#and then draw him looking like saint sebastian about it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uhohwhathaveidone · 2 years ago

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Can I request a Sebastian sallow x reader fic that would be about the reader and Sebastian being childhood friends that have feelings for each other the reader and Sebastian both yearn for affection from each other but they are scared that the other doesn’t like them so they both started avoiding each other in hopes the feelings goes away but every situation and class finds them reuniting again the reader secretly holds Sebastian hands during charms class and Sebastian is just shocked (uhhh you can decide what happens after!! My dumbass really hasn’t thought much about it but I can’t wait to see what you do)

You called? I'm here with a gift!

Here With Me (S.S)

I accidently got carried away with this and turned it into a hurt/comfort, i hope you're ok with that! I didn't really put any spoilers. Also I know you didn't specify like what house the reader was in, so I put them in Slytherin! This is also gender neutral, just so we all know. More to come soon, maybe even withing the next few hours, supply and demand, am I right? Anyway, enjoy! (Part 2, Cardigan)

You had been friends with the Sallow twins for as long as you could remember. You were especially close with Sebastian, whom you spent most of your time together with. You remember walking over to Mr. Sallow’s house one day with a small basket of treats made by your mother, who had asked you to walk them over as a gift. Anxiously, you walked along the dirt path, watching as leaves floated past you in the breeze. It was a nice fall day, the apple tarts were still warm, but you had to get to their house quickly to keep them that way, so you were unable to enjoy the day for too long. As you neared the house, you saw a young girl with brown hair playing in the front, a boy about the same age and with brown hair as well sat under a tree with a book in hand. Squinting, you could make out the drawing of a wand on the cover, and you understood why your mother sent you out to Mr. Sallow’s house. The town was mainly a wizard only area, but every now and then a muggle would move in. Some of the neighbors would play pranks on them to try to drive them out, and your mother did the same thing once before to an elderly couple that came to retire. Scared them near to death.

Mr. Sallow usually lived alone, minding himself as he always did, but he never had kids. You slowed your pace, wondering if you had started to walk toward the wrong house, until the girl looked up at you, shouting toward the house as she ran inside. The boy looked up from his book and looked at you curiously. You froze, caught in the act of walking to the wrong house. Wide-eyed, you slowly walked towards the boy. “Um, hello.” You said, quietly. The boy stood a bit taller than you, and had chocolate brown eyes, ones that matched his hair. He smiled, “Hello there, I’m Sebastian. Who are you?” You fiddled with the basket, “My name is-.” The door to the house opened, Mr. Sallow walking out with the girl behind him. “Ah! Hello there, y/n! It’s nice to see you!” He greeted, walking over, and patting your head. Your face brightened, glad that you hadn’t stumbled upon the wrong house. “Good afternoon, Mr. Sallow! My mother made some apple tarts and asked me to bring some over for you.” You handed the basket to him and he grabbed one, taking a bite. “Your mother is a saint. Why don’t you come inside? You haven’t met my niece and nephew yet, no?” You shook your head.

The inside of the house was cozy as always, maybe a little cramped by boxes, no doubt from the two new kids. He introduced you to Sebastian properly, and to his twin sister Anne. They were the same age as you were, as well as magically gifted. He didn’t go into details, but he told you that the twins would be living with him from now on, and that the three of you should get along well. Anne had reached to grab a tart, eyeing it curiously. Mr. Sallow motioned that she could have one, and she took a bite. Her eyes seemed to glow as she hurriedly bit into it again. Sebastian watched his sister as she ate the tart, bits of apple sticking to her lips. It seemed to convince him they were good, as he grabbed one as well and took a bite. “Merlin’s beard! These really are good.” You shuffled your feet as you watched the two devour half the basket in minutes.

“Do tell your mother we appreciate the gift.” Mr. Sallow said, placing the rest of the treat on a plate and handing the basket back to you. You nodded and started out the door, the twins quickly meeting your side. “So, show us where your house is!” Sebastian said happily. Anne walked on your other side as you nodded, walking back in the direction of your home. They asked many questions for such a short walk. “Have you lived here long?” “What’s it like here?” “Do you have any more of those treats?” You smiled and answered their questions, reaching your house and turning around. “This is where I live.” You said, gesturing to your door. Sebastian nodded, “Got it. We’ll be seeing you soon then!” He said, grabbing Anne’s hand as they walked back to their house.

The next couple of days the twins would be at your door, asking if you wanted to go play with them. You agreed, of course, and found that they were lots of fun to be around. One night, they had invited you over for a sleepover, and while Anne had fallen asleep ten minutes into the activities you had planned, Sebastian was still wide awake. He grabbed a book from one of the shelves and sat next to you in the blanket fort the three of you had made. You had to carefully set a candle in the middle of the fort, so you were able to see the words. Sebastian would read to you until you fell asleep, then he would extinguish the candle and grab the blanket, snuggling up to you and falling asleep as well.

When winter came, the three of you were always outside. Sebastian had wanted to make an igloo one day, and it took you two whole days to even get halfway done. When it was finally done, you didn’t know what else to do. Any blanket you put in there would get very cold, and maybe even freeze, so you decided to deem it as a landmark, and began building other snow structures around the yard, making a small snow town. Anne had made a snow man and said it was going to be the minister of the town, in which Sebastian had to remind her that the Minister didn’t have time to watch over a small town, and that a mayor would be a better fit.

Another time, you had been playing with Anne’s hair, braiding it, and putting it up in all sorts of different styles. You even began to teach Sebastian how to do hair so he could give Anne any hairstyle she wanted, but since you were already practicing on Anne, he could use your hair. That was a mistake, as minutes later Sebastian had tried to braid a section of your hair, only to fail. He swore that he could fix it, and tried to untangle the strands and try again. It resulted in a huge knot that couldn’t be saved, and your mother ended up having to cut your hair. The next day you showed up, Sebastian apologized while Anne could only giggle at the whole ordeal.

When you turned 11, an owl showed up with a letter attached to its leg. You had been invited to Hogwarts, and you ran over to the Sallow’s place in excitement. The twins also got their letters, and your mother offered to take the three of you out to get the supplies required, along with your very own wand. When you made it to Hogwarts, you fiddled with your fingers, anxious about the sorting ceremony. Sebastian tried to sheer you up, stating , ”We’ll all be in the same house, there’s no way we aren’t.” You nodded as you held onto his arm, watching as Anne was called up and the hat was placed on her head. Wide-eyed, you watched as she was sorted into Slytherin, and she smiled at the two of you as she walked over to her new house. Sebastian was next, and he flashed you a smile as he walked up, hat placed on his head as well. The Sorting Hat mumbled to itself before placing him into Slytherin as well, and you clapped as he walked over to his sister. The names were being called out and you stood there, anxiety growing. When you were finally called up, you walked up, shaking. The hat sat upon your head, asking you questions and seemingly just having a conversation with you. Eventually, the hat came to a decision, and you smiled and trotted over to Sebastian and Anne when the hat yelled Slytherin.

Over breaks, the three of you were able to practice together on your magic, and found ways to do things that you had done when you were younger much easier. Reading when you were supposed to be sleeping had become less of a fire hazard and more of a hand cramp activity, finally able to cast Lumos to use as a light to read with. You had also sent owls to your new friend, Ominis, offering to let him stay for a day or so to hang out. Snowball fights had become more like a warzone as you began to learn charms and hexes, able to make the snowballs throw themselves now.

You were sleeping one night during your break back after you finished your third year, excited to wake up in the morning and hang out with your friends. You had gotten up to get a drink sometime in the early morning, the moon was still up and the birds hadn’t begun to sing yet. There was a strange noise outside as you poured a glass of water, but you didn’t seem to notice. More sounds began to emerge, and you made your way upstairs to your mother’s room to ask her about it. Half asleep, your mother brushed it off as some dogs getting into a fight and told you to head back to bed, so you did. When you woke up, you quickly got dressed and grabbed a basket for the fresh apple pie your mother had just finished baking. She looked tired, maybe worried, you noted, but headed out.

As you neared the house, you noticed a lot more people around than normal. There was even a police officer heading towards Mr. Sallow’s house. You picked up your pace as you weaved around your neighbors and made it to the front door. It was a mess, splinters all over the porch and ground, and the windows were broken. You looked around, not seeing Sebastian or Anne, and tried to get into the house. Mr. Sallow sat in a chair at the kitchen table, muttering to the officer and wringing his hands. You looked into the living room, finding Sebastian and Anne sitting on a couch, a medic kneeling down and looking over Anne. You placed the basket on a corner table and slowly walked over, examining the room. The place was a mess, some chairs were overturned, portraits were thrown off the wall. Sebastian sat there, a blank stare as he watched the medic look over Anne. “What happened here?” You asked, standing in front of Sebastian. He looked up at you and jumped off the couch, enveloping you in a hug. He explained that the house had been raided, and that they had done something to Anne. The medic had been checking Anne over for any signs of injury, yet there were none, which didn’t explain the agony she was in. The medic said that he didn’t know what was wrong, and said there was nothing he could really do about it, and he left. Sebastian stood over Anne, cursing the medic under his breath.

Anne was in too much pain to return to Hogwarts, and you and Sebastian sat with Ominis on the train in silence. The whole year, the three of you tried to find a way to help Anne, but to no avail. Sebastian began to keep to himself around you, and you began to feel inside that something was different.

You walked down the hall to your Herbology class, alone. Sebastian had withdrew himself even more, and would sometimes not even look at you. You felt like you did something wrong, but Ominis had assured you it was not your fault. You didn’t believe him, of course, as you watched Sebastian be himself around everyone but you. Your heart hurt to see it, it felt like you were losing your best friend, yet you were partially glad for it. You had no idea when it began, but you had started to harbor feelings for Sebastian, and you had fought those feelings, telling yourself that you were wrong to have such feelings while still unable to find a cure for Anne. You knew Sebastian wanted nothing more than for Anne to be cured, and you knew he would put everything aside until he reached that goal. Sighing to yourself, you walked through the grass to Professor Garlick’s class, adjusting the strap of your bag and moving your hair away from your face. The breeze was soft and warm, fall hadn’t arrived yet and the summer was still in full. The air wasn’t too hot, but you knew that, when you walked into the greenhouse, you would miss the summer breeze, being replaced with humid air and the smell of plants to fill your senses. You walked in and greeted the professor, taking your usual seat.

Sabastian walked with Ominis, talking about his excitement for charms. He heard that they were going to go over some healing spells, and that it would be a big step in helping Anne. Ominis nodded as he walked beside him, mindful of his surroundings. Sebastian had been searching for a whole year for ways to help his sister, alongside you and Ominis. Sebastian knew that you wanted to help Anne just as much as he did, and his mood dropped a bit. Ominis had mentioned to him about your concerns for him, and Sebastian had felt guilty for avoiding you. While you were his best friend, one he had known for years, he couldn’t help the feelings that had begun to grow, and knew that now wasn’t the time to go after them. He was worried you would reject him, telling him that being best friends was enough, or even asking that they no longer be friends. He was also worried that you might scold him for trying to pursue a relationship when he should have been looking for a way to help his sister. Either way, he didn’t see a happy ending if he confessed, and the only way to keep his feelings at bay, he thought, was to avoid you in hopes that they would go away. He was brought out of his thoughts as he neared the greenhouse, and his heart began to beat at a faster pace. All his attempts to lose those feelings he had for you would be broken down each time he walked into class, as he had to take his seat next to you each day. There was a moment where he would be more than glad to have all his classes with you, but when he was trying to get over you? It was torture. He sighed as he walked in and took his seat next to you.

When the time came for Charms, Sebastian had forgotten the whole “Avoid your best friend” mindset and walked happily with you and Ominis, talking about what he was expecting from the class. You smiled as he talked, heart doing backflips every time he looked over to you with that smile. You became excited as well, hopeful that you would find something to help. As you took your seats, you and Sebastian grabbed your books out quickly, turning to the chapter you would be going over. So far, the spells you were reading about were only ones that could heal wounds like broken bones, split lips, etc. Nothing that Anne was experiencing. You had begun to lose hope, until the professor turned the page. “Reprifors is a spell often used to heal other ailments, like those that had been caused by magic itself.” Your eyes widened as you read the page, looking over to Sebastian, who had seemed to freeze. Without even thinking, you grabbed his hand under the desk, your eyes bright as you gave him a wide smile. Sebastian stared at you, still frozen. His mind was going faster than a Hippogriff in flight. This could be what he was looking for, a way to save his sister. If the spell worked, not only would he have his sister back, but maybe even his best friend. He would be able to finally share his feelings with you and you could accept them. He didn’t even realize that you were holding his hand until you gave it a squeeze, and he finally looked down. He felt his cheeks flush, and when you followed his gaze, your face heated up as well. You quickly let go, clearing your throat and returning to your book.

The two of you began to get close again after that, meeting up and practicing the spell, trying to perfect it. “This is it. This spell is clearly what we’re looking for!” You said happily, trying the spell once again. You didn’t really have a way to know if the spell was working at first, so you and Sebastian took turns taking a jinx or hex to the face, and then trying the spell. You had both done it right three times in a row, and had deemed that you were ready. All you had to do now was wait for a chance to make it home.

As you trudged through the snow toward the village, you conversed excitedly with Sebastian. “We’re finally going to do it! Isn’t it exciting?” You asked, taking Sebastian’s hand, walking faster. Sebastian could only nod in response as he felt his cheeks flush once again from you grabbing his hand. You had been extra affectionate to him since the two of you learned the spell. Sebastian even began to think you started to share the feelings he had for you, but part of him kept telling him it was because you were happy to help Anne. On the other hand, you had begun to let go of hiding your feelings, believing that once Anne was okay you would be able to tell Sebastian your feelings, and you slowly began to warm up to the idea.

The cold breeze made your nose cold, and brought back memories of when you were kids, a smile growing on your face. “Come on!” You shouted, beginning to run. The snow crunched under your feet as you dragged Sebastian behind you. Desperate to catch up, Sebastian moved faster, slipping on a patch of ice you somehow managed to dodge. He fell, and you took the moment to turn and laugh. Suddenly, a wave of cold contacts your face, and you wipe away the snow. Sebastian laughed this time, readying another snowball. You run behind a tree and start to make your own snowballs, launching them in Sebastian’s direction, not caring if they hit or not. A snowball hits you in face, even from behind the tree, no doubt from Sebastian. “That’s cheating!” You shouted as you watched him enchant the snowballs he made. He only shrugged and laughed as they flew towards you, with no sign of stopping. Shrieking, you drop to your knees, covering your face. The snowballs pelted you, and you counted about ten of them. Looking up, you could see Sebastian start making more snowballs, and you took the chance to jump him. You ran after him, jumping a little as you grabbed him, pinning him to the ground. You took his wand and stuffed it into your pocket, smiling in triumph.

Sebastian looked up at you, cheeks red from the cold and closeness. He studies your features, memorizing how your face had droplets of melting snow, and how you breathed heavily after the small battle you just had. He felt as if he was back home, playing in the snow with you a year after meeting you. You had done the same thing, pinning him to the ground, not letting him go until he surrendered, which he always refused to do. If he took too long, you would even grab snow and threaten to smother him, but you weren’t doing that this time. Instead, you sat there, trying to catch your breath. Sebastian watched as you shivered, your nose had gotten extremely red, and took the opportunity to try the move he did when you were kids. Quickly, he grabbed your waist and pulled you down on top of him, wrapping his arms around you and locking you in. Usually, this would end in his rolling over, pinning you to the ground, but instead, he kept you there, sharing the warmth his body was kicking out. He sighs and nuzzles into your shoulder, muttering, “Thank You.” You smiled and raised an eyebrow; one he couldn’t see. “For what?” “For everything.”

You followed behind Sebastian as he stormed out of the house, cursing to himself. You had made it to Anne and told her that you had a spell that would help her. Yet, after trying the spell over five times, she didn’t feel different. Anne was still in pain. Sebastian was distraught, watching his hopes come crashing down into the ground. You ran after him, now, trying to find a reason as to why it didn’t work. He makes it to the tree, where he sat when you first walked to his house, basket in hand. He drops into the snow, throwing his wand in anger. You slowed your pace and watched intently to see what he would do next. His shoulders shook once, and he sniffled. You made your way to stand in front of him, looking down to see his face wet with tears, brows furrowed in anger and annoyance. He looked up at you, his brown eyes seemingly darker than what you’re used to. “Nothing is working how I want it.” He heaved, “Anne is still sick. She’s still in pain.” You knelt down, placing your hand on his shoulder. He continued, “The spell didn’t work, my plan didn’t work.” Your gaze softened, watching as more tears slid down his cheeks. “My plans never work.”

You pull him into a hug, wrapping your arms around him and rubbing his back. He buried his face into your shoulder, muttering. “And I tried to stay away from you, and here you are. You’re being the caring person that’s been by my side.” You listened, your own tears beginning to pool in your eyes. “I thought, if I stayed away from you, my feelings would go away. At least until we helped Anne.” Your grip tightened around him, your tears finally falling as you realized that you had been doing the same thing. You had been protecting each other from your own feelings. More tears spilled from your eyes as you tried to convey your own feelings back, unsure if you would be able to talk. “And my feelings didn’t go away. And you’re still here, even after all this.” You nodded, moving your head from his shoulder and pressing it against his own. “Thank you.” You hummed in response. “Thank you for being here with me.”

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skitskatdacat63 · 7 months ago

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For @sansebastinae and @boisinnot, my fellow saint seb truthers :)

+ the usual

Yayyyy finished a drawing! Haha only took me...2 weeks. I kept going back and forth on whether I could finish it tonight, and I really wasn't going to. But then I looked at the unfinished version on a different screen and was like oh? Not too bad actually?? So I finished it :) First of all, ofc, here is the process. Kinda weird seeing it for smth like this, it makes me feel like I'm the painter in rennaisance au, not Mark dhjfkf

Ah I was gonna draw a silly renaissance au comic to accompany this(read: lighten the mood), but it's 5 am and I've still not really drafted it well, so! I'd like to finish it at some point bcs I wanna draw more chibi comics, but when I finish smth, I can't help but immediately want to post it, so part 2 will have to wait. I'll show you the outline though so you can at least imagine 😭

^ So many renaissance and beyond paintings of Saint Sebastian are always the most horny thing ever. Like pre/early rennaisance, yeah he was naked and all that, but they were pretty chaste, and uhhhhh suffering?? Well the newer paintings are suffering, but in a different way, if you know what I mean.

So I feel like Mark's the type to be overly pedantic about it, and refuses to make borderline porn of a saint, I mean, god forbid, Seb!!! But then he just. Does anyways. Because he can't control his lust for Seb even when drawing him half dead. I just imagine him holding the paintbrush in a death grip like "must not be horny. Must not draw him sexy. Must make him chaste." And then he ends up with the one seen above. Seb is all smug about it. "Wow you'd wanna fuck me even while I'm all bloody and dying? 🥺"

Mark: "oh I'll make you bloody, alright."

But god so funny to imagine Seb doing all these different slutty poses, like arching his back as much as possible, the cloth nearly falling off at all times, etc etc. And Mark finally lands on this pose bcs he hopes the suffering will outweigh the horny. It doesn't. Also Seb is genuinely serious once he actually gets into the pose, focus mode on. And honestly that's even worse for Mark, bcs it's so much more arousing to see Seb in his element, focused. Tbf I think Seb could be drinking water, and Mark would still find some way to sexualize it. Don't look at his sketches!! They're just filled with Seb doing all kinds of random activities.

Also! Here is the painting I referenced this off of, must give credit where credit is due ofc

The Dying St. Sebastian by François Fabre

Also this isn't really relevant in the context of this drawing specifically. But I looked thru a bunch of Saint Sebastian paintings while trying to find one I could reference, and I came across this middle ages one that actually looks so much like boy king seb 😭 I guess it really is meant to be!

St Sebastian between St Roch and St Peter by Pietro Perugino

Lmao but do you see the difference between early rennaisance and later work???

#i cannot control myself anymore i must draw dark things :)#past 3/4 drawings have had blood i think 😭😭 old habits returning #BUT THIS SAINTLY OKAY ITS HOLY ITS FINE #also 005. when i said id draw you a saint seb seb i meant it!!!#<- tho mostly you changed your username when i was already drawing saint seb 😭#but i was gonna dedicate it to you anyways :) so funny coincidence #i wasnt gonna put any lore in the read more cause i didnt think i had any #and then i did. as always.#if is say i have nothing to write just give me a min and i will sjdkfk #i dont draw nakedness im surprised this isnt too bad 😭😭#also im happy cause i stopped myself from stressing over it being too overly detailed #loose fabric my behated 😡😡 but then i realized. i dont have to kms over it so i didnt!#still looks pretty good :) but i mostly like his torso face and hair ahhhh #lol also ik saint seb fits older seb better but. i like twink seb okay 🫣 also its an au thing so #MAN I WISH I FINISHED THE COMIC ACCOMPANIMENT #but it just wasnt clicking and i ended up drawing this first instead #but yes humbly please take my seb offering #f1 #formula 1 #<- again absurd to tag this at this point but idc #sebastian vettel #sv5 #catie.art.#martian #<- not inherently in the drawing itself BUT ITS THERE #tw blood #rennaisance muse au

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doing-something-unholy · 3 months ago

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I came to marvel at your reflection upon your dare I say chaste wish to be penetrated by the holy spirit as Saint Theresa was. I know her statue, it's a pleasure to look at radiating an almost arousing power to even the most celibate bystanders, it made me smile the thought of you corrupted by her ways. I also do feel draws to the likeness of a bound Saint Sebastian with a serene look of ecstacy on his face as arrows pierce him. A painting of his likeness hangs in my office.

Then again I wondered if you would possed by the right spirits, perhaps a bit too much wine after a rather explicit confession, care to receive such fiery passion yourself, perhaps by the very same stranger of the night who had brought over the wine to his confession. Red wine, red as passion itself makes the tongue heavy and the flesh willing as they say, or would you withstand the temptation?

As always my best regards,

The Professor

A confession that turns to a conversation about faith that turns to a thinly veiled metaphor about passion of the blood and receiving the holy spirit, fuled by a temptation of wine.

I imagine it would be innocent at first, at least seemingly, a friendly offer to share a glass or two. Quickly turning heated as the alcohol works to loosen my tongue and I say something just a bit too off-script for a pious priest. And that little crack in the facade is all the prompting you need to tempt me into more. Maybe you'd even bring up St. Theresa again, to see what I do when I'm unable to hide my reactions, my jealously at her meeting with the divine. The perfect chance for you to offer to show me yourself, and I may blush and stammer but we both know I'm not going to refuse. We can call it divine intervention, find little things to justify it, pretending that it's fine if the Saints did it.

#confession #the professor #priest kink #intox kink

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mlleclaudine · 5 months ago

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Born into slavery, he rose to the top of France’s art world

by Sebastian Smee - The Washington Post, July 12, 2024

Guillaume Lethière’s epic life is the subject of a stunning new exhibition, in the U.S. before it travels to the Louvre.

Guillaume Lethière, “Woman Leaning on a Portfolio,” circa 1799. (Frank E. Graham/Worcester Art Museum/Bridgeman Images)

WILLIAMSTOWN, Mass. — During the most tumultuous period in France’s modern history, Guillaume Lethière was one of its most venerated artists. His story is epic. Charles Dickens or Alexandre Dumas (who delivered a eulogy at Lethière’s funeral) would have struggled to make it sound credible. Pity me, your poor reviewer.

He was the third child (“Le Thière” is French for “the third”) of an enslaved, mixed-race woman and a White plantation owner. Today, his paintings — some of them cinematic in scale — can be found in museums in the United States and Europe, including the Louvre, and also in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Among his smaller works is one of the most tender and beautiful portraits I know.

Don’t feel bad if you’ve never heard of him. But be aware that in Guadeloupe, where he was born in 1760, Lethière has long been celebrated. According to Esther Bell, the curator of an extraordinary new exhibition about Lethière, there is an auto-body repair shop in the coastal town of Sainte-Anne bearing the name “Guillaume Lethière.” Nearby, in the center of a busy rotary in the French neighborhood — previously the site of the plantation whereLethière grew up — is a huge steel sculpture in the shape of an artist’s palette alongside two enormous paintbrushes. Shapes cut out of the steel reveal the face of Lethière as he looked in an 1815 drawing by his pupil, the great neoclassical artist Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres.

This summer, you might see Lethière’s loveliest portrait (scholars think it probably depicts his stepdaughter, Eugénie Servières, herself an accomplished artist) blown up on highway billboards advertising “Guillaume Lethière” at the Clark Art Institute in Williamstown, Mass., through Oct. 14. The exhibition will travel to the Louvre in November.

Guillaume Lethière, “Lafayette Introducing Louis-Philippe to the People of Paris,” 1830-1831. (Tokyo Fuji Art Museum/Bridgeman Images)

Researched and developed over many years by Bell, the Clark’s deputy director and chief curator, with Olivier Meslay, the museum’s director, and accompanied by a 432-page catalogue, the exhibition tells the story of Lethière’s improbable life.

To understand his significance, it’s not enough just to look at his paintings and drawings — although these are very good and earned him accolades aplenty during his lifetime. You need to consider his own complicated proximity to the world-historical events through which he lived.

Born into slavery (or so it’s assumed, given his parentage and the telling absence of baptismal records), Lethière was brought to France by his father, the French king’s public prosecutor in Guadeloupe, in 1774, when he was 14. He began training as an artist in Rouen. Thanks to his father’s influence, he was already close to serious power by his late teens.

Guillaume Lethière, “Académie,” 1782 (Beaux-Arts de Paris/RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, New York)

But of course, staying close to power is not easy when the personnel keeps changing. Like others of his generation, Lethière had to steer a course through the last days of the Ancien Régime, the French Revolution, the Terror, the rise of Napoleon Bonaparte, European conquest, imperial collapse, a brief Bonapartist revival, a restored monarchy, and finally, just before Lethière’s death in 1832, a constitutional monarchy.

What makes him uniquely interesting is that he managed all this while also navigating the shifting implications of his illegitimate, mixed-race origins in Guadeloupe.

Lethière was neither smarmy nor sycophantic, but he knew how to ingratiate himself to others. He “won the esteem and friendship of everyone by his honesty, his politeness, and a frank and loyal character that never wavered,” wrote Francois-Guillaume Ménageot, the director of the French Academy.

Alexandre Clément, after Louis-Léopold Boilly, “Reunion of Artists,” 1804. Guillaume Lethière is shown at center. (Clark Art Institute)

Lethière and his mother, Marie-Françoise Pepeye, were both emancipated by his father, Pierre Guillon. But it was many years before changes to the law allowed Guillon to recognize Lethière as his son. Lethière and his sister were named as Guillon’s heirs around the time Napoleon seized power in 1799.

Even so, years later, Lethière had to defend himself against an embarrassing challenge by a distant cousin, who claimed he was the rightful heir. This was in 1819, when the artist was at the height of his renown. The courts eventually found in Lethière’s favor — but not before humiliating references in the press to the esteemed painter’s “naive and modest genealogy.”

Louis-Léopold Boilly, “Guillaume Lethière and Carle Vernet” circa 1798. (Stéphane Maréchal/Palais des Beaux-Arts de Lille/RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, New York)

Moral and political complexities choked almost every aspect of Lethière’s life. There’s no doubt, for instance, that he was an abolitionist. And yet he benefited financially from his father’s plantation, which depended on enslaved labor.

Although Lethière never returned to the Caribbean, he cared deeply about the fate of its people. He supported the revolution in Haiti, which began in 1791, just before the French monarchy was abolished, and welcomed the French government’s decision, in 1794, to end slavery in all its territories.

When, eight years later, Napoleon reinstated slavery in the colonies, brutally suppressing an attempt at resistance in Guadeloupe, Lethière was surely disappointed. But by now he was in with the Bonapartes. He painted portraits of, among others, Napoleon’s Caribbean-born wife, the Empress Joséphine, and hitched his fortunes to Lucien Bonaparte, Napoleon’s brother.

Guillaume Lethière, “Joséphine, Empress of the French,” 1807. (Franck Raux/Musée national des châteaux de Versailles et de Trianon/RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, New York)

In 1807, Lethière’s friendship with Lucien Bonaparte led directly to his appointment as director of the French Academy in Rome — an immensely prestigious post. There he reinvigorated the academy andoversaw the training of dozens of France’s best artists — among them Ingres, who made a series of stunning drawings of Lethière’s family (included in the show), and a female pupil, Antoinette Cécile Hortense Lescot, who went on to exhibit more than 100 paintings in the Paris Salon.

Ancient Rome was of intense interest not only to France’s revolutionaries, who looked to republican Rome as a model, but also to Napoleon, who of course saw more upside for himself in Rome’s imperial period. Art played a huge role in establishing these lines of pedigree.

Guillaume Lethière, “Brutus Condemning His Sons to Death,” circa 1788. (Clark Art Institute)

The French Revolution had broken out while Lethière was a student at the same academy in Rome. At the time, inspired by his environs, he worked on a major canvas, “Brutus Condemning His Sons to Death.” In a carefully structured, frieze-like composition, he depicted the founder of the Roman republic, Lucius Junius Brutus, looking on stoically as his sons, who had plotted to restore a monarchy, are decapitated.

Lethière returned repeatedly to this subject and to another episode from ancient Rome, “The Death of Virginia.” We can perhaps imagine the painting’s special significance for him when we understand that its subject — a father killing his daughter, at her own request — hinges on the dishonor of being enslaved.

Guillaume Lethière, “The Death of Virginia,” circa 1823-1828. (Rebecca Vera-Martinez/ J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles)

Versions of both paintings enjoyed great success when they were exhibited in Rome and London. But in Paris, tastes were changing, and by the 19th century’s second decade, romanticism was on the rise. Lethière’s neoclassical style began to fall out of favor.

Winning the 1819 inheritance case seems to have inspired Lethière to turn his attention back to the Caribbean, and in 1822 he painted one of his most audacious canvases — an enormous (approximately 11 by 7 feet) painting owned by the Musée du Panthéon National Haitien in Port-au-Prince. It shows two generals, one mixed-race and the other Black, swearing an oath to fight together for the freedom and independence of the people of Saint-Domingue (now Haiti).

Guillaume Lethière, “Oath of the Ancestors,” 1822. (Gérard Blot/Musée du Panthéon National Haïtien, Port-au-Prince)

After a risky and clandestine sea voyage, Lethière’s son personally delivered the painting to Haiti’s President Jean-Pierre Boyer in Port-au-Prince. Two years later, France’s Charles X grudgingly recognized Haiti — but only in return for an indemnity payment that would cripple the young nation for decades.

Unfortunately, the recent civil strife in Haiti has prevented the painting from traveling to the United States. Lethière himself intended the painting for a Haitian audience and, according to Bell, who has tastefully installed a reproduction of it in the exhibition, it “encapsulates Lethière’s fidelity to his place of origin.”

The Clark show immerses us in several decades of political tumult that continue to reverberate today. It has much to say about other French artists and writers with ties to the Caribbean. So it is much more than just a monographic exhibition. For all the stately arrangement of the Clark’s galleries and the superficial stiffness of Lethière’s neoclassical style, the exhibit is like a pinwheeling firecracker, blazing out light, knowledge and cultural energy, and deepening our understanding of a remarkable inheritance.

Guillaume Lethière Through Oct. 14 at the Clark Art Institute in Williamstown, Mass., and then at the Louvre in Paris from Nov. 13 through Feb. 17. clarkart.edu.

#Guillaume Lethière #Clark Art Institute #The Washington Post #July 2024 #long post

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larryyouknow · 2 years ago

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Snippet

I was tagged by @greenblueish who are working on their abo and decided to share a snippet from my wip too.

I haven’t been excited for a story in a long time. But I’m all worked up about this one I’m writing for @1dhistoricalficfest. I might change it because you know… reasons. So why not to share. (It’s unedited so excuse mistakes).

Louis gave him a mischievous look, “So, you still want to paint me?”

Louis' directness caught him off guard. He was a renowned painter, a respected man, rarely being asked anything with such boldness. But in the presence of this young man he was losing his ground and his confidence, as if he was ashamed or worried of being exposed as an imposter. “I want to paint Saint Sebastian.”

“Do you think I’m him?” Louis glared back at him, having his suspicions.

Harry scoffed, amused at the nonsensical claim. “I don’t believe in reincarnation.”

An adorable giggle slipped from Louis’ lips as he adjusted himself on the stool in the middle of the room.

Harry wondered aloud, “Are you always so difficult?”

Louis didn’t reply, instead he posed.

“You’ve never posed as a model, have you?”

“What gave me away?”

“Your pose,” Harry said truthfully. “And when I think about it now, you left when you saw my studio full of my pupils and servants… that should be a hint for me as well.”

“You asked me to strip like you were asking for another cup of wine.” Louis reproached him.

“That’s how it works.” Harry defended himself. “And I don’t drink. I spent hours drawing from live models. That’s my process of creation, soaking in the shapes, composition, light… perspective. When observing women who serve me as models,” his speech stuttered, “I never want to be alone, or hidden. I have no interest in scandals, but in art. There are hundreds of curious eyes watching my comings and goings. They would love to witness me stumble. But there is some dignity attached to my profession and I'm not going up in flames for some licentious woman who wants to be wedded to the first man with doubloons in the pocket. I'm not interested in that.”

“Do you observe men too?” Louis asked timidly.

“Sometimes,” Harry admitted.

“I prefer this place to your studio. I don’t want to be on display for others but you.” Louis changed the topic.

“But you’re my subject.” Harry tried to make it clear. “When I paint you, everyone will see.”

“I thought you were painting Sebastian, not me.”

My dear writers, do you wanna post your snippet? @boosbabycakes28 @jacaranda-bloom @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @zanniscaramouche @alwaysxlarrie @lululawrence @allwaswell16 @faithinwalls369 or anyone who’s writing and want to share.

#snippet anyday #because I might change my mind till Sunday #tag games #my wip

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elizabethplaid · 2 years ago

Photo

Pretty sure I’ve reblogged this before, but I’m just so in love with this sculpture. It’s such an intriguing depiction of Saint Sebastian. I must ramble a bit about my love.

Firstly, it’s not just a sculpture - it’s a shadow box. It’s a contained scene that’s just as 3-dimensional as you and me. But within that box, he doesn’t fully exist. Instead, his limbs are missing. Limbs are symbolic of one’s agency - the ability to do things for one’s self and move around in the world. He cannot walk himself to safety, he cannot reach out for help; he lacks the limbs to do so.

If you’re familiar with Saint Sebastian, you know that he was tied up. Even if he had his limbs, they were tied, so he still couldn’t do anything. The ropes were his captors’ limits on his agency. In contrast, to not have limbs means that he still wouldn’t have agency, even after the ropes/restrictions were gone. In the story, Saint Irene and her maid found Sebastian, freed him from the ropes, and nursed him back to health.

Secondly (or thirdly?), Sebastian was shot with arrows, while he was tied to a tree. Instead of arrows, he is skewered. Long poles poke through him at multiple angles, emerging from the other side. He’s not just a butterfly on a specimen pin. He is sculpted around the longest rod, diagonally, from arm(pit) to upper thigh. There’s a second, nearly perpendicular one that restricts his other shoulder. A third rod just above the hip doesn’t restrict his left leg. It’s not a functional restraint, so it’s just cruel.

And that’s exactly what these rods are: restraints, in place of the ropes. The original arrows made him like a pin cushion. Yet these long rods are inserted at just the right places to limit his half-existent limbs.

Next, I want to mention how dynamic the pose is, especially with the longest rod going from the upper-right of the box to the lower left. It’s such a good way to draw the viewer’s eye around the scene. The lower-third of the box is painfully empty, with even the background sketch-figures with incomplete legs. But the rod ends right next to the artist’s signature. That’s so clever!

With the angles of these rods, and the fact that they go from side-to-side, touching the walls of the shadow box, we can see how the figure’s weight rests on these rods. He’s suspended in space, depending on -or within- these limitations to exist, to stay in a secure position... however painful it is.

In a way, it’s symbolic of (or rather, relates to) abusive relationships. We know there’s pain if we stay, but it’s better the devil you know than the uncertainty of not knowing. And in this case, he couldn’t reach out for help even if he tried.

It also reminds me of crucifixion, the way the body is restrained making it difficult to breathe. The body’s weight must be shifted, in order to allow proper movement. I remember someone’s explanation that Christ would have to shift his weight and put pressure on his nailed hands/feet, in order to lift his body and gasp a deeper breath. Of the two shorter rods, one pierces through a lung, and the other likely pierces the diaphragm. (I don’t feel like looking up the anatomy right now, so this is an assumption.)

My last rambling observation (for now, hah!) is the thick cloth draped around his hips. Many depictions of Saint Sebastian have him dressed in a loincloth. It’s usually thin and white - just enough fabric to cover and be a hint saintly. For this sculpture, the fabric seems thick, with deep folds. It’s not heavy, but it’s stiff enough to drape and hold dimension. It actually extends past his right leg, almost completely covering it.

If you want to be a bit crude in interpretation, you could say that covering the exit point of that rod is a point of modesty, concealing the wound. It contrasts to the entry point of that rod, in his left armpit. The concave armpit and rod are almost a grotesque p-in-v allusion - a simulated yet violent rape.

This is a typical image invoked in depictions of Saint Sebastian. I just find the sculpting and positioning particularly purposeful. I haven’t even zoomed in on the image yet. This is all from a broad view. That’s how blatant the image seems to me. (I tried to pussy-foot around it, to not assume the artist’s intention. But damn, it’s tough to ignore.)

I think there’s probably more to interpret if I zoom in. Something about his hair and face, something about the rope holding up the cloth. But I’ve been writing for 45+ minutes, and I still have more of my dashboard to read.

‘St Sebastian’ by Thomas Hildenbrand

#saints #saint sebastian #Thomas Hildenbrand #sculpture #shadow box #body horror #art analysis #dear god shut me up #prehearted

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marmolita · 4 months ago

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fic exchange roundup

I've posted some various fics for exchanges this year but been absolutely falling down on the job of sharing them on social media, so here's the catchup! Please heed the warnings on these.

The Ecstasy of Saint Lillian

Exchange: Smut4Smut

Fandom: Original Work

Ship: Older brother excelling at sex magic/Virgin brother starting at same magic school (M/M)

Notable Tags: sibling incest, sex magic

Words: 3,026

Henry Loxlian, just past his eighteenth birthday, was the most highly anticipated student at the Academy of Saint Lillian in a century. His good looks, sultry voice, and charm all spoke to great things. Given how his classmates in secondary school adored him, everyone assumed he must be already exercising his abilities: drawing their admiration, pleasing them in their exploratory forays into sexuality. Everyone was counting the days until Henry would arrive at the Academy and learn to share his gift with even more skill, and start drawing his connection with Saint Lillian into his partners. What everyone didn't know was that Henry was a virgin.

The Black Tide's Revenge

Exchange: Nonconathon

Fandom: Original Work

Ship: Pirate Captain/Aristocratic Prisoner (M/M)

Notable Tags: noncon, rape, flogging, object insertion, public humiliation

Words: 1,848

Captain Roan Griffin tapped his saber against his knee as he gazed down at the Marquess of Westhall. "I have to admit," he said, "I didn't expect it to be quite this easy to capture the Governor of New Corinium. Especially given all of your posturing about how you're going to-- what was it? 'Clean up the depraved pirate rabble poisoning the waters of the Belangi Sea?'" "Go to Hell," Westhall spat, heedless of the cutlass Roan's Quartermaster, Tommy, held to his throat.

Hookup

Exchange: RarePairExchange

Fandom: Stardew Valley

Ship: Alex/Sebastian

Notable Tags: casual sex, closeted character

Words: 3,176

It was late when Sebastian left the saloon, after losing his third round of pool to Sam. Abigail had left after round two, saying her mom would be mad if she was out too late, though she didn't look happy about it. Of course, that meant round three was full of Sam ribbing Sebastian about how he and Abigail should date, leaving Sebastian hot-faced and uncomfortable. It wasn't that he didn't like Abigail, he just wanted someone a little more . . . masculine.

In progress: my entry for enemies to lovers exchange...

#fanfic #fanfiction #lita talks about herself #heed the warnings guys please

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thedivinetarot-2 · 3 years ago

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What type of girls do ikevamp boys fell for?

Okay so this post will be just my pov for each one of the boys

- Comte's mansion -

Napoleon Bonaparte

- He wouldn't admit that but he is into funny girls. Like each time you throw a joke and how you try to make everyone laugh make him wonder how girls in 21st century changed a lot especially that women in his time wasn't allowed to laugh out loud or giggle because it was disrespectful.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

- He is into honest girls. That type of girls who are mature enough and she don't know how to hide secrets from him. He find them really attractive. Every time you open your mouth to say your opinion without being afraid of people judging you can make him fell over heels for you.

Leonardo Da Vinci

- I can tell that he is really into womanly girls. Physically, emotionally and mentally. He is not into over cutie girls or girls who are faking there personalities to get a like from other people. A girl who have a curvy body, warm color pallette, and kind enough to make him forget what he has been through.

Arthur Conan Doyle

- This is kinda hilarious but he is into reserved girls and mysterious girls. Both of them seems to hide a lot of secrets.They both can stimulate him for the game of hide and seek. if the girl is a hard worker this would be a plus A for him.

Vincent Van Gogh

- Artsy girls with a childish features. He isn't into bruh girls or over cute girls he just want a girl who can give him many interesting ideas for his portraits. I can see that he can appreciate any type of girls.

Theodorus Van Gogh

- Obedient girls with dependent personality. He is a very traditional man when it comes to being committed to a woman. So, he is really into those girls who need a man that will control and plan all their life till the very end.

Dazai Osamu

- Supportive girls. The one's who don't really pressure him to talk about his past and tragic life. A girl who can understand him and listen to him and support him. He is really sad and depressed most of the time but he hide this well. Also he admires honesty as well.

Isaac Newton

- Motherly girls are the best. They're supportive, kind, patient and loyal. He spent all his life searching for a warm body to cuddle with. And how happy he would be when he find that type of girl.

Jean D'arc

- He is into bubbly girls. And he actually wondered how he like them. A girl with a bright personality can be a huge turn on for Jean. He lived in the shades most of his life and he need a person who can show him the right path by changing his view to the world.

William Shakespeare

- Talented girls are his thing. When he discover your ability to sing, dance, draw, swim, create he would be turned on by that. Also he can be fascinated by girls who can do the multitasking thing. He is really into this stuff. Can't help himself when you're around.

Le Comte De saint Germain

- Okay, there's a ton of blogs that wrote about comte liking strong girls but I think he is really into femme fatale women. The way they're independent, bossy, strong and serious are actually a major turn on for him. Just act bossy and he will be on his knees waiting for your orders.

Sebastian/ Akihiko satou

- Classy girls are his type. They're confident, supportive and serious. He is into girls who think and act their age with morality and wisdom. He can't stand annoying girls or dependent girls or girls with childish behaviors because he is looking for a partner not to babysitting them.

- Vlad's mansion -

Vlad

- Feminine girl can help him to see the world in a different view. A girl that enjoys little things in life with a huge smile on her face. This type of girls can make him want to protect her and watch over her always.

Charles-Henri Sanson

- He is into serious girls. He wonder himself why he love them. They just keep him on the ground and motivate him when he feel low. Charles character and a serious girl can make a balanced combination in this relationship.

Johann Georg Faust

- He love to feel smart and confident anywhere and any time. So, he like clumsy girls. They're warm and can give him a free affection whenever he wish. Also he really like the empty stupid look on their faces whenever he say something so scientific.

°•°~°•°~°•°~°•°~°•°~°•°~°•°~°•°~°•°~°•°

☆A/N:

I hope you liked my post❤. Feel free to reblog my posts. And follow me for more🤍.

- Lots of love

M🤎

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire headcanons #ikemen vampire scenarios #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp theo #ikevamp jean #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp abel #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp faust #ikevamp charles

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blue-sterling0357 · 2 years ago

Note

Salutations ! Hope you are doing well :) could I please request an Agni from black butler x reader? There’s hardly ANY and I just love the gentle giant so much! Could you do something with the cliche of Soma noticing the chemistry (or creating it lol) between Agni and reader and going out of his way to set them up or put them in situations? Thank you thank you

(A/N: I also love him, which is kind of iconic since in real life I do not wish to date a indian man, but if it's fictional indian man named Agni, I'm there to serve him till my last breathe)

Holding a special place in your heart ♡

❉How did you both end up like this? Oh right, Soma…He sent you both to saint Sindh Mukesh’s, the king’s dear philosopher, library and when you both entered the room, he pushed you both and locked the door. As you both sat on the floor, the only light source being a tiny window, very high up with a metal grid on it, the chances of it helping you escape were zero.

As the sun started to go down, Agni and you lit up the chimney in the library’s far end to make sure no book got burned. As you both sat on the floor, reading one or the other book of the library. Luckily there was compartment there with blankets, snacks, water and pillows; guess people have already been stuck here before……

As you looked over at Agni, you saw him zoned out writing or drawing something, you dropped your book and slowly leaned over him and saw him drawing flowers and hearts, around a beautiful, calligraphy, Hindi word, your name……

“वायें” he had written your name in Hindi, “Y/N” your name was decorated with many flowers, hearts and drawings. You knew Agni had a crush on you and he didn’t make it subtle either, always making you his most-important priority equal to Soma, always brought you your favorite flowers, made your favorite foods and took you to England with him and Soma and introduced you to his friends there, servants to Earl Phantomhive’s servants; Sebastian, the head butler and the other servants; Bardroy, the cook, Finnian, the gardener and Mey-rin, the only maid there. He also cooked you your favorite food, which every Indian person knows means that “I love you so much and wish to spend my entire life for you and so to show you that I made you your favorite food” just in action.

As you leaned more and tugged your head on Agni’s shoulder, he immediately jolted up, scaring you as well because he never got scared that easily, guess he was really zoned out……As you both calmed down, Agni put his right above yours and turned his head away to hide his flustered face, as you held his hand in yours gently and held it up to your face before kissing his knuckles and putting it back on your hand on top of your thigh, now he more blushing and flustered but he still shifted closer to you, he held your hand in larger one and tugged his on your shoulder as you again picked up your book and began reading soon you turned your head to look at him to see him sleeping on your shoulder…As you slowly laid him down on your lap and opened the folded blanket before covering Agni with it as you began reading yet again… . . As the sunlight from the tiny window hit Agni’s face, stirring him from his sleep, he felt the softness of the blanket, he slowly sat up, before finding a tiny bouquet of three lilies, five daffodils and seven jasmines right near his head, as he sat up, he couldn’t find you anywhere, only a blanket and a pillow where you were sitting. As he inspected the bouquet, he saw a metal key right in the middle of it with a rope tied to it, the rope had a short note stuck at the end of it, which read in beautiful Hindi…

"डार्लिंग, मेरे पास पहले से ही पुस्तकालय की चाबियां थीं, लेकिन तुम्हारे साथ अकेले रहना एक अवसर था जिसे मैं जाने नहीं दे सकताी थाी ~"

Just then he remembered that you were the head servants having the responsibility of entering and exiting the library whenever you wanted, but since he was so excited to be alone with you, he completely forgot about it, but at least you both were able to tell each other about your love….

translation of the note~

"Darling, I already had the keys to the library, but being alone with you was an opportunity I couldn't let go~"

Also this is how you tell someone you love them in Indian style, cause our country is a bit conservative, at least this is how my mom tells me she told my dad she loves him!

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minka-g · 3 years ago

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Lloyd prequel?

I hate to be that person, but I’m going to be that person.

This news? This Chris Evans led Lloyd Hansen prequel to The Gray Man?

No!

No, no, no, no, no!

It’s such an obvious cash grab and perfectly demonstrates how little moviemakers understand the world, characters and themes of the novels they adapt. Of course, no adaptation is going to be flawless, and I have already reconciled with the fact that Lloyd is going to be very different from the books (I mean, come on! The guy was a scrawny lawyer who couldn’t fight, for Pete’s sake) but giving him a prequel? An origin story?

It's actually insulting to the author. I do find it fascinating that Greaney is almost never mentioned in posts, and that he is insanely silent about the film in general.

Lloyd doesn’t need a prequel. At all! He is (or should be) a borderline cartoonishly-evil bad guy who’s there to balance the impact of having a dramatically ruthless hero. Court Gentry isn’t a saint, after all; he ENJOYS killing people. Unlike Lloyd, he at least tries to stick to a personal code of killing ‘the right sort of people’.

Giving Lloyd a prequel murders the point of the character. You can’t headline a villain like him without needing to make him either likeable, relatable or turning the movie into a B-grade slasher film (which we all know won’t happen). He isn’t the Winter Soldier – there is no redemption arch for Lloyd – and one of the long-running jokes of the series is the fact that no one knows who he even is/was.

That is just some schmuck in Hollywood/Netflix rubbing Evans and the Russo’s together knowing that it will likely spring gold.

Actually, it’s more like some badly conceived fanfiction where the creator has no respect for reality and no understanding of unique personalities and complex trauma, or the driving beats of proper storytelling.

I’m all for a sequel, though. If they haven’t butchered too much of the timeline (Suzanne Brewer; I’m looking at you) then it would be an exciting action series with lots of source material to draw from.

And instead of trying to wring money out of an Evans led prequel, they could focus on the far better option of adapting Russell "Russ" Whitlock from Dead-Eye. He is smarter than Lloyd, better than Lloyd and actually offers a threat to Gentry, unlike book-Lloyd. He matches the ‘same vs same’ concept that is majority popular these days and is one of the few characters to have ever gotten the drop on The Gray Man. (And I could also really, really, really easily see him being played by Sebastian Stan – hot damn!) Honestly, given the random characters that they have already pulled into the mix, I’m surprised that they didn’t just leave Lloyd out completely and run with Russ from the get-go; they could have even used Evans for it.

#the gray man #chris evans #ryan gosling #rant #lloyd hansen #court gentry #netflix #netflix movies #sebastian stan

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rokutouxei · 3 years ago

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hiding hunger

ikemen vampire | E | 6198 le comte de saint-germain / OC

Seiya has always kept her feelings for Comte under wraps, but what happens when something lets it slip? Will it finally awaken what has been hiding in Comte's heart for the longest time?

When Seiya realizes that her most treasured bound leather notebook is in Arthur’s hands, her instinct is to lunge at him. What she doesn’t expect is that he would drop it.

Her heart falls to the ground as quickly as her notebook does; the loose sheets of paper littered extensively with little notes about and drawings of no one else but him, of course, Le Comte de Saint-Germain, fly out into the air.

To fall like paper snow onto the waiting garden, where said Comte is taking his afternoon tea.

“Arthur!” is the most of a reprimand she manages to shriek out before she’s running off to the stairs to pick up what’s left of her dignity scattered on the garden grounds.

By the time she gets there, Sebastian has picked up a considerable amount of her loose drawings, both to her relief and embarrassment. She scrambles to gather what else is there, her face heating up with every page she lifts. Comte, reading in the study. Comte, addressing the residents at a dinner party. Comte, in the more formal clothes he wears for events. Comte, Comte, Comte.

All her wandering thoughts about him, strewn across the grass like confetti.

Arthur arrives soon after, to reach out an arm to help. She frowns at him deeply, the corners of her eyes shiny with tears.

“Now, now, no need to be so up—”

“This is your fault,” Seiya whispers lowly, trying her best so that Comte does not hear her. The tone in her voice makes Arthur stand back up, hand scratching the back of his neck.

She doesn’t know what to do. Her little crush on le Comte wasn’t exactly a secret—but it sort of was. To Comte, at least. Her closest friends had an inkling, but Vincent and Isaac weren’t exactly the type that pried. She’s sure Sebastian knows just because he’s Sebastian. And the more observant ones like Arthur and Theo definitely would have known too.

And Maybe Comte, too, but—there’s nothing like confirming a rumor, confessing a crime, with a gallery’s worth of art stumbling out of a window, right?

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to say it: keeping it a secret was just the least she could do to quiet her heart.

Leonardo is one of her closest companions. He has also been with Saint-Germain longer than anyone else in the mansion. So when Leonardo told her not to keep her hopes up about Comte, she said, “okay.”

And at this point, she’s mastered the art of keeping her feelings bottled tightly in her heart. She pours it out only in the scribbles of her pen.

And now it was here, laid bare in front of Saint-Germain’s eyes.

She holds back the sniffle as she gets up from her knees. Sebastian approaches her while she’s dusting her skirt, a sheaf of her drawings in hand. Her heart rises to her throat once she notices that the Comte is, in fact, watching her.

She has only the briefest of moments to speak before her voice goes away altogether. With a nod to Sebastian in thanks, she says, “Sorry for interrupting your tea time, Comte,” bowing lowly in regret before turning away again, heading off to the mansion sadly, Arthur following close behind.

Comte watches her without a word as she makes her escape back to the mansion. He had wanted to help, rising from his chair to pick up some of the illustrations, but he was sent back down by Sebastian. The butler said he should leave the menial task to him. That was rather true, by etiquette, but in consideration of the contents of the drawings, Comte knew better.

He knows Seiya is an artist. She spends a lot of her free time drawing quietly in nooks and crannies she finds comfortable to work in. Sometimes she joins Vincent out when he paints. Sometimes she accompanies Napoleon and Isaac when they go to teach the kids, so she can sketch and draw out in the city with company. She had even shown him some of her illustrations in the past—but only with a little nagging from Leonardo.

…Ah, yes, Leonardo.

Seiya and Leonardo have a peculiar relationship, one that Comte has always thought was akin to lovers. When she first arrived at the mansion, Comte had asked his old friend if he could leave Seiya in his care. There were complaints—as he expected—but Leonardo took up the favor in time. It has been months since then, and she and Leonardo are rather intimately close to one another; it’s easy to find them snuggled against each other in random sofas in the mansion sleeping. There are also mornings when they both emerge out of Leonardo’s room in the morning for breakfast.

It was hard not to imagine that they were lovers.

But were they?

Comte had never given it much thought because while the hunger resides in him, a wolf sleeping in the cave, he isn’t the type to go after something, someone, that his friend already holds. He has no interest in coveting something that isn’t available to him, to begin with. In hindsight, he recalls that Leonardo hadn’t spoken to him about anything regarding his relationship with Seiya either, so perhaps—

“More tea, sir?”

He takes a deep breath. Thinks of Seiya with her lavender hair and her light blue eyes, glassy when she looked at him earlier, sheets of paper with his face on it in her hands.

The heart is a troublesome thing, he thinks, as he hands his teacup quietly to Sebastian.

Saint-Germain had intended to just let it unravel.

For the mystery to go on its own pace. For him to wait until Seiya is ready to tell her feelings for him to his face.

Unfortunately for the poor Comte, his heart is a stubborn one.

It happens before he even notices—how his eyes begin to wander. Up and down the mansion when he is unoccupied, hoping for a glimpse of her in the hallway. When he sees her and she is busy, he watches. Eyes grazing the curves of her body, the long lines of her legs, and the roundness of her breasts arching against the seams of her corset.

Seiya is a quiet girl, and for that, she does most of her talking through the rest of her body; the way she tugs at her sleeves when she is nervous, the little tug of the corner of her mouth when she is pleased, the crinkle of her nose when she is embarrassed, the way her eyebrows shoot up when she is surprised. Comte had noticed these in the past, and perhaps have teased her a little about it as well, but—until now, he hadn’t really thought much about it.

It’s different now.

Now, when he gets the opportunity to talk to her, he notices all the little things: the flush on her cheeks, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, the way she curls forward toward him when he speaks. It even gets to the point where he gets embarrassed with how lost he is in the conversation, marveling at all the little details he is only now noticing. How much had he been missing all this time, and how long had he been blind?

This goes on for days, then weeks. Comte is astonished at himself for every little thing he notices. He and Seiya do not bring up what had happened with the drawings. Perhaps they do not need to. Eventually they return to their friendly conversations as if nothing had happened at all, as if it was just another mishap tucked away into the past.

He never sees the notebook again—as if she is much more careful with where it is now, away from his sight.

But there are other things Comte notices.

About himself. The way something in his heart stills whenever he sees her cuddled against Leonardo in the library while reading a book. The way a smile rises golden in his face whenever she comes up to him, to tell him about a new painting or a new musical piece or a new chapter of Sherlock Holmes. The way his heart pounds when it’s late at night and he remembers her, a fleeting thought that casts glitters all over his mind, thoughts he will try to brush away but still find there, hiding in its corners, an eternity from now.

The way he becomes more watchful of how Leonardo takes care of her—has she eaten? Where did she fall asleep, where are you carrying her to?—like he is trying to take on the role, see if he can fit a spot next to her in between the two of them, even if he isn’t so sure she is his for the taking.

Le Comte de Saint-Germain is a greedy man.

Leonardo knows this. And Leonardo notices.

Comte does not.

And just like that, the sleeping wolf begins to wake.

Leonardo doesn’t often go out on trips. In his long history of staying with Saint-Germain, Leonardo’s trips were often of the “I don’t know if I’ll come back” nature—the kind with the hanging goodbyes only those who have the rest of eternities to live can truly become accustomed to.

He goes to the city, sure, beloved as he is to the other citizens downtown, but to go out on long trips outside of Paris isn’t something that occurred a lot, except if he was running away. So when Leonardo announces that he would be out for “a couple of weeks to the countryside”, Comte knows that there is something up.

And true enough, there is something up, because when asked why he was leaving, Leonardo’s answer is the most deadpan “I’m getting tired of seeing you make that face.”

Comte understands without elaboration.

In a few days, Leonardo is gone.

The weeks leading up to Leonardo’s departure meant that Seiya hung around him like a baby koala a lot. Once he’d left, she is left drifting about, wandering the halls as if looking for anchor—spending time with Isaac, watching Vincent paint.

But it’s the nights that are ruthless.

Sleeping in her room with a too-big bed in a too-quiet mansion that smells too clean without the constant assault of tobacco—Seiya somehow cannot sleep properly without Leonardo around. Her sleep becomes so erratic she has become a sort of Leonardo herself, being found by the residents sleeping in the middle of the day in the most unexpected of places—on a stool in the kitchen, leaning against the countertop; in the gazebo at the garden, Vic and King at her side; on the sofa in the library, curled up uncomfortably.

Comte finds himself walking down the hallways of the mansion looking for her at odd hours of the day, a blanket in tow, to make sure she is comfortable, to make sure she is warm. He knows that to her he is not Leonardo, but he can try to be a suitable substitute.

In truth, she sleeps because when she is awake, the sound of Leonardo’s parting words with her echoes in her brain like an alarm. “There’s only so much time I can buy for you, cara mia,” he had said, ruffling her hair before he left. Seiya understands but at the same time she doesn’t. The deep-gold silhouette of Saint-Germain watching over them at the staircase burns itself at the back of her eyelids.

Leonardo is so cruel, telling her to not keep her hopes up but then opening the door. Shining the light. Leading her down the hall.

He’s just the same as his old friend.

A week into Leonardo’s trip, the dark circles under Seiya’s eyes have grown to a worrisome shade, the kind that Comte just can’t let pass. So on one afternoon, in-between sharing tea with her, even when he knows it would spell the death of him, he offers: “You could sleep with me, if you like.”

She nearly chokes on the jasmine tea she’s just taken a sip of. “Pardon?”

“You haven’t had good sleep the past week, have you not? If you want company, I can be a warm body.”

Seiya…hesitates. She could say yes, of course, as it ultimately means more time spent with him—and it wasn’t like she was admitting to anything by agreeing to it. Just friendly, platonic naps, the kind she also took with Leonardo. But at the same time she feared her will would break, at the touch of his arms around her, the thrum of his pulse underneath his clothes—he might just ruin her and make her surrender.

But when she looks up to make sure Comte is really offering her this, the honey gold of his eyes only gets her to say “Yes… please?”

It starts… slow. It’s a dynamic they’ve never tried before, as someone Comte has always felt one step higher than her, a distance she could never find the courage to cross. Being with Leonardo is easy, because he treats her like a younger sibling, the comfort, familiarity, and tease of an older brother to a sister he wants to protect. But with Comte? The race of her heart in her chest would only serve to get her caught.

But then it gets easy.

She first starts with accompanying Comte in his room as he’s working. As she readjusts her sleeping schedule, she sneaks in naps in his bed or on armchairs and sofas, the scribble of his pen on paper lulling her to rest. Later on, she begins to work around him as well—sometimes she reads, sometimes she draws; he spots the notebook she’d been hiding from him as she resumes making sketches of him. They have tea together in the afternoon. When he has something to do at town, she accompanies him. When she wants alone time but would still like him around, he stays in his room and she lays at the lounge chair in the balcony, the one overlooking the Paris horizon.

Leonardo has been gone for three weeks.

And at this point, it feels… just fine. Seiya misses him, for sure, but having Comte as company is an experience she appreciates having had. The incident at the garden is now long behind them. It’s as if they’ve found a suitable rhythm for the two of them, one they can live by.

But it isn’t enough.

Not yet.

And Leonardo is coming home soon, because there is only so long the Renaissance man can buy for Comte, and Saint-Germain knows this. The longer Comte spends with Seiya the more he learns how much her company means to him. Sure, he has driven the thought at the back of his mind for the longest time, and maybe he’s not taken care of the feeling properly. But it’s still there, growing roots in his mind, enclosing his heart, drawing nourishment out of it.

Making him thirsty.

Making him want.

The wolf quietly sitting in the bushes, waiting for the perfect moment to chase and pounce.

He can deny his heart but not the lunge of his pulse, not the pain of fangs growing sharper the more the scent of her lingers in his room, her shampoo on the bedsheets, her perfume in the air. His heart is patient but his hands are not.

And time and fate wait for no one.

Comte takes two bottles of rouge per day; one in the morning, and one in the evening. His thirst has placated through the years; it only flows calmly inside of him.

But not as of late. Sebastian’s brought him his fourth bottle late in the afternoon. The butler looks at him curiously, and offers to take the sleeping Seiya—out in the veranda—back to her room to sleep.

“No,” is Comte’s quick answer, a little too quick that Sebastian wavers, and with a deep breath Comte composes himself and adds, “it’s alright.”

(It isn’t quite so.)

He downs the bottle of rouge slowly, feeling the blood going down his throat. Making sure it’s there, as if telling his instincts: this is your share. Stop longing for something else. But his fangs still hang painfully in his mouth, searching for flesh.

Maybe if he covers her scent with a sheet, he’ll relax.

He stands up, picks up one of the folded blankets on the bed, and heads out to the veranda for Seiya. The southern-facing veranda lets the sun leave an angled golden glow on the balcony; Comte traces it with his gaze from the city, back to the lounge where the one he loves sits.

She’s lying on the sofa with her leg raised up, perhaps after having been used as a table for her sketching; the open notebook on her lap reveals a sketch of the city. The other sketchbook next to her is folded closed, but a couple of pages peek out from in between, revealing little sketches of Saint-Germain—the same kind he’d seen that afternoon in the garden.

Not that Comte is paying attention to the sketches when she’s right there, with the milky line of her long legs underneath her stockings; the plush flesh of her thighs where her skirt has ridden up; the curves of the top of her breasts under her blouse; the small, pink o of her mouth slightly open as she sleeps; the brush of her bangs light on her forehead; the flush on her cheeks a healthy, vibrant glow.

He’s about to drape the blanket he’s brought with him when her even breathing is interrupted by a sighed syllable. He holds the blanket in his arms as he waits for her to finish the word.

“…main…”

Hm?

“Ss…ger…”

Her breath hitches and she curls a little tighter, the notebook on her lap falling quietly on the floor. Her foot curls against her other ankle; her thighs rub against each other.

“Comte… Saint-Germain…”

And then she moans.

That’s it.

Something howls and sings inside of him and he listens to it. The blanket drops to the ground as Comte falls to his knees next to her like a devotee. He encloses her mouth with his; restraint snapping like a frail string. She makes a half-asleep moan at the feeling of it and it goes straight down his cock, lighting him on fire. When she reaches out for him on instinct, he envelops her with her arms right back.

She opens her eyes slowly, as if she’s still asleep. “Am I… dreaming?”

Comte brushes the stray hairs off her face and says, “Even better.”

It doesn’t register immediately. Seiya reaches out to press the palm of her hand against Comte’s cheek as if making sure he’s real. Comte slides a hand on her calf, feeling the warmth of her flesh through the stockings.

And then it hits.

Seiya jolts backward on instinct, knees bending in front of her as she lets go of Comte like he’s hot. “I’m—Comte, I—”

“Seiya,” he says, the syllables of her name rolling out of his mouth like something sacred, “Tell me. Tell me and I’ll show you.”

“Le Comte…”

His voice sounds strained. “Tell me, let me, and I’ll show you what you do to me.”

Seiya takes a moment.

Lets it linger; the gleaming glow of the afternoon sun over the both of them; the hunger in his eyes; the fear that was thrumming underneath her skin;

The need.

She brushes his bangs off his forehead so she sees him clearly, and then says, “I love you.”

And it’s like something snaps.

Saint-Germain kisses her like she’s the sun and he’s been underground for months. One of his hands cradles her head, tangling in between the lavender strands of her hair. The other holds her cheek, to prove that she’s there, as if convincing himself that he’s not just at wits’ end clinging into hallucinations.

He gives her a moment to breathe; holds her heart in his hands when he brushes off with his thumb the pooled saliva at the corner of her mouth and says: “I can’t believe you’ve gone on for so long without knowing how much I’ve wanted you.” And when she moves her lips as if to retaliate or to deny, Comte gets up and pushes her further onto the sofa, “Talk later” coming out harsh from his mouth.

His hands are quick as he undoes her garments, but the ease is nowhere near coolheaded. Something burns underneath his skin and only touching her can cool it. He starts with the ribbons and hooks of her skirt and then inward; tugs off her blouse in between leaving bruising kisses on her mouth—he still can’t get enough of her—and loosens the lacings of her undergarments with precision.

But by this time he’s run out of his patience, so he sinks his fingers into her stockings and rips them apart.

The gasp is half of surprise and half of pleasure. Comte does not stop until the stockings are nothing but tattered cloth pooling on the floor. Seiya does not feel fully bare until this moment. The thrum of blood in her ears makes her dizzy; she thinks of the scar she’s always had to hide on her leg, and in a panic, she suddenly whispers, “Wait—out here? We should go—”

Comte does not need to shush her; the words go back down her throat when his hands touch her bare calf. Time stills; his fingers, earlier all brute force and tearing apart, are gentle as they trace up her leg; he runs his fingers down the discolored flesh like a reverent worshipper. He raises her leg up toward him and presses a trail of kisses downward.

She sighs at the sensation and it makes Comte look up at her.

The full force of his gaze into hers leaves her unsteady—will she ever get used to him being this way?

For a moment, the instinct is to hide. The instinct of prey in the face of a predator, Seiya tries to jerk her leg back toward her but Comte does not budge. She decides to attempt to close them instead, to push him away, but his hands are on her knees, holding her thighs apart.

When Seiya catches Comte graze his tongue underneath his fang, like nursing it, she knows she is a goner.

Comte positions her knees over his shoulders and then proceeds to have a taste of her. The heat and scent of her sex against his face nearly drives him to the point of insanity. But this is a meal he would like to relish. He presses small kisses down her slit before urging the folds open with his fingers, Seiya panting above him; his nose nudges her clit and her hands fly to his hair.

“Comte…” she cries out, her voice hoarse, tears escaping the corners of her eyes. When Comte looks up at her, a shudder runs down her spine.

“‘Abel,’” he says, gently, pressing a kiss on her inner thigh. “That’s my name. Call me that.”

Seiya nods; slides her fingers from the flaxen mop of his hair to his cheek, and croons out: “Abel.”

God, he thinks, just how much can this woman drive me insane?

Much to Seiya’s delight (and embarrassment), Comte has a sharp learning curve that points him in the right direction in no time. His tongue teases her sensitive bundle of nerves, circling and teasing until all she can do is sob out his name. Her fingers leave crescent-moon marks against his scalp but it only urges him on; lathers two fingers with the slick coming out of her before slipping them inside her wet heat.

The world is spinning. Has it been an eternity or only a moment? Comte is not giving her what she wants, just dangling her over the edge, giving her the sweet taste of it but not enough to satisfy. Tongue making delicate work of her pussy, fingers of one hand curling inside of her, another squeezing her breast like seeking comfort—she lifts her fist to her mouth and bites into it as Comte toys with her a little bit longer, long fingers finding something electric, grazing it, molding it, and then—

She falls. The orgasm is unlike anything else—not when it means everything at the same time: that maybe Comte does return her feelings, that Comte wants to do this with her, that Comte is thinking of her—she shivers and her heels dig against his back as she spasms against him; and he lets her, continues to eat her out for the entirety of it, wringing her dry and overstimulated.

“Abel!” she cries out, hands flying to his face to get him to look up at her and to pause lest she loses all that’s left of her sanity. His face is slick with her juices and it sends a new wave of warmth through her but she’s had enough. “Take me, please. Have me.”

“If you so wish,” Comte says, running the back of his hand against his lips before kissing her again; he doesn’t let go even as he readjusts their position into a comfortable one. Her legs curl around his waist as if on instinct. Comte quickly undresses, his coat and vest landing on the floor and his bottoms kicked somewhere else; his shirt unbuttoned all the way. When her wandering touch strays onto the sharp curls of trailing yellow hair upward his stomach, he guides her hand toward his cock, relishing in her face’s darkening shade of red. She can barely wrap her hands around his girth; for a moment she worries about it being too big. “Guide me,” he says—an order and not a request—and it makes her breath stop in her throat.

But her need is stronger than her shyness, and so she guides his hardness against her dripping cunt, sighing as she rocks it between her folds before slotting it into her. Comte lifts her hips up once he’s in, supporting her as he slides inch by inch to fill her. He brushes her hair to the back of the sofa, out of the way; her hands cling onto her biceps as she begins to feel the weight of him inside of her.

She spots Comte looking at something beyond her but she doesn’t get to ask before he roughly jolts forward, causing her to cry out.

Seiya has always thought that Comte had a monster hiding inside of him; below his coolly composed demeanor, there was a hungry beast in him that he had long learned to tame. Now, here, fucking on the sofa at his room’s veranda, in the full view of whoever dared look up, the sun sinking into twilight, Seiya comes face to face with the wolf that Comte had shackled inside of him for so long.

His thrusts are frantic and rushed; there is only rhythm and speed, no patience or art. Seiya’s had her share; now, Comte is using her for his pleasure, sweat dripping down his brow, his grip harsh on her hips—there will be bruises tomorrow. He presses her face against the valley in between her breasts and moans. Her name falls from his mouth, “Seiya, Seiya,” in between syllables of “Fuck” and “So good,” the brusqueness of the words so unbecoming of Comte it makes her even more sensitive to them.

She curls forward, toward him, trying to meet his thrusts even when her legs have long turned into mush. When Comte realizes what she is trying to do, a new sort of enthusiasm fills him; it’s as if he has woken up from a trance. “Seiya,” he calls out, “mouth,” is all he can say, and she obeys; he slips two fingers into her waiting mouth and she suckles on them as if it were his cock. He hisses at the feeling and pulls them out as soon as he is satisfied; replacing his fingers with his tongue as he returns to making out with her; his now-slick fingers finding a spot in between the both of them to rub her still-sensitive clit, urging her now: come, Seiya, come for me.

Seiya is obedient. It doesn’t take long.

Comte cannot say he hasn’t dreamt of claiming Seiya for his own in the past. But none of his wildest dreams would have been close to what this is like: the feeling of her pulsing and squeezing around him, because of him, he brought this pleasure for her, the sound of her voice as she gasps for air, the broken syllables of his name and sputterings of thanks and disbelief as the white-hot pleasure brands her, her fingers curled around his arms for dear life. It takes all of his self-control to not just surrender at that moment, to pull her by her waist and just fuck into her until he is spent.

And then the door to the veranda clicks open.

By this time, the sun has already long disappeared under the horizon; while the shroud of darkness has comforted her in hiding her rendezvous with the man of the house, the brightness of the inside of Comte’s room with the lights turned up sends her reeling when it illuminates Leonardo’s form. Seiya’s eyes are wide as dinnerplates as she scrambles for something to cover herself—her hair—but Leonardo looks unbothered, only throwing a knowing kind of expression at his friend, half a smile on his face.

And then Comte speaks.

“I was wondering when you would come in.”

Seiya’s neck snaps with how fast she turns to face him.

“Well, I didn’t want to interrupt, and it finally seemed like a good time.”

“Haha, how polite of you,” Comte says, genuine amusement in his tone. He returns his gaze back to Seiya, who is looking up at him with such a panicked expression; her legs tense around him. “It’s alright, ma bien-aimée. He will not stay unless you want him to.”

Which meant: he will stay if you want him to.

She turns, one more time, to look at Leonardo. Leonardo, the one that has been with her for every tumultuous rise and fall of her emotions toward Comte. How similar and different he was to his friend. Their gentle, golden eyes like twin fires. But then, the fall of his brown hair against the sides of his face. The kind of half-smirk he always seems to wear. The familiar tobacco smell he brought with him wherever he go; the one she’d longed for the entire time he was absent. Just looking at him, she remembers the feeling of his body underneath hers, memorized after months of cuddled-up sleep.

Seiya isn’t sure.

She doesn’t know what she feels about Leonardo yet.

But she knows one thing.

“Want you to stay,” she says, softly, hand still curled around Comte’s arm. “Please, Leonardo. Stay?”

And the man smiles like he’s won the world. “Just for you, cara mia.”

Comte slides out of her comforting warmth so he can lift her into his arms; the motion makes her sigh lowly, causing the two men to tense for the briefest of moments. Leonardo holds the door open as the two lovers make their way to the room’s large bed. When they get there she is understandably nervous; Comte takes his time kissing every tense muscle. Seiya watches Leonardo move across the room; from shutting the door to pulling one of the plush armchairs so that it faces the bed.

“Don’t mind me,” he says when he spots her staring, but how can Seiya not, when he’s pulled down his trousers just enough to reveal his cock, still at half-mast but very obviously will be as impressive as Comte’s once it’s fully hard.

Seiya’s got the first syllable of Leonardo’s name on her mouth when Comte steals it away with a kiss, light at first but then deep, his tongue prodding her lips open as she relaxes, her hands making their way around him again.

In a moment of tenderness, Comte presses a kiss on her forehead, on her nose, and then on her lips before saying: “Let’s show Leonardo how beautiful you are.”

Comte guides her slowly into position; turning her so that she’s on her hands and knees, facing Leonardo. Her cheeks turn even redder once she catches Leonardo stroking himself quietly, a smirk on his face as he watches Comte maneuver her around for his pleasure. Comte presses a kiss on the dip of her lower back before he guides his still-hard cock to her, coating himself with her essence before slipping into the warmth of her pussy.

Something about being watched by Leonardo sends her brain haywire. Comte is fucking her against the pillow, but his one hand has tangled itself into her hair, pulling her backward and up, allowing her to come eye-to-eye with Leonardo’s careful gaze. She can’t deny the heat that sinks through every inch of her skin, through every bit his eyes land at, tracing the mounds at her chest, the fucked out look she’s wearing on her face—“Leonardo,” she croons, once the pre-cum begins to build around the head of his cock.

Comte’s arm suddenly comes underneath her, pulling her up from the underside of her breasts, forcing her against him. “Remember who is in you,” he growls, before sending her back down. She hears Leonardo’s soft “tsk tsk” before she lands on her elbows; it’s about all she can do to brace herself and stay upright as Comte properly pistons into her, filling the room with the sound of flesh meeting flesh. She can’t look up at Leonardo knowing it would be her ruin, but she can hear the sound of him jerking himself off; at the same time, the sound of Comte’s moans and groans go straight to her core, making her squeeze and contract and pulling Comte deeper into senseless ecstasy.

“I love you,” Comte suddenly says, out of nowhere, causing her to buckle forward onto her cheek. His tone is filled with love and possession and hunger. “I love you, Seiya.” He slides a free hand to the space between her legs, quickly finding the sensitive bud.

“Abel, I—” she cries out as Comte begins to play with her clit and her nipple; he pushes her back up, making sure he’s got her, pressing his face at the junction of her neck and shoulder to fill him with her scent, sweet and intoxicating. “I—I love you, I’ve loved you—” she nearly falls forward with the sudden jolt of pleasure when his cock brushes somewhere electric. “I’m gonna… cum—”

“Cum,” Comte urges, angling himself so he hits that spot that made her spasm over and over again. “Show me how beautiful you are. Show Leonardo.”

And then it was over.

She leans her entire weight against Comte’s arms when the most powerful orgasm she’s had today hits her, knocking the wind out of her. Like an avalanche that only gets stronger and stronger the longer it rolls through her. Comte fucks her throughout the entirety of it, dragging it out for as long as he can until it’s too much even for him, her scent, her warmth, the wetness, her voice—he presses his fangs against her jugular only to sate him but not to break skin, as he pours his cum, white and warm, deep inside of her.

They fall over each other sticky with sweat. Comte rolls off of her, careful to give her space to breathe. When she comes to, she turns toward him and presses a kiss—chaste but filled with love—onto Comte’s lips.

“Was wondering how long it would take the both of you.”

The two new-lovers turn toward Leonardo as if they had just remembered his existence. He’s still sprawled on the armchair, although this time, with his hands out on his sides, leaving his still-hard cock free-standing in front of him. Seiya tries her best not to stare.

“You arrived just in time, actually,” Comte says, as he helps Seiya sit up.

Leonardo shakes his head. “Your patience for the oddest things never made sense to me.”

Seiya considers, for a moment, what this is. Comte who held her heart in his hands for the longest time—Comte who didn’t know how to express it until it was all that consumed him. And across them, Leonardo, sitting there having watched them press their loves onto their bodies, smiling as Comte holds her in his arms. Leonardo who has always been there for her, from every up and down of her feelings with Comte—who, she realizes, probably left knowing this would happen.

Two of the people she loves the most in this mansion. Her heart sings for them.

In what way, they don’t know yet. But for now, the fucking, the loving, the adoration sends confidence fluttering in her heart.

Turning toward Leonardo, she licks her lips.

“Need some help?”

----

written last year (!) for the lovely @beni-draw-ikemen-please for their OC and their beloved, Comte! please check them out, they make amazing art!

#ikemen vampire #comte de saint germain #rated:e #hiding hunger

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