"Now this is a painting by Jacques Louis David, depicting Ares, the Greek God of War, being disarmed by the Goddess Aphrodite. Ares, through the eyes of the ancient Greeks, was tall and handsome, but vain and cruel. When Ares heard battle he would rush into the war, unconcerned who won or lost as long as blood was shed. Now, if you would all just follow me around this corner, we can see some more of David's famous paintings."

The lovely little tour guide, with her blonde hair and fake smile, began rounding the corner as most of the tour group followed. Her melodic voice echoed off of the white-washed walls like rain off concrete. The group itself was composed of an older audience of half a dozen. Slowly, almost in a daze, they followed the tour guide (Whose name was 'Anne', as it stated on her nametag) towards the other paintings.

Only one remained.

A young man, seventeen at the most, stood infront of the painting, watching it with an interested stare. His hair was black like the space between stars, and his skin a soft tanned cafe au lait. His eyes, however, seemed to match the very same shade of red that Mr David had used for Ares' cloak.

Approaching the painting, he tilted his head slightly, gazing at the scene with a strange animalistic curiosity. There, on the canvas, the God of War sat, a proud well-built man with a sharp spear in his right hand. Well there was the first mistake. War was left-handed. As he watched, the young man raised one of his own hands, slim-fingered and strong, and reached up to stroke the painting's light colors.

Thomas was 85 years old, and he really had no patience for ignorant teenagers. So as he stood guard and watched a young punk reach up to touch a painting-- Well, it was what he lived for.

"Hey! Young man! You can't touch the paintings! Don't you know that-"

Thomas stopped short, because so had the young man. Turning slowly, the offending stranger stared at Thomas long and hard, red eyes gleaming with an intense wrongness. Flashes of wars he had fought in and the battles he had seen reached over Thomas like a bad nightmare, claiming his thoughts. The old guard turned abruptly and walked off for his break without another word. He had seen this young man before. He didn't care for him.

"But I care for you..." Sanguis whispered, a small smile on his lips. He turned back to the painting and traced the outline of Ares' red cape. He really did enjoy museums, and he rather wondered why he had destroyed so many.

(( The painting ))

Leo hated lateness.

He knew that exertion dewed his light hair to his forehead in profound and exciting ways, but it in no way made up for the undignified scuttling he was being forced to do. Museum protocol prohibited excessive movement, even for students desperately wanting to learn.
All these glorious antiquities needed to be individually appreciated, not run past like ads for a Big Mac. Alas, his lateness could not be avoided. His fencing lesson this morning had been gregariously difficult, deliciously so. His new teacher was a peach of a woman: golden hair, carelessly braided, strands in her face...piercing brown eyes. She was all business thus far. And good business at that. But for her, he could see so much more.
It was early yet. He needn't be greedy.

The security guard in the Egyptian room glared at him, causing him to slow. He tossed his boyish hair out of his face, indifference writ in his very posture. He strode out of the room into the next, where he came across the dramatic paintings he associated with romanticism. Gentle arms, soft light, flowing robes, richness. All the ones in this room seemed to be of the same style. He slowed.
He hoped these were some of the greats, Michelangelo, Leonardo, one of the nunja turtles or whatnot. He honestly wasn't sure. Pretty, though.

There was one person in there with him. Only one. The tour group was far up ahead, probably out of reach. He needed to catch up. But this young male was looking at the painting with such attention. Better to look up at it and pretend awe, at least.

Leo hooked his hands gracefully in his open grey coat, which hung long and flatteringly near the floor. He moved up next to the boy. He wasn't wearing his hat today--he knew his light hair was slightly tousled and just a little in his face, a good contrast to his dark brows. Maybe the boy would look, maybe not. Always fun to try.

He looked seriously at the painting, trying to see the seductive qualities that might enthrall him. Oh well, the boy was pretty enough to merit the distraction.
"Beautiful, is it not?"

"Yes," Is the simple reply, as the young man lowered the trespassing hand. "But his attention to detail is vague at best." He turned slowly, facing the stranger with an air of immediate amusement.

San's hair was attractively mussed, and the smile on his wide lips had changed slightly. It seemed a little more secretive, and even knowing, if that isn't a complete contradiction of terms. He stepped towards the stranger, only to stand beside him and look back to the painting.

"What are you looking for?" The God asked a bit ambigueously. He turned his head to better gauge the new interest, his crimson eyes, even if they happened to be in a loving state, looked a bit threatening. He allowed himself the rather rude privilege of looking over the stranger's form freely, the right corner of his mouth lifting in a smug expression.

Something was keeping him there, because by now he would have been gone. He stretched out his jaw as he yawned, revealing lightly sharpened canine teeth. His worn-out black t-shirt tugged slightly as his slim but sinewy limbs stretched out in a cat-like motion. He was also clad in dark practically shredded jeans, along with biker boots and a black leather jacket, although these really didn't make a ripple next to his actual person.

Leo cocked his head lightly to the side, eyes moving languidly over the painting’s glossy surface.
Naturally he could see everything the boy did, every nuance, every shift in his alluring demeanor. Thus it was without effort that he noted the beautiful and enigmatic smile spread on the boy’s lips.

A mouth like that would be full of secrets. Deep ones. And such a darkness would not be easily penetrated with gentleness, slowness, soft exploration. Even with a tongue as silvery as Leo’s.

Letting the silence deepen like a fine wine, Leo’s gaze caressed the curved arms of the woman, drawn inevitably to the brilliant red of the war god’s cloak. Red like the eyes of this exquisite boy, animal eyes. Hungry.

He suppressed a little shiver. Bloody eyes, deep enough to drown in, swimming with a confidence too ethereal to be real. It had been a long time since a truly distracting male had given Leo the once-over this boy did.
What audacity. His gaze was anashamedly roving the length of his body, full of unhurried slowness and more than a little pleasure. Leo could practically feel the burning eyes brush his skin.
He bit his lip, hard for a moment, and then let the flesh slide beneath his teeth.
His own gaze caught the shape of canines as the boy yawned, his mouth a wet maw. It was poor manners to yawn so, but Leo could forgive it. He let his thoughts momentarily linger on the hollow in the boy’s throat, the movement of tendons beneath skin.

Ah, he enjoyed a little naughtiness. There was no harm in looking. Torn jeans, black boots. The scent of leather. What a bad, bad boy.
His tongue brushed the back of his teeth with anticipation. The spice of fear was sweet on this night, his own saliva thick.

His stormy eyes on the painting’s glory, he nevertheless saw the boy slowly stretch. It was sensuous, how close he was, how near his limbs passed to Leo’s grey clad shoulder, but he would not be distracted.

Eye tracing the descending curve of the war god’s hip, Leo said, “I’m only looking for what entranced you so.”
He drew his eyes to the boy’s face, mouth relaxed, eyes deep.
“My uneducated mind would have a taste of your insight.”

Sanguis placed his surprisingly elegant hands in his pockets, the very persona of an arrogant street punk. He had half a mind to start a good tousle somewhere near a delicate statue, but as cavernous and filled as his endless mind was, he was easily (And oftentimes willfully) distracted.

He didn’t answer right away. No rush. He decided, instead, to take a long penetrating gaze at the canvas once again. It seemed as if he were trying to see through the paint itself, perhaps to gauge some long-kept secret from men of the past. Whatever secrets they had, chances are he would know them. The most important part, however, is that he never truly cared to.

He took one graceful and simple step, ever the predator, and stood squarely in front of the stranger. There was another glimpse of white teeth as he flashed another winning smile. He didn’t seem very troubled that he was obscuring the view of the painting.

“No insights,” he said softly, intimate, just for them, “I’m actually only surface deep. But something tells me…” He let his words trail off slightly as he reached out with his left hand, touching the material of the fencer’s gray coat between his thumb and index. His knuckles brushed softly against the stranger’s side. “…That you, have some insights of your own.”

How incredibly appetizing this soft thing was... San could feel the interest peaking in the other party, and decided to let it simmer. He looked over his shoulder, back at the dramatic painting. There was something about it, wasn’t there? The red. Yes, he liked the red.

Leo let his gaze fall to the boy's hand and then back up.

"You flatter me unjustly, sir," he said, his grey eyes steady, his mouth the shape of a schoolgirl's dream.
"My sensibilities may be of the refined sort but they are in no way equal to the passion of Monsieur David. If I may speak truthfully, I would be forced to admit that my imagination has always been more interested--" he paused as if to consider his words, "in events of a more piercing sort."

He let his gaze linger on the unusual hue of the boy's eyes for a moment too long, and then in pure gentleman's fashion he smiled without the slightest hint of abashedness.

If the boy had been of the other sex, his hand would already be in Leo's, receiving a delicate kiss. Males could sometimes present a most troublesome challenge. Especially males of this variety.

Leo observed the room without moving his eyes. Alone indeed. In the Neo-classical section of a renowned art gallery.

Luscious.

The boy and his curious canines could do many things to Leo without the distraction of the public eye, things he hoped might be of a certain ungentlemanly sort, but Leo was aware that the odds could swiftly tilt out of favour.
However, he did not have the good sense to be afraid because frankly, Leo didn't think fear was a good sense.

"Might we move on," he suggested, shifting his weight forward, "to the courtship?"
Leo stepped suddenly very close to him, his movement smooth as silk, face percariously close to his, waiting till the faint scent of cologne had just reached his nostrils...before turned his head to the side and stepping gracefully away.

"My apologies," he said, his politeness darkened with just a hint of throaty husk. "I appear to have misstepped."

San stood still, observing the actions and ritualistic gestures that ensued. Such courtesy. The God had to admit it was refreshing…So many pompous children, wafting about him with a total disregard for common reverence or etiquette. Then again, San was not one to dote upon such things. He’d take a bloody fist fight over high tea time any day. But a duel was a duel, and San addressed the actions he saw in just such a manner. A challenge.

He turned slightly as the stranger walked past, all eloquent words and pretty scents. It made San want to ruin whole countries all over again. He smiled in a lazy and arrogant manner. My, what big teeth you have. All the better, my dear...All the better…

Soon one tanned and graceful hand reached out and clasped the fencer’s wrist. Sanguis’ very skin was hot to the touch, as if he were running a high fever. He tilted his head to the side, curiously. His smile seemed to deepen in meaning.

“Ah…But I know what you want…” He spoke softly, his voice seemingly too deep and mature for his age, “But I want you to ask for it.” Those last words were run through with a demanding and unforgiving tone, and the greater hint to this turn of playfulness was felt in his grip, which tightened. He stepped closer, eyes running over the contour of the other’s face.

“I’m not nice,” He whispered in a warning tone. “But I’m fun.”

The boy's fingers closed on his wrist.

The skin on skin contact burned passion hot and sent electricity straight up Leo's arm. The shock of it nearly brought him to a standstill.

It wasn't just the boy's audacity that had caught him by suprise. The boy's fingers were abnormally warm.
A typical person would have immediately gasped, caught his breath, maybe tried to pull away.

Leo's first reaction was the formation of a small, violent little fantasy involving darkness and lots and lots of skin.

His second was to turn smoothly and face the boy with a gentleman's raised brow. But as he came about, the boy passed him a deep, lovely smile--full of teeth.

It made whispers run up Leo's lower back. This boy had an angel's face and the eyes of a warlord.
Ready to unleash a reserved amount of outraged fury, Leo geared up for a quiet accusation--but the intensity of the boy's unearthly gaze had stripped him of a witty reply.

His full lips parted, and for the tiniest of moments he was uncharacteristically speechless.

Leo Cadiex was never at a loss for words.
He rallied in seconds. Unforgivable breach of manners. Absolutely abhorrent. Forward, oafish, moronic. Leo had little respect for people who were vulgar, for words were weapons that suffered from abuse. This boy obviously was less of a gentleman than Leo had thought.

But he didn't take his eyes off him.

Leo's pulse beat hard in his throat. Yet he turned and faced the boy with an expression of gentile surprise.

"I was of course, referring to the Courtship of Paris and Helen, my good sir. But I daresay, you have my attention." His grey gaze was steady, his face faintly bemused. "I am, as you might guess, riveted," he said. At this his eyes passed to the boy's grip of his wrist.
If there was one thing Leo despised, it was the use of physical force, and that made him bold. The boy's unspoken demand hung in the air, and Leo answered the other's challenge like the fencer he was.

He stepped even closer.

His shoulders, hardly broad, but well muscled, shifted ever so slightly beneath his coat. He faced the other with careless indifference, ignoring the scent of him, the heat coming off him, the proximity of his face.

"My apologies, sir, but the words you ask for would be so terribly inaccurate," he said calmly, his voice low with the pleasantness of chivalry.

"After all," he said, his eyes dipping to the curve of the other's mouth, "We were only talking about art."



[Cat is sheepish, Tao. My Once hiatus is, over but I am rusty. :P ]