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

[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.