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ctd from here...
Cesare disentangles himself from Isabel, steps over to the wrought iron railing. He leans over the edge, forcing himself to droop a bit, arms dangling while he presses halfmoon fingernails into his palms. Then he turns to her, eyes narrowed, and decides to plunge ahead - it's not as if she doesn't know or, at the very least, suspect what's on his mind.
"Daydreaming. Perhaps." He makes a little come, come here gesture, the prelude to a secret that is none, the overture to a wish she knows he harbours. It's all a matter of how to phrase it. Of how to please her while he's pleasing himself.
Once she's close, he leans over to whisper hot against the shell of her ear. "He would do well between us, I believe." His voice is hoarse and drops half an octave. "Perhaps he would taste sweet to you, too, once his legs are on my shoulders."
Cesare disentangles himself from Isabel, steps over to the wrought iron railing. He leans over the edge, forcing himself to droop a bit, arms dangling while he presses halfmoon fingernails into his palms. Then he turns to her, eyes narrowed, and decides to plunge ahead - it's not as if she doesn't know or, at the very least, suspect what's on his mind.
"Daydreaming. Perhaps." He makes a little come, come here gesture, the prelude to a secret that is none, the overture to a wish she knows he harbours. It's all a matter of how to phrase it. Of how to please her while he's pleasing himself.
Once she's close, he leans over to whisper hot against the shell of her ear. "He would do well between us, I believe." His voice is hoarse and drops half an octave. "Perhaps he would taste sweet to you, too, once his legs are on my shoulders."
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It has been many long nights since her last visit to the temple of Venus in Ancona: true Sinners amongst her kind seemed a vanishing breed in this jaded and cold age. Happily, there is a kindred soul standing next to her, his mouth a hair's breadth away from her ear, suggesting the most decadent proposal. Let him entertain the notion of entangled limbs as pleasures are sought and sated, and she will entertain the idea of how sweet the vitae will taste running slowly over her tongue.
"Do you now?" Her smile was neither mocking nor wolfish, merely the smile of someone who shared the speaker's sentiments and was glad that such thoughts were out in the open air. "I think that perhaps you are in the right. Which then begs the question of how to seduce him to our way of thinking. I would hardly think honesty the best policy in this situation."
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"You're quite right, of course. Unless one enters these bargains to be willingly deceived, one might not be appreciative. I fear a blunt proposal might cause the young chit to flee in terror." He looks at the bumbling thing, the way his pants are riding low on his hips. Meraviglioso, such sullenness...
"Allow me to make a request before we so much as... devise a plan." He leans in to sniff at Isabel's hair, smoky and perfumed. "I'd like him alive by morning. Call it a whim, but..." Miquel wouldn't have it. He would leave me forever, again- Wincing, Cesare drops his gaze. "No killing. Be that as it may, I'd like to have him."
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"Of course it would," she smiles. "Who in their proper mind would believe that a Renaissance duke and a vampire would wish their company and allow them to depart unscathed when the sun rose? Such fear, too, would taint any sweetness of the vitae, and that would be most unfortunate." he watches Cesare as he watches the lad: a faint scenting of the air reveals much more to her about the lad's character. Dominating him into compliance would be, in addition to anathema to the rules of the Road, counterproductive for it would mar the rich deepening of his vitae.
Isabel looks up at him, eyes hooded as she listens to his request. She makes a small 'tcth', almost disappointed in his opinion of her. "Don Cesare, I have not yet taken life within the town limits. I assure you that I have no desire to break that rule this night."
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A Renaissance duke. The phrase makes him chafe a bit, much as it pleases. It makes him sound... dead. He pats Isabel's hand, then lets go. The annoying thing is that, once upon a time, the mere mention of his name would have opened the little oyster, flat on his back. It's galling to think that might have involved fear, although it must be true.
Drily, "Fear is a bad seasoning, I take it? No, we can't have that."
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Another colour moved into his aura, brown, and her brow rises a fraction of an inch. Well, everyone had things they regretted, and times changed far more quickly than even mortals might wish. Yet, if one waited long enough, time would circle back around to its beginning point. In theory, she smiles.
"Shall I assume that is a rhetorical question? Yes, for now, I feel that I shall." Isabel inhales the scent of the sea air. Fear could be quite a heady emotion to invoke in others, but as the Beast's hungers focus on how easy it is to indulge in the baiting of the kine, she shakes her head to clear the notion away. "No, not when there are so many other, more enjoyable seasonings to indulge in."
A glance over at the youth causes her to smile and she leans in to Cesare's ear. "Envy can so easily turn into curiosity, yes?" Her eyes move back to the youth, catching them and holding them. Isabel smiles and gives him a wink. "Yes."
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"Donna Isabel," he starts, then hedges. It won't do to snarl and bite over this. It's her way, he reminds himself, or tries to. Her way of seeing. Va bene.
Leaning closer, "Envy? You may have a point, bellissima." It's worth a try. And if it fails? Oh well. He still gains a grope and a kiss or three. So he wraps around her and shoves his tongue past her teeth.
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"I have four when the mood strikes," Isabel's tongue teases over her canines briefly. Innuendo is pushed aside when his tongue sweeps into her mouth. A tendril of will snakes out... warmth...invitation... sliding toward the youth.
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Prying himself away, he leans back against the banister, breathing heavily, face turned against the wind. And looks at the boy. Who looks pointedly disinterested, with the bristling air of someone who does. not. want. to. stare but wants to look, and will.
A gentle wave washes over him, then passes. The suggestion of sweet things, of fingers and bodies and breaths in conjunction.
The boy starts moving away, then stops.
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Perhaps his as well, she thinks as he leans against the banister. Isabel's eyes follow his gaze and the Beast opens lazy eyes wondering along with her whether the lamb will be ensnared. Thinking of how intoxicating the taste of sweet vitae will be from both of them, Isabel pushes more inviting warmth out into the night air.
Slowly, gently, she cautions herself. Not all fish need to be reeled in quickly, and a rush here might well spell a misstep and losing the tasty morsel. The boy looks over to them again, one last time it could be, and Isabel locks her gaze upon him.
You want to come over, the command is sent sweetly as she holds his eyes. He moves in answer, hesitantly at first, and then with a second confident step. That's right, Isabel smiles when he takes his third step closer to them. The Beast rumbles in satisfaction. Such sweet, sweet vitae is well worth this patience.
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Now he feels just that happening - the reptile, telling him to take, take the boy and the woman, don't ask, for who shall deny thee? The thought comes unbidden, but he knows the voice. It's not Miquel's, no. And where is he anyway, the voice of reason? Where is he when Cesare needs him? Where was he when Cesare needed to hold onto him? Who's to deny Cesare this child now?
He leans out into the wind. His brow is sweaty.
When he looks at the boy, again, he can see him hesitate and stall, a deer on a clearing, flanks quivering. Rarely has Isabel appeared more attractive. She seems everything a man could ever want, radiant, an appeal to every instinct. The reptile brain, Cesare assents reluctantly.
The kid seems confused, so Cesare offers a soft "buona sera", with the inflection of a question. "Can we help you?"
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Oh, he is good, she smiles without showing her teeth. Isabel contents herself to watch and wait. It has been far too long since she watched someone other than a fellow Cainite stalk and hunt in the night. To hunt and release, yet: without ghouling or otherwise bonding to her undead heart. For a flicker of a moment, Isabel feels... almost... closer to being human.
"Buona sera," Isabel echoes, the faintest suggestion of command in her voice. She watches the youth look from Cesare's eyes and their sparkling intensity over to her. His eyes do not quite meet hers. Isabel follows his darting gaze and sees the way darkness gathers at the top of her breasts like a pendant of jet, sliding between them before disappearing into the soft, lavender silk of her blouse. "There's no call to be shy," she looks up the youth and smiles again.
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No, it's just a beautiful youth, fair and downy where Astorre was dark and smouldering. "Of course there's call to be shy," Cesare laughs. "The young man knows better than to talk to strangers, Isabella mia. God knows what they're up to." He raises one eyebrow, smirks to show off dimples.
His eyes follow the kid's gaze, down Isabel's perfect, shadowed neckline. He doesn't know what it is, but he would kill to put his head there. Lick her sweat.
Then he starts gnawing his bottom lip. - Wait, that was a strange thought. Of course he enjoys a good cleavage, as much as the next man, but... not enough to go all pazzo over it. Besides, he can't even remember whether she sweats like other people.
"We were just talking, my friend Isabel and I," he offers softly, "wondering whether you're from around here. You look lost."
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Her eyes sparkle with merriment, echoing sentiments from the Beast at this evening's dancing hunt. "As for what we are up to, it is nothing more sinister than people watching on a late summer's night." She smiles at them both and resists the temptation to manipulate the shadows swirling around and down her skin further than she has. Some of the Lasombra would have, no doubt, but Isabel is happy to be more restrained than her Spanish cousins.
The boy mumbles something about visiting from the city and trying to decide if he should return by bus or stay longer. Shy, awkward, wondering why he's confiding this to them; gently, slowly the Beast purrs as Isabel continues to wrap thoughts of comfort and warmth around the lad.
"I am sorry," just a slight accent to explain the formality of her speech, "but I did not catch your name."
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The wind picks up a bit, gulls are screeching, and Cesare shrinks into the collar of his light jacket. Purses his lips, waits for that name. "Jonathan," the boy says reluctantly. He must be wondering why he is so much as talking to them. Why he tells them their name. They are not the kind of elderly, tooth-smacking babblers, loneliness overriding decorum, the kind of old women who'll tell you thir entire life when you make the mistake of catching their eye.
"Jonathan," Cesare replies sweetly. "English names sound lovely. It suits you. If you don't mind me saying so." He nods reassuringly. The quick, curt you may leave whenever you wish kind of nod. He sometimes forgets how feudal it looks. But he wants to have the boy, and to have him, he must convince him that he's a free agent, and Jonathan himself the seducer, not the seduced.
Leaning towards Isabel, he widens his eyes in mock-conspiracy. "People-watching, madonna. Ah, I'd rather watch you."
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Watching them both pull a bit into their jackets, Isabel mimics them even though the wind doesn't affect her as it does them. "Jonathan," Isabel nod slightly in greeting, "if I may be so bold, you are the answer to a great dilemma this evening."
Two pairs of eyes look at her in surprise, and Isabel continues to spin her tale from the air. "My cousin and I are still new to the area, and I..." she leans in and lowers her voice a bit, "am a terrible cook. I have promised Cesare a decent supper that he doesn't have to make, but you see this is as far as we've gotten. Perhaps you can suggest a place."
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"But perhaps..." His voice trails off. "Would you happen to be hungry, Jonathan?"
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Isabel looks at Cesare and tries to see if he is pulling her leg for her earlier teasing, or if it is more curiosity on his part. Fair enough on either count; she will let him see how easily the Masquerade is held up whilst others dine around her.
"Please," she coaxes when the boy begins to make polite excuses. He wants to, but it goes against so much that has been bred into him. "We are new here and would like to make acquaintances."
Isabel slips her arm into his and smiles after she speaks. "Come, walk between us. Give those watching something to wag their tongues about."
A shy smile and then a laugh accompanies a nod from the boy. I think I could come to enjoy fishing, she thinks as he begins to point out local areas of interest.
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Recalling this, Cesare walks next to Jonathan and almost closes his eyes. His hands are loosely clasped in his back. "Splendid." He smiles, corners of his eyes warmly a-crinkle. "I am glad you are coming along. You can warn us what's a tourist trap."
Behind the boy's back he catches Isabel's eye. "Bellissim'," he mouths. His tongue darts out a little, licks his bottom lip with just a hint of obscenity for seasoning.
"My cousin and I are just fumbling in the dark here, you know? have you ever been to Italy, Jonathan?"
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She catches the slight stiffening in surprise and flush of embarrassment that catches their prey. Her ears catch the near silent syllables that die in his throat before the more quickly than normal admission that no he hadn't been yet, but was hoping to as part of his university work.
A nod, sympathetic, to the plight. It seems common enough from what she's seen and heard here in the town. Isabel turns to Cesare and gives him a grin that is more hungry than amused. "Shall we spare him, and ourselves, the culinary low points of any supper offered? His mind is in a happy fog enough now, it would be more satisfactory to suggest a cappuccino whilst suggesting places he has to visit when he goes abroad."
eep! If life interferes like it has since the last post, I will club it like a mutant baby seal.
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"Anything you say, bella mia." He claps a friendly hand on Jonathan's shoulder and leans over to whisper in his ear, warmly, conspiratorially. "She has a way about her, I swear... Hard to say no to her." His spine burns with a pleasant tingle as he watches the boy squirm - before he can relax and laugh with Cesare over their shared mock-confidentiality.
"Just... no Starbucks, please?" Cesare whines a bit. "I am sure I can cook up something better than that."
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Oh he enjoys this, she thinks when he whispers to the boy. She would allow a flush to grace her cheeks, but stops herself, sure that she is not supposed to hear the confidences exchanged.
"Starbucks?" She sniffs in disdain and disbelief. "I cannot believe that you would even entertain going into an establishment named after a whaler."
Isabel's eyes gleam and she can't help but run her tongue over her teeth at his last comment. He is already 'cooking up' something better; she can smell the changes in their blood and hear the newer rhythms of their pulse.
"That sounds like a bet to me," the words are offered in friendly challenge. "Shall we accept it?" Her eyes lock with Jonathan's as he nods and agrees with her.
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The kiss she blows him makes him purr.
"Oh please, do," he rumbles gently. "You may consider the bet won already." He draws Jonathan a little closer, just close enough before he senses him hesitate and brace himself, then smiles like the cat that got the cream.
"What do I win?"
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wuh do continue
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