Cain watched his mage from the shadows with interest. His mage. Now where had that come from? Leaning against a crumbling stone pillar at the edge of an open courtyard garden, the Crusnik contemplated this for a moment and a slow smile graced pale lips. In a way, he supposed, Isaak had become his. For a mere Methuselah, he had shown himself to possess great magical prowess. His strength and power had been enough to knit together this broken body piece by bloody piece until Cain once more felt whole, if not quite entire. Since that day, the raven-haired beauty had never been far from his thoughts and Cain had found himself deliberately seeking his company, even just to sit and drink in the Methuselah's beauty. That was when the glances and caresses had begun. Despite his inclinations, Cain had kept his ministrations gentle. A long look and sweep of the fingers through dark locks; a reassuring squeeze to the shoulder, a feather touch to an alabaster cheek. Each time Isaak had permitted the caress, thin lips parted slightly, but his eyes had been veiled and Cain had wished more than anything to be able to read those closed thoughts.
Now his body ached for more. Ached in a way he had never felt before and it was driving him wild.
Isaak remained oblivious to his presence, his full concentration on the simple red rose which hovered above his palm. Under his careful conjuring it turned slowly on its axis, the petals filling out and opening. Whispered words and a gentle flick of the fingers brought dew shimmering across its silky surface, the droplets glinting in the dim moonlight. "Kirei desu…" Sharp eyes looked up with a start and the illusion vanished. "Cain-sama…I did not hear you approach." The Methuselah did not rise from the low wall, but bowed gracefully, a white-gloved hand placed over his heart. There was a blush upon his cheeks and it was adorable. Several strands of dark hair blew idly in the breeze and Cain reached forward, catching them and twining the silky length around his fingers. "What needs my mage with conjuring tricks?" He asked, tugging at the captive locks and bringing those enticing lips impossibly close to his own. A pair of dark eyes seemed to reach inside his very soul. "Practice aids perfection…my Lord." Cain closed the distance and teased the Methuselah's sweet mouth open, plunging his tongue forward and swirling around sharp fangs. Isaak's breath hitched and he reached to cup his lord's cheek, breaking the kiss carefully. "Cain…" The smile held a hint of fang as Cain reached for the knot of Isaak's black tie and tugged. "Off…"
Swallowing, Isaak reached up and pulled the offending article of clothing free, unfastening the top buttons of his shirt and slipping his black coat from his shoulders. The night air was chilly and Isaak shivered, but it was not from the cold. He knew he was in no position to refuse anything the gorgeous blonde wished. Cain slid gracefully down beside him and assaulted his mouth hard, his kisses enough to bruise as they travelled across his cheek and down the line of his throat. He nipped the tender flesh and brought a deep exhalation from Isaak. Fingers worked at the buttons on his shirt, exposing more perfect skin and his lips quested down further, their touch leaving a burning trail along pale flesh. Isaak tipped his head back and bit his lip, stifling the moans which threatened to rip from him. He tasted copper and bit harder, fangs sinking into the tender flesh. The sharp tang of blood filled Cain's nostrils and he straightened. Two thin red lines trickled from the corners of Isaak's mouth and Cain leant in to lick the offending wounds gently. One hand moved to squeeze the bulge now clearly evident between the mage's legs. "This is not a time for restraint, Isaak." He admonished. "But Cain-sama…" The hand on his groin closed more tightly and Isaak winced. "Does it bother you if we are observed?" He asked, sharp nails now digging through the black cloth and into Isaak's hard length. "No…ahh…" Came the strangled reply. "Good."
Cain made short work of the Methuselah's remaining clothes and marvelled for a moment at his beauty. His length looked as if it had been carved of the finest marble; the dusky pink trace around the tip the only indication that it was indeed flesh and blood. Sliding from the wall, Cain closed his mouth over the head and took his whole length. Isaak writhed, his lips parted in a silent scream. Cain hummed against him; he would need to teach this reserved Methuselah how to let go. Hands encircled Isaak's hips and held them whilst he continued to tease, the tips of nails drawing blood along the soft skin of his inner thigh. Isaak bucked, a sob wrenching from his throat and hands reaching to tangle in blonde locks. "Stop…please…C…C…Cain…stop…" The Crusnik stilled and in one fluid moment, flipped Isaak onto his front and buried himself deep inside the Methuselah. "Gahhhhhh…" Eyes flew wide and Isaak groped at the wall desperately. "Relax…" He purred against the other's ear, gathering waist-length hair and smoothing it away from broad shoulders. Squeezing his eyes shut, Isaak focused on allowing the tension to drain away from his body and waited for Cain to move. It seemed like an age before the Crusnik began to slide out and as he did so, Isaak felt his pleasure begin to crackle, the air around suddenly charged with static. Cain drove forward, increasing his pace. "Ah…ah…oh…" Each perfectly placed thrust brought a new keening wail from the mage. All thoughts of decorum now forgotten.
From the shadows Dietrich slid slowly to the ground, a hand grasped around his own throbbing erection and tears of frustration in his eyes.
Panting with exertion, Cain matched his thrusts with harsh strokes of Isaak's own length and the mage's groans became more insistent. "Let me hear you Isaak…let me hear your pleasure…" He whispered, fangs now extended and eyes glowing red. He wound not bite yet, not until the moment was right. He knew how excruciating his bite could be. As the pace increased, Isaak felt his body spasm and give in with a wild shriek. A sound matched by Cain's own roar as he buried fangs deep into Isaak's throat, drinking the man's pleasure as his own exploded.
When his pleasure had subsided, Cain became dimly aware of a rasping chuckle which bubbled from the Methuselah's lips and drew back, conscious suddenly that he may have taken too much. Isaak lay prostrate across the stone wall, too tired and too sated to move and yet he was laughing, despite the stinging ache at his throat. "Cain…sama…" He whispered, a tear slipping from glazed, half-closed eyes. "Thank you…"
Isaak weighed nothing in his arms as he carried the Methuselah to the rooms he shared with the puppet master and laid him beneath the covers. He was already lost in a light slumber and Cain allowed himself a rare chance to smile as he brushed tangled and damp hair from the mage's face. It was not love as such. Cain was not sure he even knew what love was, but he felt a great protectiveness just then. He would keep this one alive if he could and who knew, perhaps he too could learn what it was to be desired.