undergrounds | MABON } 22nd September

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MABON } 22nd September


The times, they are a'changing. But in this case, it's the same way they change every year. The 22nd of September is the Autumn Equinox, and aside from it being a great time for witches to get up to all sorts of shady shit with fae, it's time for the seasonal change in power between the two Courts. And in typical Fae fashion, this event is to be marked with a hugely ostentatious party. They've taken over Crystal Palace Park for a party that'll be going near on 24 hours. The trees are lit with twinkling lights, and many fae have chosen to forgo their glamours — some are indescribably beautiful, others monstrous, and quite a few... Well, they look more or less human, but obviously it doesn't bother them and it shouldn't bother you either! There is dancing, flirting, and laughter. And the drinks and food are free flowing. Slipping between realms is also extremely easy, but there's been strict instruction not to steal any mortals tonight or there'll be hell to pay. This also marks the first official appearance of Eames as the Lord of Autumn, (it's not something he could readily get out of, you see,) so expect plenty of gossip about how odd it is he seems to shy away from his title, his obsession with mortals, and how very un-Fae it is of him to cancel the hunt.
	The RULES are as follows: All vampires must have a fae chaperone. The open invite does extend to vampires, but we can't just have them walking around doing whatever they like, can we? In addition, drinking blood is strictly forbidden. Consensual or not, any vampire found drinking blood within a half mile radius of the park will be killed. It's just not good manners. Violence is also forbidden. It's just not fun for everyone. If you really need to have it out with someone, challenge them to a duel. The children's playground has been made into a duelling area with guards to make sure it all goes smoothly. There are weapons available and they're all very medieval.
That's about it, they aren't a very rule-heavy bunch and honestly just want to have a fun night.

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Jean-Claude knows a trap when he sees it. And yet -- is this an invitation? He chuckle's at the cat's antics, yet finds them comfortable in their familiarity. He has dancers that are cats, after all, and he has found that many shifters seem to be rather free with their affections in this way. Perhaps it is the animal in them, needing the companionship. He isn't going to stress himself out trying to quantify it, regardless.

He reaches up to rest a hand against the paw on his skin. Not so much to move it as bracing it there. Ready with a quick grip lest those claws get any bad ideas. And he takes his chances with the other hand, stroking it down the cat's leg and gently scratching nails across the exposed stomach. "Comme ça?" he inquires wryly, in his native tongue.

Daryl was definitely more comfortable being physically affectionate as a bobcat than he was when human. Drunk on top of instincts were well beyond enough for him to drop his guard. He might argue that some asshole fae dumped catnip on him at some point, too, if this ever got brought up later. It was decidedly not normal for him. But it was happening and he wasn't all that upset about it just then and there.

When the nails scratched against his belly, Daryl purred all the louder. His back arched and his head fell backwards into the bench. Then he rolled a little. Stretched some more. Wiggled like he was trying to get those nails down to a specific place. When he felt himself starting to roll off Jean-Claude's knees, however, Daryl reacted without thought.

And in mere moments, the vampire suddenly had himself a lap full of Southern American Redneck holding himself in place with one hand on the back of the bench and the other clinging tightly to Jean-Claude's shirt. One leg had already slid down to the point his heel was digging into the ground, but the other was frantically kicking out to try and catch the edge of the seat back so he wouldn't continue to slip. Because apparently all of two feet was really too far to fall when he was as drunk and comfortable as he was.

Edited 2016-09-29 00:23 (UTC)

Jean-Claude acts quickly, easily moving to slip his arm around Daryl's shoulders and the other across his legs to catch him and keep him from tumbling off of his lap onto the floor. Which means, of course, that he is now sat with Daryl stretched out across his lap, the other man's hand fisted in his shirt as Jean-Claude braces him close.

A smile spreads itself wide across his face as he gazes down at Daryl. His dark blue eyes twinkling mischievously as he opens his mouth to hum silkily at the other man, "Be careful, mon ami. I would not want you to fall."

His entire body tensing at the (what felt like) sudden embrace was a reaction he couldn't control. He didn't do hugs much. Not that he was opposed to them , just that he wasn't really close to many people he'd feel comfortable hugging. And certainly being held by another man set a panic inside him that was built off of decades of being taught to 'be a man' by men who did not get carried around by other men lest they be thought of as gay. All of that mixed with the alcohol in fuzzing his brain made it difficult for Daryl to do much at all except freeze there, in Jean-Claude's arms. Eyes wide and staring. Uncertain what he should do.

Should he push away? He'd definitely fall if the did that.

Should he use the current grip to get straightened up? If anyone came by it'd look like they were snuggling and that would be... well, not good. Embarrassing.

Should he just ask Jean-Claude to put him down? That... that might be the easiest. Only he'd have to talk to the guy and that wasn't something Daryl was prepared to do right then.

Still rather frozen in the vampire's arms, Daryl abruptly averted his eyes as his shoulders hunched up some. He gulped hard. Breathing picking up as his cheeks brightened despite his best efforts not to let them. They were alone enough at the moment that he could let things stand while he processed his options. But he didn't know that that would last long.

Jean-Claude's smile widens slowly. He is a vampire, after all. He is acutely aware of the other man's pulse jumping quick in his chest and the spread of color across his cheeks, and that too charms him. It charms him because he understands that such a reaction is not from fear of him, after all, but something else altogether.

He has to fight the urge to reach out and stroke a hand along the line of Daryl's chest, the way he had done to the large cat he had found in his lap moments earlier. Something tells him that the other man may not appreciate such a gesture, alas, and Jean-Claude does not want to push him too far. He does adjust his grip on the other man to hold him a little more closely against him though. Smiling down at him wickedly as he speaks up again to ask, "Is there something the matter, mon ami? Has the cat got your tongue, perhaps?"

Daryl's eyes circled low and slow, going from the hand at his shoulder that was attached to the arm behind him and down the line of his body to the other arm that lay over his legs. The hand attached to that one loosely held his thighs so neither leg would slip off the bench... or Jean-Claude's lap. They swept up to his own hand curled tightly in the expensive shirt. Their journey ended at the smile, not daring to go further up. And, in fact, dropped back to that traitorous hand of his.

It hadn't unclenched and willing it to was very difficult. Not because he wanted to cling to another man in a very compromising position, but because he was, somehow, comfortable in that position. Just as he'd been comfortable stretching out on his back in his feline form. That realization made is heart rate spike and his panic kick in full force. Not just the half-there thoughts that had previously been guiding him to freeze like a trapped animal waiting for an attack. No, now he acted.

His eyes went wide and his fingers finally uncurled to press flat against Jean-Claude's chest and push. He wasn't trying to hurt the other man, but to get himself away. To get distance. To get perspective and give him room to put himself together before anyone else came along and saw him looking like a tame housecat.

Daryl most definitely fell to the ground with the push. But he was prepared for it this time and rolled himself so he could stand and start pacing. Eyes locked on Jean-Claude. Breathing heavy.

"What're you playing at?"

Jean-Claude can't say that he's exactly surprised by the other man's reaction, though it definitely gives him pause, the speed with which he goes from draped across his lap to bodily flinging himself to the ground. He wonders at his motivations, acutely aware of the other man's quickened pulse, of the adrenaline rushing through him, and. Was that fear?

He holds up his hands in front of himself, staying seated where he is, dark blue eyes wide and made the picture of innocence in the gesture. "Playing at?" he asks. "I do not know what you mean, mon ami. Have I done something wrong?" You seemed to like it my touch before, he thinks but does not say. He does not want to push too hard, after all.

Daryl did not need the reminder of how wide and deep those eyes could look. Or how harmless he could appear at any given second. How easily he did even when he was being obviously predatory and... other things. And it wasn't the predatory part of him that set Daryl on edge either. If it was just that, Daryl could deal. He was as much a predator as the next hunter.

And he couldn't peg it as how flippantly Jean-Claude approached treating Daryl like prey. Because plenty of vampires had done that and never set him on edge the way this one did with just a look. Hell, with how he dressed, much less how he talked. It was like the man had only one setting on at all times and it messed with Daryl's instincts like crazy.

"This," he said after a long moment of silence, waving a hand at Jean-Claude as if to encompass all of him, still pacing angrily like he was trapped in a small space and could only see bars all around. "All this shit. The way you talk to me. The way you keep looking at me. The way you were... you were holding me."

With the last statement his volume dropped considerably, to barely audible and there was a clear measure of embarrassment in the way he flushed and his gaze whipped away. Less able to deal with his own reaction to the treatment than he was with the actions themselves.

Jean-Claude keeps his gaze carefully fixed on the other man, taking in the way he's pacing as he speaks, the way he shies away from looking him directly in the eyes as he does. He tilts his head at the other man again, as if trying to assess what it is that he's asking him. As if trying to assess Daryl himself for that matter.

"I was not aware that I was 'playing at' anything," Jean-Claude replies. "The way I speak to you? The way I look at you? Mon ami..." Jean-Claude's face curves into a slow, yet gentle smile. "The way you speak. It is as if you have never been admired before."

Daryl stilled, shoulders hunched. His eyes flicked over and away from Jean-Claude from behind his heavy curtain of wild and messy bangs. Like it could hide him from what felt like such a prying stare.

His first urge was to scoff and say "stop'". So he did. But it came out a lot less sure than he wanted it to be. Like he wasn't as confident Jean-Claude was just messing with him as he should be. It wasn't like they were friends and he was getting teased the way Natasha did with him. But he also couldn't be sure he was only being made fun of here. The way he should be. No one actually meant anything like that. Not about him. And yet... The vampire sounded sincere.

Which was beyond weird.

Jean-Claude tilts head at the other man, in response to his bashful reaction. Of course, it hardly comes as a surprise, all things considered. Daryl hardly seems comfortable in his own skin, of course he would protest any such open flirtation as Jean-Claude has to offer. But still he has to wonder at them. The reactions he's receiving, they aren't entirely suggestive that the other man doesn't appreciate his sentiments either. Just that he isn't used to being on the receiving end of them.

"Perhaps I should take that as a confirmation, of sorts. Oh mon ami," he says, before correcting himself. "Mon cher. That simply will not do."

It was the way 'cher' rolled off the vampire's tongue that had Daryl freezing where he was. Shoulders still up, eyes averted so he was staring more at JC's feet than at him, breathing normal, but heart rate starting to rise. He shouldn't have let himself drink so much because the more he tried to think, the harder it was. He couldn't see through the mental haze to find the insult behind the words. An insult that needed to be there for things to be... to be normal.

His jaw worked a bit, but by the time he shut it again, no words came out. He just stood there. Dumbfounded. The situation was one he had no idea how to navigate.

Jean-Claude pushes himself to stand in one fluid and graceful movement, stepping forward towards the other man. They are of a similar height although Jean-Claude is slightly taller. Still, it means that he does not need to tip Daryl's head up in order to be able to look into his eyes. Deep, sapphire blue meeting the lighter blue of his companion's.

"Does it bother you, mon ami?" he asks, his voice as soft as his gently lilting French accent. "The idea that I find you as appealing as I do?"

What bothered Daryl was Jean-Claude continuing to insist this was real and not some sort of game to him. It was damn near surreal at this point. The two of them, alone, in a park, with the sounds of revelry so far off it might as well have been imagined. The only thing it was missing was the morning fog rolling in and even that was probably less than an hour away.

"Why're you doing this?" he grumbled, but didn't move. His eyes shifted down, though. As much as he wanted to keep eye contact and look intimidating, he just couldn't. It wasn't like he was defending himself or protecting someone. The other man wasn't even being mean. And that was the whole problem. Jean-Claude wasn't following any of the scripts Daryl had been familiar with since he was old enough to understand what sex was.

"Can't you find someone else to make fun of?" If he kept insisting on the pattern he knew, the only clear idea in his head right then, maybe Jean-Claude would finally fall in line with it and things could start making sense for Daryl.

"Ah, mon cher," Jean-Claude says, stepping closer still. He can hear the drumming of the other man's heart and it entices him further. There is something about the knowledge that he has been the cause of it that sets his own blood afire. (It's more than likely a vampire thing.)

Calmly, carefully, he reaches out to hook long, pale fingers underneath Daryl's chin and bring his gaze back up to meet his own. His own skin is cool to the touch. He has not fed in some time now. He does not need to feed as much, as old as he is. It should make it feel somewhat like Daryl is being touched by a living statue, however. Skin soft but cool as marble.

"But it is you that I desire."

Daryl's head was turned, but he'd mastered the fine art of avoiding eye contact under his father's heavy hand and when Jean-Claude moved it, he simply let his head slide to the other side. Gaze meeting the vampire's for but a split second before they were once more somewhere else. Trying to convince himself this had to be some joke in poor taste. Scared what it meant if it wasn't. Less so for Jean-Claude's actions and more so for his own.

"No you don't." The words were mumbled in protest and disbelief, but they held no real conviction. It was the only protest Daryl had left that hadn't already been countered.

Jean-Claude keeps his fingers cupped against the corner of the other man's jaw, but he does not force him to meet his eyes again. Instead he steps closer still, moving to run the fingers of his other hand along the line of the other man's arm, his touch light and teasing.

"Ah, mon cher," he he says, his voice barely above a whispered hum. He need not speak louder after all, they are the only ones there in this section of the garden this late in the evening. "What can I do to convince you otherwise?"

There were very few directions a mind could drift when presented with the particular cues Jean-Claude's body language, actions, and voice gave out. For Daryl, the direction his went was to a fantasy he'd made up once a good twenty years before to get his brother off his back about how little he talked about his 'sexual conquests' the way any good Dixon man should. Merle did enough of that sort of talking for the lot of them as far as Daryl was concerned. But he'd had to play his part every now and then to keep his brother from being too much for him to handle and to keep his father's belt at bay.

It wasn't even a fantasy he'd ever actually had prior to that. Just one he'd come up with to shut Merle and his friends up. That he'd like to take a girl - because of course it had to be a girl - out into the woods and when she was lookin' good and ready, push her up against a tree and doing all kinds of nasty things to her while she begged him for more. He'd thought about it from time to time, afterwards. What he might actually like to happen rather than what he was expected to want. It was never as aggressive as he'd first described it, those other times it came to his mind.

It was a slow push backwards with hands on hips and a laugh on both their lips. All quiet smiles as they kissed each other and thumbs rubbing slow, gentle circles into the divots of skin that could just be felt above the waist of their jeans. There'd be no scars for him to be afraid of her feeling. She'd be happy to just stay there, leaning against each other, and kissing for hours. Nothing else asked and nothing else expected. And she'd be the one doing the pushing. She'd be the one pressing his back against the tree. All hazy lighting and romance novel shit. The kind he'd have been called 'Darlenna' for if he'd ever said the truth of it.

That same picture entered his mind at Jean-Claude's question. Only this time that fantasy wasn't slow and soft. It was violent and forceful the way he knew vampires were. It was the other man shoving him backwards, manicured fingers fisting in Daryl's shirt as he found each button and pulled it open without regard for the damage done. It was pale, cold lips meeting his neck and sucking hard enough to mark, warmed by the friction and little else.

Daryl's eyes shut as he bit his bottom lip. His head dropped so his forehead rested against Jean-Claude's shoulder. The hand of the arm being teased came up to grip that elbow and halt the action while his other curled into the vampire's shirt right where it tucked into those too-tight pants. He needed the support as his mind wandered to places he didn't want it to and his body responded in ways he'd forgotten it could.

Embarrassing ways. Very embarrassing ways.

The kind of ways that as soon as it happened, there was little chance the vampire wouldn't recognize the smell of it even with as fast as Daryl pushed him away and darted off. His bobcat form taking over before he'd gotten two steps. But there was no way he was sticking around to be laughed at. Even if Jean-Claude had been sincere about the rest of it, he was still a man. And Daryl had never met any man who wouldn't make fun of another for being that quick on the draw.

Edited 2016-10-20 13:31 (UTC)

Jean-Claude keeps his fingers curled around Daryl's jaw, his other hand trailing against the skin of the other man's arm right up until Daryl reaches out to stop him. Turning his face into the other man's hair slightly as the other man tips his forehead against his shoulder, intrigued by the way he reaches to fasten his hand in the front of his shirt.

He nearly missed what has happening, the other man was so subtle in his actions. Nearly. He cannot help but notice the jumping in the other man's pulse, after all -- he is a vampire. Nor can he miss, as Daryl starts and shoves him away, darting off into the distance and shifting as he goes, the subtle scent that lingers as he goes. If he weren't well familiar with such a smell, he might be more confused with what just happened. As it is, he flicks a softly curving smile in the direction that the other man had disappeared.

"Until next time, mon cher," he murmurs after him.

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MABON } 22nd September

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