The Sun Also Rises

It is perhaps the most precarious of moments in which that silent understanding so seems to pass between the pair, Dorian so wholly aware of those unseen forces that press upon his lover in reaction to a stimulant Dorian had been, until now, entirely unaware of. It was curious perhaps, that despite the speed with which they had found themselves within such a relationship as this- one bound is those threads of commitment and monogamy and love it was with a simple and veritable ease that Dorian so understood the man beneath him in those moments and beneath that near predatory stare of controlled hunger. How often it felt as if he had known the man for centuries as opposed to months and yet perhaps that was simply the design of fate and those red ties his companion could so coax into life on but a whim. Dorian so rarely given to consider fate that his thoughts upon it now startled even himself in some fashion and yet if this was the very soul he had been fated too, the one he had so been searching for in near six hundred years then perhaps it made sense- to so understand him without any need for words in that delicate moment. Had he not been made to understand Sebastian? Yet, it is that very same understanding that sees Dorian simply turn away at last to busy himself with his paints once more, affording no prying questions as to just what memories so seemed to linger beneath the surface or indeed as to why it seemed paint might well be the cause of it. If and when Sebastian so chose to mention it, it would be then Dorian cared to hear it and not before. Boyfriend or not the Fae is assured some privacy is still maintained and as such his own efforts proceed elsewhere for now, content to distract the vampire instead with his own comment upon his physique- one eye arching upward at his response- strained though it was, the effort placed within those lyrics is hardly unappreciated by the King.

"Don't you dare."

The idea of anything other than that perfectly sculpted physique, despite its problematic uses for the painting of geologically flat islands, is almost abhorrent to him. Dorian eyeing his companion once more as he utters those teasing lyrics before returning to his work, the Fae content to afford the vampire several pauses in between strokes or change of colour in which to gather himself each time. Yet, neither man it would seem was at all aware of that other affinity at play that responded so readily to Sebastian alone in those moments, intertwining itself with that tangle of emotion that already existed in the vampire to so fortify those feelings of protectiveness and possessiveness in turn. Such a power so seeking to override that hunger until it no longer exists as the most dominant of desires within the man. It is a change so entirely subtle, one Dorian himself would hardly have noticed were it not for that hand that reached upward so suddenly, Sebastian's fingers brushing against his cheek in a manner entirely affectionate, that soft simper pulling readily onto Dorian's lips once more in response to even that genteel touch. How curious it was, that such a predatory look had so seemed to shift into something near equally as intense and yet so lacking that almost dangerous edge from but moments ago. The Monarch utterly oblivious to his role in this as he returned to those delicate and artistic strokes that had so allowed him to perfect just this craft over so many centuries before at last shifting from the man. Content in that beautifully crafted map that adorned Sebastian's pale flesh now- the very pallor of his lover surprisingly ideal to paint upon.

He settles with ease beside Sebastian's shoulder now, so taking that marker to the man's skin to stain it with black ink, delicately placing his own mark upon the man in a fashion as he did with any art piece and yet truly the Fae King can hardly deny his own sense of pleasure in this- so marking the man as his alone even if such notions are surely as antiquated as he himself. Dorian having so long ago given up attempting to deny his own sense of possessiveness when it came to his lover and consort. The man hardly caring who should see those stained letters of ownership so crafted against the mans skin. An almost wry look touching his lips in that moment, those words that follow very near a whisper for Sebastian alone.

"Do you know what I so like about these Markers? They do not come off very easily."

It is perhaps the only indication Dorian is content to give of his pleasure in so marking the vampire in some fashion. After all, he lacked those fangs Sebastian himself so utilised to claim his own flesh each time he fed and leave those marks upon him- Dorian thusly content to create his own methods. He leans forward then, so stealing his lovers lips with his own along with those apologies he was sure he did not need as the vampire rose to his knees- crawling closer. His gaze so intently watches those fingers as they reach for the first of the buttons upon his shirt, lifting only as Sebastian so seeks to repeat that ever-lengthy list of titles that Dorian had uttered but moments ago. It is this mention of 'Sardines' that sees his own features frown softly, lips parting to correct the man upon his error before it becomes so abundantly clear that the vampire was deliberately mispronouncing those names.

"Vous êtes une chose misérable. Même Avez-vous regardé cette carte votre païens?" (You are a wretched thing. Did you even look at that map you heathen?)

His words are entirely teasing, Dorian truly hardly caring as to whether Sebastian appreciated his artwork or not, the Fae so entirely distracted by those fingers pushing his shirt from his back and onto the floor behind him. Ah, but how he adored such kisses as this! The vampires tongue so brushing across his lips in a decidedly enticing fashion, Dorian entirely eager for more before he felt Sebastian so hesitate, surprise tugging softly at his features as the Fae so briefly searched for whatever it was that saw his lover pause. His silver gaze at last resting upon Sebastian's very wet upper body.

"I think, Mon Cher, one need only pause when the other one is wearing a very nice white shirt- but since the very nice white shirt is gone, one need not worry for the state of it. If one would please fuck the other one now- we would very much appreciate it."

That it is, perhaps, the most polite fashion in which Sebastian had ever received such a request remained entirely to be seen. Dorian content to so effortlessly blend his own gentlemanly manners with that earlier unsophisticated language Sebastian had so employed at the very beginning of their evening. After all, was fucking not what the vampire had so requested? The Fae King seeing little reason not to assure those needs might be met as he pulls himself so easily to his own knees. One finger so easily catches within the hem of his lovers pants, tugging the man forward to close that final bit of distance between them. His hands momentarily lift, pressing into the wet paint upon his consorts chest, much of Athens and Naples itself taken out with such a gesture before his lips find Sebastian's own again. How he relished that taste of the man, that feel of him, Dorian so assured whatever less then pleasant memories had so occupied the vampires thoughts before might be all-too easily chased away, even if for only one night. He pulls back from the man's lips just so- teeth nipping against his lower lip as he had done before, so encouraging Sebastian to part his lips entirely now and allow the Fae that far deeper, far more intimate kiss as his hands glide upward to tangle within Sebastian's hair- coating it entirely in that mix of blues and greens as he had so purposefully intended to do.

There is, this time, something far more ardent to his kisses- something rougher and more demanding than those gentle, sweet embraces they so often shared. His own chest rapidly becoming adorned in that mix of paint from the closeness of this very gesture. How intriguing it was to feel that cool paint against his own heated skin and indeed how much he simply relished in that embrace of his lover. Dorian so utterly desperate for all the man had to offer him. The Fae so seemingly incapable of ever getting quite enough of his companion. He pulls at last away from the man once more, his own breathing so slightly unhinged, his silver gaze so entirely heated with want as he pauses so briefly to examine his own painted chest- a simper of amusement adorning his features before his gaze returns to his companions own.

"I think you should stand up. I did say I would have you stand after all."

He waits only so long as it takes the vampire to comply with such a request and lift himself to his feet. Dorian- for once- hardly inclined to do the same. The Fae so remaining on his knees if only to facilitate his next actions, the man so effortlessly undoing Sebastian's pants, tugging them down only so much as he needed. That eternal lack of any undergarments so wholly appreciated here and now. Ah, but how he must love this man if he was so willing to be upon his knees for him- these gestures so entirely for Sebastian alone to so witness. It is quite without warning then that Dorian so takes the man between his lips. Tonight it seems- he is not inclined to wait.

Dorian Aragona