it, a fond, courtly mannerism that is more solicitous than it might be from someone of this century.

In most of his life, Jean-Claude is deliberately untouchable, and he both wants and needs it to be that way, to maintain his position and his independence. But when he's able, when he's in private, it makes having his bedmates reach out to him all the sweeter, and he wants to show that it's welcome. Each bit of trust here feels earned, on both sides.

"Merci," he says genuinely. "I feel the same. I meant to thank you for your demonstration of loyalty, but instead I have yet more to be grateful for. If I gave you a, what is your charming word, a statement now while we bathed, would that enhance or detract from this lovely mood? I will not rescind my offer if you wish to wait until tomorrow."

It is remarkable when his personal interests line up with what is politically wise, and Jean-Claude has every intention of cultivating this relationship with the utmost care. And he knows that being withholding is not the way to do that. He can already sense that being his master is not what Jon desires, so leaving their exchange unequal is not the right tenor. If he were a vampire, offering some of his blood in return would be a natural gesture here, and it's in that spirit that Jean-Claude offers. That being said, he still doesn't understand his new paramour enough to totally anticipate what effect it will have on him, so he simply asks when it would be most welcome.

[end_recording]

"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."

[sourdre]

He's not expecting the easy thanks, and it makes him more gracious, some of Jean-Claude's instinctive and natural seduction giving way again to a coarser appreciation.

"Bon, un digestif," he agrees easily, already casting his mind through his catalog of horrifying incidents and putting aside the more personal ones. Serving a rich dessert would not be in the spirit of the request, and it aligns with his automatic preference to keep such things to himself. And he can well imagine, can see already, that this is quite an experience for Jonathan, and perhaps he has never fed in this context at all. How unfortunate that seems to Jean-Claude, who vastly prefers careful, intimate feeding with close partners.

The water is warm enough now that he pulls the tab to close the drain, and he rises to set towels out with one last caress to Jon's hand, uncaring of his nudity.

He doesn't want to ruin the mood, but Jean-Claude's thoughts are always dancing back and forth between his plots, and he has so many things he wants to ask Jon in this more forthcoming atmosphere between them. He selects a comment he thinks will walk this line.

Pleasantly, he comments, "As it happens, one of the rules of being under my protection is that I will ensure you have consensual subjects to feed from, even if that means myself. And I will ensure you do so... safely. You may have noticed this rule already." This is paired with punishment if he feeds without consent or in a way that draws them negative public attention, and Jean-Claude hardly makes an offer of himself to just anyone, but that is not a hardship in this case.

[end_recording]

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."

[sourdre]

Charmingly novel, of course, but also a definite turn-on. He's noticed a missing rib already. Jean-Claude's long since lost his own insecurities about his preferences, and like any vampire, they run toward the macabre.

He's not surprised to hear the admission that he's lost control before when he was hungry, though he is pleased to hear Jon trust him enough to say it aloud; yet he isn't anticipating the addition about visitors. Jean-Claude sets the towels to the side, turning to raise an elegant eyebrow. "Is that so? You must tell me about them at a later time, so we may be sure there is an appropriate welcome ready."

There's a subtle, dangerous current beneath his words, overlaid with silk, the touchable quality of his voice returning at once as he slips instinctively to thinking of this like he does visitors from the Council. Extremely unwelcome, but the best way to get them to leave without incident is to receive them graciously, and outmaneuver them at every turn.

He grabs a long, old-fashioned hair pin as he thinks a moment longer, and uses it to stick his hair up into a quick chignon. Not a person who's ever used a hair tie in his life, Jean-Claude. But he is not in the mood to deal with wet hair.

"I have some of those myself. If you choose to stay, and we tie ourselves together, there is much we would have to share with one another." And it would not be optional, not to Jean-Claude. Anita, for all her flaws, has been very educational.

[end_recording]

Jean-Claude's voice draws Jon's gaze like a lure. Jon is briefly mesmerized watching Jean-Claude effortlessly manage the thick, sleek weight of his hair, the way it shines and slithers through his fingers. The thought of him touching Jon's hair like that is shockingly appealing. Jon looks away, and toys with the end of his braid draped against his shoulder.

"I should largely be able to deal with them myself," Jon says awkwardly, reassuring himself more than Jean-Claude. Ever since Jon had destroyed the Dark's blasphemous sun, the other avatars had been quite leery of him. Otherwise he would have never considered endangering Jean-Claude's home with his presence, regardless of Jean-Claude's own resources.

But the idea of telling Jean-Claude... everything, being able to rely on him, trust him—it sends a frisson of something down Jon's spine. Fear mingled with desire. Being tied together felt so weighty, but the thought of being bound to something other than the Eye was dangerously comforting.

"Yes," he murmurs softly in affirmation.

[sourdre]

Getting his hands in his hair occurs to Jean-Claude at that moment, too, when Jon touches his braid. Getting to touch at all without the urgency of the ardeur is appealing; it has broken through so many of the barriers between them, which is one of the things Jean-Claude always appreciates about it, and now it is time to take advantage.

Jean-Claude steps into the bath, the water barely high enough to crest his hipbones as he settles himself back against the wall of the tub. It will fill as they talk. He holds out a slender, pale hand to invite Jon in to join him.

"Come then, I will give you a further taste of what you would be tied to, non?"

If Jon thinks he can normally deal with his visitors himself, that is a good sign. Jean-Claude, the quintessential survivor, is always poised to brace himself for some huge threat he must manage and press himself into a tight knot to endure. More than that, it means that with keeping Jonathan, the benefits should outweigh the risks in terms of those others who rely on him for their lives. Not something Jean-Claude takes lightly. But as he'd said, that is an issue, overall, for later.

[end_recording]

Jean-Claude will get a glimpse of Jon licking his lips before he places his own palm in Jean-Claude's and allows himself to be guided down. It doesn't feel like his legs are going to collapse under him anymore but he's still grateful for the support; mostly for not having to figure out how to fold himself against the other man. His body is all tension as he leans back, but he does let out a long sigh as his limbs sinks into the water.

"I don't think I've taken a proper bath since I was a child," he murmurs thoughtlessly. Muscle by muscle the tension bleeds out of him, leaving him flush with Jean-Claude's chest. The sheer wealth of skin contact makes Jon tense again, but only briefly. It's very... noticeable, how much more substantive Jean-Claude's body is opposed to Jon's. Of course, it's Jean-Claude's overwhelming nature that fascinates Jon.

"I didn't think I'd ever be seduced through my stomach," he huffs.

[sourdre]

Chuckling, Jean-Claude shifts them subtly into a position comfortable enough to stay in for some time, and follows Jon's earlier silent cue. His hands come up to tug out the hair tie on his braid, setting it aside, and settling in to slowly and luxuriously unwind the hair. His arms bracket Jon on either side, firm and immovable, his skin a little unpleasantly cool to the touch but the spray of water providing contrast, almost too hot.

"A failure of imagination, perhaps," he teases. "Or a failure of those around you? You have been subject to so much neglect, mon égaré. A man cannot be satisfied with words alone."

He presses a chaste kiss to his head to punctuate the words.

[end_recording]

Jean-Claude's cool fingers working through Jon's hair and sweat-grimed scalp is just as sublime as he imagined. Jon sighs again, drawn out and ragged.

Often he has felt ridiculous keeping his hair so long, and justified it as a practical way to conceal his scars. But in truth he can no longer imagine himself without the dark mass of it shadowing his features. He had gone two years without looking into a mirror as succumbed to the Eye; it was only after his completion as an avatar that mirrors stopped making him apprehensive and started to catch his eye once more. By then it was comforting to look as changed on the outside as he was internally.

Right now it seems likewise fitting that everything is so overwhelming, that Jon should experience such a rush of new sensations just as he makes the first real decision of his life—The first decision he has made not driven by fear. So close to him, Jean-Claude's voice sinks into him just like the heat of the water, making fear impossible even as embarrassment and uncertainty burn within him. It is so easy for Jean-Claude to make Jon sound worthy, and Jon's instincts tell him to look for motive. He reminds himself it's far too late for that. Jean-Claude had used the Eye's own proclivities to steal Jon from it's nest.

"W, well. I can be satisfied quite a lot by words," he jokes voice rusty and his face red.