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

While nothing in his tone had indicated as much Gilly had indeed remembered Yurik's comment from the night before about him being obsessed with Jamie, and perhaps to some degree he was, although he himself might have used the word addicted.
"A date one might perhaps call it," Gilly admitted.
"Although a proper date would involve more than just dinner at my humble abode to discuss the beginning of a painting. I am quite partial to picnics for such events, the theatre or a concert, all of which I am hoping to have a chance to invite you to in the future."
Being the gentleman he was he did of course not mention sex but it hung in the air between, a tension they both seemed to feel, that scent of arousal emanating from both of them.
"This evening though I want to paint, to get my idea down on canvas, at least a basic structure of what, with a model such as yourself, can be nothing but a masterpiece."
He paused and for a full minute did nothing but look at Yurik with a cross between his artist's eye and lust.
"I would however not expect my model to sit for hours on an empty stomach, hence the suggestion of dinner before we start."
After another much shorter pause he added that he was considered at least a capable cook and then wondered if there was anything particular food Yurik was partial to, or if there was anything he should avoid.
 
'So not a date then,' Yurik says, smirking. 'Just buttering me up so you can get me to sit for you.' This sounds more like the man that had tried to seduce him last night and he lets this other idea of Gilly take a back seat. Nips the romanticism in the bud, even though Gilly had just told him that he likes picnics and yadda yadda, and that may be an opportunity on the horizon. It wasn't though - it's sweet talk. Yurik understands it well, being a salesman himself.

It would be easy to deny him and yet, for reasons he will try and rationalise later, he finds himself agreeing despite having already made plans for the evening. 'Okay,' he agrees, unfolding his arms and leaning off the counter. 'Just don't serve me snails or lace my food with anything. And I mean anything.'

He's not speaking only of drugs, but some folklore warns of fae, and aren't elves just that, enchanting mortals with magic in their food. Yurik isn't moral and he's always wondered if those would work on him since he has the same blood in his veins, but he'll never know. The shifter isn't mortal.

'Your place. Tonight.' He knows where it is and since Gilly has came for what he wants, Yurik assumes that he's done and simply awaits a time so he can get back to work. Should the other shown any interest in the actual shop he might have offered a tour that could lead to deeper talks between them. As it is, he simply slides the closed folder back across the counter to the other man.
 
"8 o'clock then! No gastropods but would other molluscs be agreeable?" Gilly both stated and asked.
"And of course I would not dream of lacing your food with anything, whether drugs or magic, at least not beyond the magic that happens when certain flavours and textures are combined."
He then tipped his hat , after having received Yurik's answer, and bowed before leaving the store.

Now he had planning and shopping to do and only a few hours to prepare a meal for the evening. At first his mind drew blank after blank when trying to plan the meal but eventually he settled on something simple that when done with care and consideration can be absolutely fantastic. So in preparation for the evening he first went to a fishmonger he knew and bought a kilo of Vongole clams before heading home to set up a blank canvas in his studio in preparation of starting the planned portrait, even if he ha a feeling that the evening would not go beyond research for it.
 
The day drags on after Gilly leaves his shop. He's heavy with thoughts and imagined scenarios, but tasks keep him anchored and preoccupied with daily tasks. There are moments throughout the afternoon where he is single focused on alchemy, as one should be when handling some of the items stocked in the back room and locked cabinets, but handling is not as dangerous as the brewing and casting that goes into his work.

It's tactical thinking that has his city suits at his apartment at the shop. He doesn't need tailored pants and fancy shirts for the place he calls home, somewhere away from the hustle of the city, where his isolation allows him more freedom than the confines of the streets. Less eyes there, fresher air and a territory that is warded from intruders. He thinks, while fixing his hair in the mirror, that it might be time to stay there for a few days. It's overdue. He can feel is fur itch under his skin, metaphorically.

Deciding he looks good enough in black shoes, pants and a deep, slate grey shirt that makes those eyes more silver than blue, and a jacket he doesn't bother putting on, Yurik climbs in his car and tracks across town to arrive on Gilly's doorstep with ten minutes to spare. He pockets his keys, slings on his jacket, leaving it undone, and walks up to knock on the door.

He thinks it's anticipation fluttering in his gut but it could be nerves and he finds that curious.
 
By the time Yurik knocked on the door Gilly was all ready to receive his guest. It was not a date, he told himself repeatedly as he went to answer the door. He was as usual impeccably dressed but perhaps a bit more casual than when he ventured out on the town, slim dark grey satin trousers t hat draped beautifully both over his ass and his crotch, without revealing too much of what it hid underneath, a deep violet silk shirt with a simple cravat, a few shades lighter than the shirt. His hair was combed back across his scalp and the blonde locks fell down his back. Dinner was prepared as far as possible which was not very, Pasta Vongole was after all a dish that should be eaten within minutes of its preparation. He had decanted the wine though and dressed the table with a handwoven linen cloth, old china porcelain and actual crystal glasses, an inheritance from his great aunt who had passed centuries ago.

Before opening the door he did put his top hat on. Usually he did not wear it at home unless he was hosting a party but the guest waiting to be let inside was not just any guest. Yurik was nothing but special and for some reason the hat had become something of a thing between them during their brief encounter the night before.

As he opened the door he gasped at the sight of Yurik. True, he too was slightly more casually dressed than he had been the night before but it was still a stunning sight. It was of course still the man's eyes that took most of Gilly's breath away.
"Welcome," he said and bowed slightly at the waist as he held the door open for his guest.
 
The cut of Gilly's cloth is eye catching to say the least and he knows, without a doubt, the guy dressed for that exact reason. He'd like to say it's no fault of his own that his gaze rakes from top hat to lean thighs and the shape between but he's in control of his libido and not the other way around. It is a nice sight though and the appreciation shows in the gleam of his eyes and curve of his mouth.

'Thank you,' he says at the invitation and steps inside.

A few steps in, enough for Gilly to close the door, has Yurik stop and glance back. 'You look great,' he compliments. 'The hat, is it to remind me what I'm here for or a part of your usual attire?' The hat has become somewhat of a thing between them and it's a good point of conversation, easy to use for light teasing and taunting, as he had the last he met.
 
"As do you," Gilly said and admitted with a smile that he did not usually wear his top hat at home or with such casual dress as he was in. Under the circumstances surrounding Yurik's visit though he had thought it might be an appropriate accessory.

He invited his guest into the kitchen, offering him a glass of deep burgundy wine and eat at the elaborately set table, that might perhaps suggest the meal was more date than he had suggested it was. He then began the final stages of preparing the Vongole.
"So do you have any thoughts or questions regarding your portrait," he asked.
 
Leaving his jacket hanging by the door, presuming the other has a coat rack or closet at the entryway, Yurik follows through the apartment towards the kitchen. He follows the smell of the cooking foods, airing wines, and, importantly, the scent of the delightful creature leading him to his place at the table. It gives him ample opportunity to ogle the Fae from top to bottom, deciding he really does enjoy the length of the long hair and the lean lines and limbs.

Sitting at the table feels a little premature while Gilly attends the food but Yurik sits as politely instructed, and with wine in his hand, rests his back into the brace of the chair to watch. 'Only to ask what you've decided you want to paint,' he says, not presuming that Gilly has gone with the teasing temptations that had been suggested at their previous encounter. Even if he had been thinking about wearing that top hat while being sucked off by the pretty man on the lush loveseat and watch that hair curtain around pale shoulders.

'I'm open to suggestions,' he adds, slowly taking a sip from his wine.
 
Gilly's movements when cooking were precise and quite skilled as he took great care to get every detail just right.
"I have decided how I would like to paint you yes," he said and looked at Yurik, taking in his handsomeness and almost overwhelming presence.
"I stand by what I suggested last night. I want to paint you naked in a large throne like chair, receiving a blowjob while wearing my hat. As for the background to the portrait I had a strange idea as I tried to sleep last night after you had gone. I think I'd like to paint you in a context where one might interpret you as The Hatter from Alice in Wonderland, with myself as a male aspect of Alice, on my knees between your legs."

Gilly plated up the meal as he spoke his suggestion and then placed one plate before his guest and the other opposite him and sat down.
 
'The Mad Hatter?' he barks with laughter. It's not in a cruel way, but surprised and taken aback. While he'd clearly expected that the artist would go through with the original plan, or something close to it, he hadn't expected a theme. There are more fitting stories, he thinks, like one with Gilly in a red hooded cape but that's something he keeps close to his chest with his own, secretive smirk.

Glancing down to his plate as food is dished, he goes on, 'You have it all thought out.' He watches Gilly go to a seat and settle into it. 'Who am I to deny you again?' As he had the night before, which had been fun and he plans to continue the little dance of cat and mouse, but he'll agree to a sitting tonight at least.

'This smells good,' he says of the dish, glancing from his plate to the man opposite him. 'Thank you, Gilly.'

There's something tender about the high brow, elven man personally cooking him a dish. He'd receive a piece of toast buttered by Gilly's hand more graciously than he would ever some five course meal by a hired renown chef, an aspect of his upbringing and, importantly, a core part of his personality. Yurik may have made his way up to middle class, but he'd got there by clawing his way through hard work and bloodied fingers. As luck would have it, his particular skillset is niche, and while some might think such trinkets foolish, others know better. He respects thought and effort more than the result.

As Gilly begins to eat, so does Yurik, making small sounds and nods of approval. He doesn't mention how well it tastes, not the type to gush, but instead turns to casual conversation. 'I didn't expect to see you again so soon. If at all.'
 
"Just Hatter," Gilly corrected his guest.
"Carroll never actually call him the Mad Hatter in either of the two books."
He then smiles an almost embarrassed smile realising that this perhaps is not the best time to show off his level of education in the humanities. Perhaps his guest would take offence to being corrected when the topic as such was not the book or the character itself but rather an interpretation of it for a painting.
"Not that it matters in the context of course," he added and rolled up a few straws of pasta on his fork.
"It certainly does smell wonderful," he agreed and lifted the fork to his lips, caught a dangling straw between them and sucked it into his mouth trying hard not to be too obviously suggestive about it.
 
'I didn't know that,' he admits. Truth be told, he's never read the books and doesn't plan on it. He knows as much as anyone might that's heard it passed down by mouth through the years. He doesn't know the plot, only this and that, and he wouldn't care if pressed about it. Yurik might give some witty sass about their different caste and whatnot, but that's neither here nor there since the topic seems to die.

As does his remark about expecting to see Gilly so soon, which he's surprised the other doesn't have comment for, so he leaves that train of flirting conversation die with the talk of the Hatter, and nods while making an agreeable sound. He'd already said it smelt good and it did, and now that he's eating it, he'd have to agree it tastes as good as it smells. Better than expected, in fact.

If Gilly is trying to make eating suggestive, Yurik doesn't catch on to that. He's glancing from meal to dining partner and back again but seems in no hurry to break the silence that has fallen between them. No doubt there's much to be said, but their witty rapport seems to be on pause and he wonders if the artist remains distracted by thoughts of painting and what the night holds ahead for them.
 
Seeing as his attempt at sexually suggestive eating failed Gilly looked down at his plate and then back up at Yurik who seemed to be as stumped for flirtatious conversation, or any conversation at all, as he himself was. Perhaps they were both distracted from the repartee that had flowed so seamlessly between them the night before, distracted by some level of expectation of what the evening, or indeed the night, might hold for them.
"Is there anything in particular you would like added to your portrait, perhaps some suggestion to your personality, a favoured shade. Perhaps we could include something to suggest your work as an alchemist perhaps."
It was a suggestion made more to break the awkward silence between them than anything.
 
Noting the attempt for what it is, a break of the silence and tension that, so far, seems uncharacteristic for the two of them, Yurik glances up with a small smirk and then back down to his plate to twirl some pasta around the prongs of the fork. 'I have no suggestions nor requests,' he says. 'You're the artist who wanted me to sit for a portrait, I'll leave the details to you and your imagination.'

It's surprising that he's there at all. Surprising that Gilly has wormed his way under the skin, and Yurik can't decide if it will feel good to scratch it or whether doing so will make something deeper fester. Burn. Reoccur. Rather than shy from the situation, he's taking it as a challenge, following after the gut sensation. And, if he's honest, his cock's interest. Because Gilly is a very pretty man. And he's not just a beautiful face with nothing upstairs, which Yurik has found the most surprising of all, enjoying the wit and intellect that bounced between them.

He drinks down more wine, chasing down the food with a long mouthful of it and then another, setting the glass aside for a top up. If he's going to do this, while he doesn't need liquid courage, it does help loosen things and, by the look of it, the two of them may need a little help tonight. The previous encounter had been without pressure, some easy tease without expectation, but this was a different game. This came with a result, one way or the other, and potential for... well, he'll soon see.

'Thank you,' he finds himself saying, 'for going to the trouble to make this for us.' Yurik gives a subtle nod to their dishes, of which he is now done with. 'I can't tell you if there's ever been a time where a man has cooked me dinner.'
 
"Really?" Gilly says and raises an eyebrow quizzically.
"No man's ever cooked for you before?"
He pauses and hums, watching the handsome man before him. Those eyes, so enthralling perfectly framed by a handsome face. He soon lose himself in them wondering how come a man like Yurik is not attached to another already. It could of course be by his own choice and that he prefers to walk through life alone, occasionally accompanied by casual acquaintances, temporary fuck buddies to sate his carnal lusts. It is the way Gilly himself has chosen since leaving his family. A regular partner, he has told others on several occasions, would simply distract him from his work and so far there has been nothing more important to him than his work.

Muses had come and gone over the years but only one had stuck with him. Why he was so emotionally attached to Jamie he could not say. There was nothing sexual between them even though there had once been, but just once, while he worked on his first painting of her and perhaps that would have been that had it not been for her returning to him with no demands or expectations of a continued sexual relationship, which he had appreciated and in time they had become friends, very close friends. If he was perfectly honest she was his only true friend among a myriad of acquaintances and muses. She was almost like family to him and he knew he was to her as well.

Watching Yurik though he begun to wonder though. This man had a pull on him he could not explain. It was an obsession yes, the morning's frantic activity had if nothing proved that, but it was more. It was those eyes but also something behind them, something he wanted to explore, something beyond the strictly carnal, something that added to the carnal, to the consuming lust he had felt for the man since the first time he had looked into those eyes.
"Then all other men you have met in your life has been fools," he said softly and smiled.
 
'No,' he says with a low laugh at Gilly's surprise, 'no man has cooked for me before.' Not even a father figure. That's not something he's about to share since he has no desire to dig into his past and offer it out on a platter. Yurik is secretive of his family lineage and for good reason.

There's plenty of dislike and hatred for some of the blood that runs through his veins, and if having Fae blood wasn't bad enough, there were those that hunted his kind. Those that wanted to know how he made the concoctions he did, which was more than the pure science of alchemy and old wives herbal treatments, and if they knew he was shifter as well as Fae, well, the rare cross breed that he is would leave a lot of things to question and, perhaps, fear. People were narrow minded and foolish. Good thing he takes advantage of them.

It seems Gilly thought there were plenty of fools out there too, and the Fae's words leave Yurik trying not to smile but his eyes shine all the same. Nodding softly in agreement, he sets his cutlery down and presses his plate aside. His meal complete, plate empty, he leans back in his chair with his glass of wine pulled to the edge of the table and fingers holding the stem. 'And here you are to make fools of them,' he says, complimenting the man on his efforts of cooking and entertaining.

Gilly is beautiful to look at and for a moment Yurik's bright silver-blues skate across his features to take them in. The way Gilly had looked at him, deep and searching, hadn't gone unnoticed. What he would give to know what Gilly is thinking. No doubt something the other wished in kind. Whether it was the food, natural or laced with aphrodisiac, Yurik's blood began to stir. He'd like to steal that top hat again and watch that long hair spill out, free to touch. To roam his fingers through, scrape blunt nails across warm scalp.

He drinks a sip of wine and then another, as if it could cool his blood, but his gaze stays firmly locked on the artist across from him. 'Has a man cooked for you?'
 
The tension between the two men continued to grow, their mutual lust hung in the air between them as thick as butter. Yet neither of them seemed willing to cross that line, to take that first step that would allow them to relieve that tension. It was as if they were both intent on torturing themselves and each other with it. Gilly had his reasons and he was sure that Yurik did as well.

After his display earlier at the other's shop Gilly did not want to seem too desperate, or too obsessed. He had embarrassed himself the way he had acted like an infatuated school boy, stuttering and nervous, lost for words with sweaty hands in front of the man he was, of course, absolutely obsessed with who had played it so cool, seemed so together, almost distant. Yet here he was, across the table from him, so very present Gilly could feel it surging through his body like an electrical current.

He wanted to badly to kiss those lips, to touch that chest and just fully abandon himself in the arms of the man who was looking back at him with such intensity, and those piercing eyes. Gilly was like a gelatinous blob inside and his crotch hurt badly from the erection he had.
"Once," he said and smiled.
"A long time ago. I only just survived."
He chuckled as it was clearly meant as a joke but then he stod up and walked over to the other.
"I must admit," he said.
"I haven't really planned for dessert but I do crave something creamy."

He lowered himself down until his buttocks touched his calves and gently, almost hesitantly, reached out his hand to touch the other's thigh.
"If you don't mind," he said and slid his hand up towards the other's crotch, expecting to find it in a state similar to his own, engorged and hard.
 
'Only just survived?' he repeats with an undercurrent of a laugh. He'd like to hear the story behind that, but Gilly is getting up and coming towards him. Yurik sets his glass down on the table, slowly releasing his grip on the stem and rests his wrist on the edge of the table. Every step Gilly takes towards him, every inch, those eyes track.

By the time Gilly sinks down to crouch, Yurik's head is subtly canted to the side and his brows twitch closer together. Fingers trail across his thigh, making the muscle beneath twitch, or was it the innuendo falling out of Gilly's mouth that makes his muscles twitch and at the junction of thighs that then simply travel down. He can't quite believe the boldness of this man before him, and his breath hitches sharp inward at the cupping of his groin, growing thickly under the hand splayed over it. While he was only mildly aroused before, he quickly hardens under the attention.

That hat will obscure his view, already he can see more of it than the pretty face beneath. 'You want it here, at the dinner table?' His voice is low, matching the growing heat in his gaze. Clearly he's not opposed to the idea, not with the way his bedroom tone had laced those words, his dick is long and thick under the tightening of his pants, and one of his knees had drifted inches open.
 
"Yes please," Gilly whispered eagerly and cupped the sizeable bulge in Yurik's crotch and moaned just at the touch and suggestion of size.
Of course he wanted more, later, in the bedroom, or wherever else, wanted him in all imaginable and unimaginable ways but for this first taste he had neither the patience nor the self control to wait. He wanted that large member in his mouth right that very moment.

Slowly but full of determination and anticipation he positioned himself between the other man's legs and began to undo his trousers until he held the cock in his hands, admiring both its size and shape. It was absolutely beautiful and with lips trembling in anticipation he first placed a soft kiss on the head before letting it slide between them. At first just letting it rest against his tongue, savouring the taste Looking up at Yurik he realised that the hat would obscure the man's view and if he was anything like Gilly himself he would certainly want to experience the blowjob with his eyes as much as with his other senses.

"Perhaps, in the name of researching the portrait we discussed, you should wear the hat instead," he said, momentarily slipping his mouth off of the other's magnificent cock.
"And also ... so you can watch as I fellate you."
He smiled briefly up at Yurik and then returned his mouth to his cock, taking just the head into his mouth.
 
The freeing of his cock from his trousers grown tight is welcome, the relief on his features evident if Gilly wasn't too busy eyeing up his cock. Its girth is a little thicker than average, swollen crown curving towards his navel, veins plump beneath taut skin. He is not clean shaven, the trimmed dark hair blending with the happy trail leading up and around tucked navel.

He's watching what he can but the brim of the hat hides the mouth breathing over his shaft and when lips brush a kiss, he inhales silent but sharp, until that hums out low at the feel of his crown sliding past lips into the warmth of mouth. The weight of him heavy on Gilly's tongue. He's reaching for the hat when Gilly's mouth lifts from him, the wetness on his tip a cool contrast to that greedy mouth.

'Hmm?' Clearly distracted, it takes a moment for the words to register meaning and by that time Gilly is back on his cock. Wetting his lip, tasting of dinner and wine, Yurik slowly plucks the hat from the other's crown and pops it on his own head. When he looks down, the unobstructed view makes his cock jump at the sight of the pretty man wrapped around him.

It's not long after that his hand slides over long hair, cupping the back of Gilly's head, fingering strands and following the slow bobbing movement of the elven-artists head. Yurik's moans are low, caught in the back of his throat where he hides his pleasure. Those eyes though, stare, heavy lidded and bright.
 
While Gilly quite enjoyed to fuck and be fucked, orally stimulating his partners was by far Gilly's favourite sexual act, whether it was through fellatio or irrumatio was in the end irrelevant. It was something he was good at as well. He did pride himself on being able to both make a man lose his seed in mere minutes and to edge him for an hour and more. He of course also enjoyed having his own cock stimulated in the same way but in the moment his sole focus was on Yurik's magnificent cock and now that he had acquainted himself with it he began to really work it. He ran his lips up and down the shaft in long slow but determined strokes taking it all the way down to the root with only minor signs of struggling.

He held the other's testicles in his left hand, massaging them, gently at first and then more roughly, squeezing them and pulling on them. He also pressed his finger against the perineum, rubbing it, finding the spot where the prostate could be stimulated ever so vaguely from the outside. He began to move his lips faster but in shorter strokes until he came to a complete stop with his lips closed tightly around the edge of the glans, his tongue pressing against the frenulum, massaging it before starting to suck on the head as if drinking from a straw.

His fingers now became increasingly bold and began to seek out the other's sphincter, to caress and stimulate it manually, perhaps probe into it with just the tip of his middle finger.
 
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