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NCC - The Alchemist & The Artist - [MsBloom x emDash]

If he was asked outright if he was Jamie's boyfriend during the night, he would have lightly skirted around it or told the truth if pressed, but otherwise he's happy for others to make their assumptions and leaves it at that. He's none the wiser of Jamie actively saying so, but should it come up, she need only explain for him to understand and be more than happy to be the scapegoat. Honestly, he wouldn't bother correcting either except for that it may ruin his own flirtatious interest that may have caught his eye at the gallery event. As it is, he still leaves with her, not even with Gilly who had clearly undressed him with that gaze throughout the night.

Burgers are Yurik's style. He happily eats two of them, settled back in his chair and enjoying a few laughs and comments over the event they had just left. He does tease her about the paintings, particularly feminine ones, such as the nude from behind with the sheer dress, but it's just shit-talking teasing. There's no malice in Yurik's tone or eye. He's taking the opportunity to actually enjoy banter and a meal with Jamie when they are often in contact for only business. This was slightly different. It almost felt social. The bridge between business associates to friendship seems to be growing shorter.

'I am,' he says, stretching out his arms and spine before climbing to his feet. 'And on the way you can tell me more about your friend in a top hat. You've not mentioned him before and I find that very curious given a gallery full of paintings with you as the subject.'

'Am I going to be stepping on toes if I seek out what's under that waistcoat?' Yurik asks as they're moving from car to a nearby address. 'Because from where I'm sitting, a guy that puts that much time and effort into painting a subject as much as he has, is definitely invested. Obsessed, maybe.' While his tone might be light and his brow arched when he looks at Jamie, there's some thread of truth under it. Or maybe he just doesn't get artists. He's admitted as much.

Once they've arrived at destination Afterparty, Yurik wanders with Jamie towards the entrance. This time he doesn't have to offer her his arm so he doesn't. Instead he wanders with one hand in his hip pocket while scanning around the local area with an eye of interest and an ear for sound. He's hoping it's not going to be one of those parties with music blasting at ear splitting volumes because, while he can normally handle it and sometimes enjoy it, he's just spent several hours listening to hyena's laughing and parrots talking and his tolerance for noise levels decreases with his tolerance for people.

But Gilly is worth sticking around a little longer. Curiosity kills the cat and maybe as much is true for shapeshifters.
 
It was fun sharing a meal with Yurik and talking about something other than Black Bramble, Greenie or the risks involved in collecting spit from Devil's Cabbage and the effect those risks should have on price of it. Unfortunately Jamie had early on in their business dealings bragged a little that she had a method for doing so that was safe as plain vanilla and that little mistake had certainly had an effect on the price. It hadn't even worked when she had suggested she might take it elsewhere because as he had said, no one else would know what to even do with it except maybe the military who would use it for weapons and demand much larger quantities at a much lower price.

No this was so different, even just having him as company for Gilly's exhibition had been different. They rarely met outside of business except whenever Jamie needed his help getting out of trouble she couldn't get herself out of.

Perhaps she did find his banter and teasing about the paintings a bit embarrassing but on the whole she was proud of them and the one in the sheer white dress from behind in front of a large window with her looking back at the viewer over her shoulder and just that shadow of her penis to hint the less feminine aspect of her anatomy, but also the one life sized canvas painted from a worm's eye view where she wore nothing but high heeled leather boots. The latter of the two had sold for five figures just before Jamie and Yurik left.

She too could feel the drawbridge between business partners closing as they threw banter back and forth without even once mentioning The Zone or its contents. It felt nice, and perhaps anyone watching them would have thought they were a rather over dressed couple out on a date which Jamie didn't much mind at all.

"Gilly," she said and looked up at Yurik when he asked her to tell him about her friend in the top hat.
"Well ... Gilly and I go way back.," she began.
"It wasn't long after Red had died. I was in a really bad way. I mean worse than I am now, much worse. In fact he quite literally picked me up from the gutter and asked me if he could sketch me. Apparently I had an intriguing face or something, what was it he said, like someone who has live more than their share of misery, or something to that effect. He still has that sketch of me, above his desk, framed and everything. He offered it to me but I told him I'd probably ruin it first by folding it up in my back pocket and then losing it so he said he'd keep it for me and then asked if I'd like to pose for a real painting and well, when he discovered my little secret we ended up in bed and that's basically how we met."

Jamie paused for a while and then went on to talk more specifically about Gilly.
"In a way I suppose you could say he is obsessed with me but mostly as a subject for his work. Sure we still fuck from time to time but it's nothing exclusive, just like it's something we're both good at and enjoy doing together. I think it kind of goes with his work in a way, usually we only do it while he's working on a canvas of me and then it can be weeks, months before we even meet.

I'm quite sure he wouldn't mind you seeking what is under the waist coat at all and I'll tell you this much, he's like almost this I dunno ... double edged dagger, usually the gentlest person you'll ever meet, polite and you wouldn't believe he's from old money with the way he thinks about the world and its injustices, then once you get him naked and aroused he's like a feral beast, not actually violent or anything but wild, raw unapologetic lust, like the best fuck ever, and he gives as good as he takes."

She had kept talking all the way from the burger place to Gilly's apartment but had not made any mention of her own toes being potentially stepp on if Yurik and Gilly ended up enjoying carnal pleasures together. She was to varying degrees in love with them both and had leaped at the chance to slip between them and enjoy them both as they enjoyed each other.

Jamie opened the door without knocking and simply called out a gentle hi to Gilly who just came from the kitchen area with a bottle of champagne in one hand and three glasses hanging between the fingers of his other hand. He raised a welcoming eyebrow at them both and smiled. The private section of the apartment was mostly various shades of red velvet with tar black drapes covering the windows. There were only two other persons present, a young female couple cuddled up in the corner of a large couch. From a hidden speaker system came the sounds of Erik Satie's Gymnopédies on a volume that allowed for both immersing yourself in the dreamy impressionistic tones but also for conversation.
"If it isn't the two uncouth savages," he said and politely bowed his head towards them.
"Do come in. Feel free to sit wherever you like and I will soon bring you glasses. There is marijuana on the table, both to eat and to smoke."
 
Yurik listens with interest as Jamie spills the beans, not only on her relationship with Gilly but on a few other things he picks up in the telling of their history. He's discovered that once people do open up, as she is, it was better to let them roll on without interruptions, which he does with small nods and smiles to show that he's actively engaged.

Some of what Jamie says links to the few murmurings that Gilly had offered earlier that evening. The elven offspring has his own obsession with her, and painting, but there's that underlying need to help. It's not entirely transactional between them and, it seems, this is something that the two men have in common. Yurik files that away with mild curiosity and self-awareness.

The best fuck ever, she had said, and it's with this stuck in the forefront of his mind that he enters the apartment with Jamie and closes the door. It would be nice to think purely on the carnal images that such a remark leaves him with, but those are diluted with the complicated weaving of friendships, ongoing relations, and while not exclusive could very well be a minefield for an outsider. Which he is and feels even more so when he finds himself looking around an apartment with a bold red and black decor.

It doesn't stop him plastering a smile on his mouth, something that comes slow and seemingly easily. 'You'll have to forgive us if we smell of beef and bacon, and deep fried grease,' he says at the uncouth savages remark.

Then a small nod and, 'Thanks,' when they're invited to help themselves to weed on the table and a place to sit. Yurik does neither, but he casts a glance over the young couple with a polite smile and nod of greeting. His pale gaze slips around the room, taking in the furnishings and anything on display. The music offers a nice lull to the earlier chatter in the gallery. While foreign to his uneducated ear, he does find himself relaxing from tension he hadn't known he was carrying. He'd admit, that there's some sort of spell being cast through the room and he wonders if it actually is some sort of woven magic. But no.

'Nice place you have, Gilly,' he compliments when the other is in earshot and not otherwise engaged in conversation.
 
"Horrible scents are they not," Gilly says with a hint of a smile.
"Maybe not when they are fresh but some time after having been digested it starts to smell rotten."
He made a grimace with his nose as if he had just smelled something foul.
"Not to mention the aftertaste. At first it is as delicious as the juicy meat and fries are but after a while it too goes foul all of which is why I rarely eat meat at all, unlike out mutual friend here who wouldn't hesitate to gobble down a day old burger."
He leaned in closer to Yurik and with a light touch to the man's shoulder finished the thought in a whisper too low for most human ears to hear: "She may perhaps be lacking in class but she is one hell of a tough cookie, and she does bite back if you try to take a bite of her, but you probably know that already. It's a shame though because she is quite intelligent and as you can see for yourself she does clean up quite nicely."

Jamie had, unlike Yurik, taken Gilly up on his offer and swallowed down a large piece of THC infused chocolate cake and now lit a joint while leaning back into the couch next to the lesbian couple, watching Gilly and Yurik. There was that chemistry between them again, electric and erotic.

The contents of the whisper might have been about their mutual acquaintance but from the light touch and how closely Gilly leaned in towards Yurik, his lips almost touching the other's ear, their chests mere inches apart it was obvious that it was nothing but an excuse to touch the man, to smell his skin, to feel the heat from his body.

A few moments later more guests arrived, three of the younger people from the gallery, two men and a woman, all dressed in black as well. The music changed to the more vivid Suite Bergamasque by Claude Debussy. It was perhaps not as permitting of conversation but the volume was still low enough that it could pass for background music.

Gilly did play the host to perfection, conversing with all of his guests but his eyes were almost constantly on Yurik and whenever he had the opportunity to he found himself alone with the man.
"I do try," he said at the polite compliment regarding his home.
"Perhaps you would like the full tour. I am sure Jamie is still sober enough to handle the guests."
 
'I don't recommend eating rotting meat,' Yurik says, amused as Gilly starts talking about the stench of meat. He lightly pats his own trim stomach with a lopsided curl of mouth. 'Stomach acid will break that down before the meat spoils, don't worry.'

Then, more seriously, he leans in to murmur. 'But I'll respect your choices and never take you out for burgers.'

He's about to pull back but Gilly leans in with fingers brushing his shoulder and halts his progress. Ear perked, metaphorically speaking, at least in this form, he listens to the hushed tones of the others too soft voice with a faint raising of hairs on the back of his neck.

Yurik's not expecting to like the sound of Gilly's voice in that low tone as much as he does, the warm breath, yes, but elves and their kind are known for the quality of voice. It'd be a lie to say his cock didn't perk with interest at the combined assault of his senses - chests close enough to feel the aura of warmth, Gilly's scent beneath the layers of clothing, and the small thrill of newness that comes with seducing strangers. Beneath is own cologne, worn faint, is a linger of sandalwood and his own, masculine musk.

'Like me,' he says of cleaning up nicely or biting - he's not clarifying. Close up, those silvery-blues have hints of warm tones, gold or amber specks, around the dark pupil. He's watching Gilly out of the corner of his eye and then directly when Gilly pulls back enough to do so. His hand, which had lingered on Gilly's waist, slips from fabrics when the other moves on to see the new arrivals, leaving Yurik to watch him until he's out of line of sight.

A little later, he's being offered a tour. He glances over to see that Jamie is entertained with eating and smoking and maybe eye fucking them and nods to Gilly. Wordlessly gesturing the other lead the way with his barely touched champagne, Yurik follows in step after the other, undressing him with a weighty gaze from behind. 'Do you entertain often?' he asks along the way.
 
Gilly nods at Jamie, mouthing to her to be a good hostess while he starts seducing the man she had brought to meet him before starting the tour where he usually ends it with people he has no romantic interest in, his studio. There are a few more half-finished canvases of Jamie in various nude poses and settings, including a re-imagining of Botticelli's The Birth of Venus but without the hair covering the pubic area letting the world see her small flaccid penis and behind it just a shadow of her vulva. There were of course other paintings as well of other subjects, most of which were in one way or another sexual in nature, but non that was repeated as often.

The main piece though that would catch the eye of anyone entering the studio was a six by twelve feet canvas of a group of men sprawled out across a decadent late 19th century salon, all in various degrees of undress and by the look of their poses and their faces they were all quite exhausted and yet vibrant with the sort of lingering energy that only happens after hours of debilitating, mind-boggling orgasms. One of the men on the far left edge of the canvas wore a top hat just like the one Gilly was wearing, the man had an almost silly grin on his face as he seemed to look directly, almost raising his glass of wine, at the viewer.
"I call it The End of an Orgy," Gilly informed Yurik and stood close behind him, close enough to smell that hint of sandalwood mixing with the more natural musky scent of masculinity.
 
Drawn into the studio, Yurik's gaze drifts from the well dressed man to the less dressed paintings. He can't help the faint huff that escapes when he finds more paintings with Jamie as the focal point and is reminded of their conversation earlier on. It dampens his libido, which is one hell of a disappointment, but there's champagne to distract him from the discomfort of his unease. He can't pinpoint what it is about the arrangement that irks him but nor is he invested enough to pursue it past a momentary observation.

He's far more interested in the second painting. Not only is the scale of it impressive but the subject matter is far less personal than gazing at somebody familiar, and far more to his personal taste. Cocking his head to the side, he scans over details, holding his champagne glass down by his side in a most improper grip, seem between fingers and glassware resting softly in the cradle of them.

Humming low in acknowledgement, the sound carrying a hint of bedroom rumble, Yurik isn't quick to break the spell with a worded response. He's busy absorbing expression and colours, cocks and limbs, and the heat of the other man, slightly taller than he (and taller yet with the top hat) behind him. Bright eyes skip from detail to detail, and the likeliness of top hat, wine drinking man saluting the view is not missed, before he looks between three figures in particular.

'There is something arousing about a half dressed man,' he says, an admission that almost sounds like invitation. Flirting, certainly. 'I can't decide what article of clothing left on is the hottest.'

'And,' he continues, 'they all look exhausted. Fucked out. And yet, still half dressed. It must have been one hell of an orgy.'
 
"How about nothing but a top hat and a cravat?" Gilly whispered in response to the man's indecision having watched him explore the painting in silence for what felt like an eternity, an eternity of heated emotions and a growing carnal desire.
Yurik's reaction to the unfinished nude of Jamie as Venus had not gone unnoticed either and after Yurik's added comment about it having had to be one hell of an orgy he leaned in closer yet.
"And not a tit in sight either."
He then inhaled deeply taking in the scent of the man sensing a slight change in it that usually came with some level of arousal.
"I'd love to paint you like that some day," he added still whispering.
"Half dressed and fucked to exhaustion."
He almost finished the barely veiled invitation by kissing the man's ear.
 
'The top hat does would be a unique, uh, situation.' He didn't quite know what to say to that. It's hard to take a top hat seriously from where he comes from, where anyone wearing one would be ridiculed but Yurik's far too polite about saying as much in the company of a man who has one perched on top his head even in the comfort of his own home. Granted the man is entertaining guests in his home and should, he supposes, play the part.

Yurik's trying to decide if he'd find the cravat and top hat arousing, not thinking too deeply on it, when there's quips about tits that make him huff a quiet sound of amusement. 'I have nothing against tits,' he says, mouth quirked at one corner, 'I just prefer them hard and defined.'

He can hear the way Gilly breathes him in and is tempted to glance behind him, but the other is close enough to be practically over his shoulder and there's scant room between their heads as it is. Besides, he likes the way the other toys with his sensitive ear, offering seductive invitations in equally alluring tones. Down by his side, his hand twitches, fingers curling loosely to stop the urge to reach back, tug the other closer by a fabric of cloth and close that half inch distance between the heat of back and chest. He shows surprising control for a shifter.

Humming low again, making a mockery of the thoughtful way people do when assessing works of art, he slowly lifts his champagne glass, balancing the flute against the pad of his thumb as he tips it towards his mouth. 'Let's see if you can convince me.' The small tilt of his head back allows the draining of the glass with his adam's apple bobbing in the long line of his throat.

'I'm not an exhibitionist,' he says, lowering the glass back to his side. Now he does tilt his head just enough to glance at Gilly from the corner of his eye. 'You'll need to work hard for it.'
 
"Not an exhibitionist. A shame really," Gilly said now barely able to restrain himself from wrapping his arms around the man in front of him, pulling him close to feel his back against his chest and that shapely ass against his soon fully erect cock.
"Maybe the hat could rest on your lap instead of sitting atop your beautiful head, or you could wear tight trousers made from the skin of some wild beast, Black Panther perhaps."
He was imagining the portrait in his head but his desire was to paint Yurik as close to nude as possible. He had not seen the body without clothes but he was reasonable certain that it was an amazing body, toned and muscular with skin smooth as milk, or perhaps not because despite his gentile appearance there were details about the man suggesting he was from a different class than Gilly, who had basically grown up being fed with a silver spoon.

"Shall we move on perhaps. There is one more room I really want to show you," he whispered in that low breath of a voice.
"Unless you want to go all savage and just get some hard work done on the love seat over in the corner?"
It was not the most subtle of invitations of course but the throbbing desire Gilly felt for this man had no patience for subtleties. It barely had the patience for the love seat. It just wanted Yurik right then and there in front of his not yet finished painting, right there on the paint stained floor or his studio.
 
The scent of Gilly's arousal is more intoxicating than any wine or baked brownies that are on offer. Yurik's smirk flows closer to a smile at the imagery Gilly uses to try and persuade him into the idea of becoming a model for one of the paintings. Does he want to see himself mounted on a wall? Perhaps he does. Gilly's words do inspire him to think of other ways he could be painted and he wouldn't mind at all being the subject of such focused attention.

'Paintings take quite a while to do, don't they?' he asks, having no real idea but assuming that it's not done in a single afternoon. The End of an Orgy must have taken months or years.

Yurik turns slowly, shoulder brushing into Gilly's chest creating enough distance to move on the spot and come face to face. His gaze flits over Gilly's features which are remarkably both handsome and pretty. He wouldn't say that Gilly has a feminine face but there is qualities about him that lean that direction. Maybe it's just the long hair or mannerisms. Likely the elven blood.

The same that gives Yurik his ridiculously bright eyes and, yes, handsome face, but he's far more masculine despite his current close shave. He has a dimple in his chin, not quite a cleft but almost, and laugh lines already formed around a generous mouth. Gilly's lips, he discovers by sight, have a similar quality about them. Yurik rolls his own lower lip between his teeth and slowly looks back up, locks gazes.

'How about...' he begins quietly while slowly raising his hand to touch the brim of the top hat, 'I wear this.' He has full intention of stealing that top hat from the other and, should Gilly let him, he does just that and places it on top of his own head. Half curls squish flatter when he tips the hat more forward than back, then cocks his head with an upward tilt of his chin to look up at the other man.

'And if you're a very good boy, I might let you paint me with nothing but this and you between my legs.' It sounds like a great idea, but he's only teasing, shown by the way he then inhales a sharp, surprised air and rights his head. 'Oh, but if you're going to be busy focusing with that mouth of yours, and it is a very lovely mouth Gilly, then how are you ever going to paint me?'

He reaches up a second time but it's not to give the hat back, rather to comb some unsettled strands of Gilly's long hair back from his crown. 'Show me this other room. You still have convincing to do.'
 
"Some do, some are rather quick, some can take as long as the painter and model want them to take," Gilly said and explained that End of an Orgy had taken a little over six months so far while the previously viewed and rejected portrait of Jamie as Venus had only taken a month, if that.
The difference in size was perhaps the main reason for the difference but also the fact that there were six detailed portraits in End of an Orgy and only one in the other and with the level of almost photographic detail Gilly was known for that meant it would take at least another month or two before it would be finished.

As Yurik turns to look at him all Gilly can see are those piercing electric blue eyes and they send shivers all through his body. He lifts his hand to place it on the man's shoulder but hesitates. He wants so badly to lean in and kiss those lips, to taste the mixture of champagne and Yurik's natural flavours. The tension between them is highly palpable and erotically charged. Gilly can feel how hard his cock is, straining as it is against his tight trousers, absolutely certain its size and readiness must be showing through the fabric.

Gilly merely nods at Yurik's suggestion and allows him to remove the top hat from his head to place it on his own. He is completely mesmerised by the man, not only those eyes but his face, so handsome, so beautiful. He watches as Yurik tilts the hat forward and his head back and the way it accentuate his chin and lips, those full bodied, kissable, lips.

At the suggested imagery of a portrait of Yurik receiving a blowjob from himself has Gilly's cock twitching. He can even feel a drop of precum form at the tip and stain his underwear. He can't remember ever having been as aroused as he is in that very moment.
"I'll have to do a lot of research," Gilly said suggestively.
"And paint the scene from memory."
It would certainly be quite a pleasurable research to explore Yurik's cock, feel it, taste it, slobber on it and note his facial expressions, observe his orgasm face because that is the exact moment he would want to capture, the moment of ecstasy when the portrayed Yurik fill up his unseen mouth with his load. He would have himself wearing nothing but a white shirt, unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders.

"I do indeed," he confirmed but thought to himself that he probably had less convincing to do than he had had mere moments before and he first placed a hand on the man's hips and then as he turned to walk beside him rested the same hand on the low of his back.
The bedroom could be reached through a narrow hallway that allowed them to not have to go through the living room to get there. It was furnished in similar colours with a huge teak canopy bed with thick red drapes surrounding it taking up most of the room.
 
'A lot,' he agrees readily, tipping his head upright and letting his hand fall from the softest of touches to Gilly's long hair. There's teasing to his tone, lighter, more fun, than the purposeful taunt of sexual flirtations that he'd spoken seconds ago.

Allowing himself to be physically coaxed along, he turns easily and walks towards and through the tight hallway towards the bedroom beyond. He's curious more than he is aroused, although he is that too, but a lesser degree to the elven artist, and he soon discovers that the bedroom is much like the rest of the apartment.

Red on red with heavy wood and a definite air of wealth and sin. The distinct furnishings remind him of bygone eras that are kept alive by those that outlive human lifetimes. Yurik thinks it has more to do with this reasoning than Gilly having a hard-on for romantic periods of earlier eras, although he is an artist wearing a top hat. Well, was wearing one. It's temporarily his now.

'Dry cleaning must cost you a fortune,' he finds himself saying while his gaze travels over the heavy canopy around the bed.
 
"A small fortune indeed," Gilly agrees now slowly moving behind the man and placing his hands on his hips and looking over his shoulder at what he is looking at.
"I know it is considered vulgar among my family to speak about it though. Money is not what matters but what it can do for you, like affording a place like this and the costs that comes with it. I wish it wasn't so but you do get attached to it. That's one reason I keep Jamie hanging around I think. She helps keep me some kind of real."
Gilly didn't know why he found himself talking about money and his inbred attachment to the little things they could do for him. He had of course begun to sense that the man, on whose hips his hands were resting relatively casually, had not had the same upbringing as he had had., not even by a long shot. He was what his parents, his mother in particular, would call a lesser, and that was polite compared to what she would have called Jamie.

For himself Gilly didn't care what background people came from. He judged them for what they were, what they did, for themselves, for him and for others. He never looked down on anyone who had not deserved it by their actions or words. He welcomed strangers with a smile and with kindness until they proved themselves unworthy of it, and should the strangers happen to be as delectable as the one he was now standing close enough to that the man must surely feel the hardness in his trousers through the layers of fabric separating it from his firm buttocks, he greeted them with much more than a smile.

"I want you," he whispered softly into Yurik's ear.
"Here. Now. Until dawn and beyond."
After a moment of silence he let his hands move confidently up along the sides of Yurik's body until he could reach around and cup them over his chest. In doing so he pressed himself gently but with just as much confidence, against those firm buttocks.
 
There's part of him that wants to rise to defend Jamie if only because they're of similar ilk, but he lets the urge pass on by. No need to call out the other man on his prejudices. Or, more accurately, no need for him to make things turn sour because some part of that underlying classist snobbery poked him in ways he doesn't like. It's expected. Look where he is. Look at the opulence and the confessions of loving it, needing it.

No, he keeps his mouth shut on that and swirls the small amount of wine left in his glass as he steers his thoughts elsewhere. It's a task made easier by the press of the man against his back. The outline of the others cock isn't quite defined with the sets of fabric between them, but it gives him an idea of its overall size and eagerness.

Whispers in his ear send a minute shiver down his spine and pools into his groin, making it feel heavy. The needy words aren't enough to make him fully erect, and the lingering scent of Gilly and his bedroom is just enough to get him partially the way there. 'Gilly, darling,' he says, tone playful and just this side of mocking, 'you have a house with guests.'

But he can't help the deeper breath he sucks in through his nostrils when large, fine fingered hands slide up his torso to his chest. Gilly's talented hands won't be disappointed to find the muscle definition there, only hinted at by his fitted shirt. Yurik is a very active man. Much more powerful than his body betrays. Shapeshifter perks.

Sliding his free hand behind him, he curls fingers around the back of Gilly's thigh and braces it closer. 'If you had wanted me to come here just to fuck, you should have grabbed my number.' Tilting his head to the side, he casts a glance over his shoulder, bringing cheeks close enough to feel the warmth of heated skin.
 
"You are right," Gilly admitted as the man reminded him that he had guests, his hands still resting confidently but lightly on the toned muscular chest, smiling at the tone of his voice when he spoke the words: Gilly darling.
It was not a rejection but a postponement of the carnal pleasures they could have together.
"Maybe we should finish the tour once they are gone?" he whispered softly, his warm breath playing in Yurik's ears but rather than stepping back and taking his hands off of Yurik's body he let them slide done his front, feeling each toned muscle, feeling them with the same sensitivity and curiousity a sculptor might, all the way down to the waist.
He didn't press himself harder against the shapely firm ass in front of him though but rather just placed his lips at the nape of the neck, softly, playfully nibbling on it.

"And who says that is the only reason I wanted you to come here," Gilly said and smiled.
Then as Yurik turned his head towards him he touched his lips to his cheek, close to the lips.
"You are one of the most beautiful things I have seen, more than a sunrise above the zone with all of its strange shimmering colours, exaggerated and sickly perhaps but each one a shade of perfection, more than a blood red rose bursting into bloom, a butterfly emerging from its cocoon to spread its wings for the first time. More beautiful even than beauty itself. Your eyes ..."
Gilly paused and took a deep breath to inhale Yurik's scent off of his warm soft skin.
"Your eyes are deeper than the the moon is high in the sky. There is so much behind them I want to know, want to learn about."

He now had a finger on the man's belt buckle but went no further but rather reached for his left hand and stepped around him, standing face to face and looking into those eyes, those beautiful deep eyes that appeared to hold secrets beyond anything Gilly could imagine. It was not unlike the first time he had looked into Jamie's eyes except her eyes were far less mysterious in the secrets they held.
 
The poetry spilling from Gilly's lips is sweet and he has no doubt that it works wonders on many to-be lovers, coaxing them into that luxurious bed or into the back seat of a car. Although that may not be Gilly's style at all and Yurik wouldn't mind putting that to the test, but that's for another time. Right then, he's more enamoured with the body sliding across his back and the other man coming to stand in front of him.

Yurik's scent, musky with hints of sandalwood under the light spritz of cologne, sits on the back of the tongue. It's a scent he's long accustomed to and he's far more interested in that of Gilly, whose looking into his eyes as if that gaze along could pluck out everything hiding behind it. Unfortunately for the elven blooded, sexually charged Gilly, Yurik's silver gaze is as hard and reflective as mirrors in that moment, giving much of nothing away aside from the pupil blown wider by the stirring of lust.

He reaches up and slowly plucks the top hat from his own head, leaving half curls to spring free, admittedly a little tousled now, and carefully presses it back on Gilly's fairer hair. The warm blooded shifter, settles the hat back into it's rightful position and drops his gaze back to meet Gilly's when his hand falls from hat to shoulder.

'You're high on pheromones and gods know what else,' he says, mouth curving into a smirk, which is almost laced with some cruel, cock-teasing, edge. 'But your sweet words won't work on me, Gilly.'

His hand trails from Gilly's shoulder down his arm to elbow. 'I won't stick around while you play tea parties, but I will come back and have you on your knees while I wear your hat like a crown.' Gliding his hand back up Gilly's arm, he drifts it to soft nudge the underside of that fabulous jawline with his index finger. 'Just not today, Gilly.'

That doesn't stop him from tilting his head and leaning in, close enough that Gilly can see the amber and gold specks hugging that big, black pupil. 'You'll wait for me, won't you?' he breathes across Gilly's mouth, not so much a question as it is a statement. Cocky and confident that he knows Gilly will eagerly await.
 
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It was not without a sharp sting of disappointment that Gilbert watched the most beautiful man he could remember ever having encountered in his life walk out the door. He had agreed that he would wait for him to return and have him on his knees but Gilbert knew without an ounce of uncertainty that he would not be able to.

After Yurik had said his goodbyes and slipped away without being noticed by anyone else, except maybe the ever perceptive Jamie, Gilly rejoined the after party, spent the rest of the night playing tea party, as Yurik had called it, but his heart had not really been in it. He'd mostly sat by himself nursing a glass of wine.

The next morning as he woke up he was alone and spent much of the early afternoon drawing Yurik from memory and from fantasy, imagined him without a shirt, without trousers, and drew frantically as if needing to get those images down on paper to make sure they were real.


Then almost without understanding exactly how he had come to be there he walked into Yurik's shop of curiosities late that afternoon, impeccably dressed of course. Jamie must have given him the address after he had explained that he would go out of his head if he didn't see the man again.
"Good afternoon, we meet again," he said with an infatuated smile and tipped his hat to Yurik.
 
It had been tempting to take Gilly up on his offer the night before and, after he had left, he thought about calling back in later but by then he was back across town and the very idea of driving out for a booty call didn't appeal to his pride. Not when he had plenty of offers much closer to home, who are more than happy to blow off some steam with him. By the time he tumbled into bed, the dawn had cracked and he slept longer than he should have.

Which is why he is the one working that afternoon and not one of two employees he lets help out when he's typically off doing business elsewhere, as apology for making them get up early to open shop when it was a day off.

He's working through a collection of small jars when the door sounds and a customer walks in, checking whether time has jeopardised their potency by giving each jar a sniff. The musky aroma mingled with a sharp tang of something like lemongrass has long coated his nose, which is what he blames when he fails to register who the newcomer is by scent alone, and why, when he glances over his shoulder to land eyes on Gilly, he has an open look of surprise.

'If it isn't the artiste,' he says, using the title one might throw around amongst the elite in a vague tone of mockery. Very vague - a tease more than anything resembling a jab, since he does respect the man's incredible talent.

Capping the small bottle, he sets it with the five to one side and has two more to go, but he abandons those on the shelf and turns his back to them to face the shopfront. There's a long counter between them and he keeps it that way, approaching his side to rest his hip into it and folds his arms loosely across his chest. A small smirk plays around in the corner of his mouth. 'Is there something that I can help you with, Sir?'

Unlike the night before, Yurik is not dressed up, but he's not in jeans either. Slacks, loafers and a shirt that's a mossy silver fabric, unbuttoned just enough to show the lines of his collarbones and hint of dusky skin. Although his hair has been pushed back, the day has worn on the style, leaving his curls a little more wild and free, and with the way they spring into half curls like that it's no wonder he doesn't let it grow long.
 
"It is," Gilly confirmed without taking note of the friendly teasing tone or choice of words with which Yurik had greeted him.
The same words were often used to greet him on the rare occasions when he returned home for family gatherings but they were spoken with much less playfulness by his mother or his sister. From their lips the word artiste dripped with venomous contempt. When spoken by Yurik it was almost like a term of endearment. At least that was what Gilly sensed as he looked up into the man's eyes, once more stricken by their piercing electric blue gaze, their brightness.

"To be honest," Gilly admitted when asked in a very professional tone if there was anything Yurik could do for him.
"I am not entirely sure how I ended up here this afternoon. Jamie must have given me the address of your shop. As for my reason for being here, I am not quite as bewildered as I am by how I came here. I have been unable to think of anything else since you left my party last night. This morning the only thing I could draw was your face and I couldn't stop."
It was at this point he realised he was holding a small folder in his hand which he remembered, upon realising its existence, contained those drawings. Had he brought them to show his obsession to the object of this obsession? Presumably that was the reason.

"I ..." he began but stopped talking.
The situation and the close proximity of Yurik, not just his eyes, his beautiful face and his gorgeous body, but his very presence, the air that clung about him, his scent mixed with the scent of whatever concoctions were contained in the vials and bottles on the shelves gave off. It was all like a very strong aphrodisiac to Gilly who was reasonably sure that more than a few of those bottles and vials contained exactly that, aphrodisiacs.

Rather than attempting to finish what he had intended to say he placed the folder on the counter that separated them, a mere few feet of elegantly polished wood, no more than an arm reaching out could breach for a touch, that somehow felt like miles simply because it separated them. As he withdrew his hand from the folder he couldn't help feeling like a child again, a shy awkward school boy presenting a token of admiration to another to which he was drawn by desire.
 
The trouble he has with Gilly is that the man is unpredictable. He looks very much one way and behaves in another, throwing Yurik off his game. And yet he cannot deny that it draws out his curiosity, making him want to watch every movement as the other comes closer, telling him words that are just as surprising as finding him in the shop. He can't detect any lies on that lovely tongue, but that's not to say there isn't any - the upper crust, the elven kind, are very slick with their manipulations and masters of it. At least that's if the stories his mother lead him to believe - his own experience with them has been limited, despite having the same blood running through his veins, clearly showing with those bright, unusual eyes.

'You?' he presses when Gilly pauses. His brows already raised, slip a fraction higher as he waits the other out. There's no denying in that long, pregnant pause, tension grows tighter between them. Chemistry is undeniable between them, made worse, perhaps, by the knowledge that he's entirely sober and, by the looks of it, Gilly may be too. This is not a flirting over a social event - this is Gilly coming to him. Seeking him out.

He'd been thought of all night and morning, according to the pretty mouth coming to stand opposite of him, and he can't help but wonder if he's given Gilly's wrist quite the work out. Drawing, of course, although he wouldn't put it past the other for the latter. Part of him wonders if he kept Jamie overnight. If the two entertained themselves, Gilly working off some steam and Jamie - well, he doesn't know her reasonings.

But then a folder is placed on the counter between them and Yurik uncrosses his arms, slowly leaning his hip from the counter to stand tall and face the other man front on. Gilly does well to hide his insecurities or shyness, is it? Yurik can't tell what it is underlying the surface but it's curious enough to draw his brows gently together. He gives the other a second, then another, waiting to see if the artist will open the folder to offer the contents, before his hand reaches for the cover.

'May I?' he asks, pausing with a thumb to the edge.
 
"Please do," Gilly said in a soft inviting voice that would not betray his nerves to any but the most attentive of listeners.
And yet, there were few occasions in his life when he had been more nervous than he was in that moment, his first kiss, coming out to his family as pansexual, his first exhibition (a comparatively small canvas, a nude self-portrait) at a small gallery.
"I can only hope that they will please your beautiful eyes."
He did manage to not lean over the counter to look as his love interest began to browse through his morning's work. He barely managed to not make explanatory comments to certain details as he noticed Yurik's eyes falling to them. Instead he took a step back from the counter and tried to gather up as much as he could of his usually casual confidence. And still, he could not stop himself from staring at the beauty before him.
 
The moment he has permission, Yurik opens the folder and begins to look through the drawings that had been made in a flurry of activity that morning. He's immediately surprised by the quality and taken aback at seeing himself presented in a way that he doesn't see himself, but can undoubtedly see that it is him. To try and look less impressed and engrossed in the pages, he leans a forearm down onto the counter, ass sticking out behind him, in a casual pose that might have had him flipping through some gossip magazine and not an artists portfolio with himself as the subject.

It's not immediately obvious if he likes one more than any others, since he lingers on each, eyes scanning over details, lines and shades, absorbing details. It is very clear that he's interested in all of them and taking his time to go through the images, engaging with them more than he had the paintings of Jamie in the gallery. More engaged with them than the paintings in Gilly's apartment, too. Not because those paintings were inferior or subjects poor, but his attention had been focused on other things instead.

He finds that, when he looks up at Gilly, he's at a loss for words and looks back down at the folder again. He goes through a few of them again, as if searching for words in the pictures and still comes up empty. That is, until he closes the folder so that they're no longer stealing his attention and presses to stand upright again.

'You were a very busy man this morning,' he says, a quiet quip that's not as loaded as his sass and wit of the night before. Yurik's intrigued. Gilly has dangled a hook and the shifter with elven blood has taken the bait.
 
"One might even say obsessed," Gilly replied to Yurik's seemingly non-committal comment after having watched him study the drawings for what seemed to him like hours.
"And one might be correct in such an interpretation. As I said; I have barely been able to think of anything else and even though I am still unsure as to how I got here this afternoon I now why I am here at least."
Gilly's eyes met Yurik's, the very eyes that he had taken extra care to get just right with each new attempt that morning, and he was as irrevocably as suddenly lost in them yet filled up with a buzzing energy from their piercing gaze.
"I ..." he began, again almost unable to find the words needed to deliver his request, unsure how to convey the urgency he felt was necessary for it.
"I was wondering if, now that you have seen these sketches and the artiste's obsession with the subject, you might like to sit for a larger piece, the motif we discussed last night, at my studio this evening."
He drew a quick breath trying to still his heart from beating louder.
"This time it will be just the two of us."
He drew another breath, remembering that they had also discussed the need for extensive research before the suggested portrait could be accomplished in a way that would leave them both satisfied.
"Perhaps we might even have supper together before we begin?"
 
He doesn't like the sound of obsessed, not in the least, and he had joked that Gilly was obsessed with Jamie the night before. He hopes that Gilly is throwing it back at him now as a reminder and not a warning, but as the other continues to talk the more it seems that he has the entire focus of the elven man on him and that could be a very dangerous thing. Too bad Yurik enjoys a challenge. He's too smart to invite real trouble, preferring to keep his nose clean - well, mostly - and his life drama free - also mostly - but life could get very boring and Gilly.. .

... Gilly is very interesting.

As he listens to Gilly try and win him over for that painting again, pulling out smooth lines and charm, Yurik has to admit that they are working on him. Despite his rejection of advances the night before, he finds himself wanting to. Wondering what it might be like to be under that gaze while watching those hands work. He suspects he may become bored if he has to sit for long periods of time but, with the way Gilly is currently staring at him, practically tripping over words, he thinks he might find it arousing to watch an artist paint with a boner.

The promise that it's going to be just the two of them makes his mouth quirk and that smirk stays put as Gilly goes on to take another breath, as if each of them are steeling his resolve, ad then invites him to dinner.

Leaning his hip back into the counter, he folds his arms across his chest, loose and casual. 'Are you asking me on a date?'
 
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