Chapter 4

They wandered through the dark streets of the night to Pierre’s studio, sharing a bottle of wine that they had bought on the way. When they arrived, Pierre quickly covered the pile of sketches that he’d done from memory, just in case Antoine recognized himself in them.

“Can you remove your coat?” he asked.

Antoine took off his coat and vest so that he could pose in just his shirt and trousers.

“Should I take off my shirt?” he asked Pierre, who was lighting a few extra candles on a table near the chair in the middle of the room.

“Hmm...Yes, if you don’t mind?”

“It’s fine,” Antoine said as he began to unbutton his shirt.

The sight of Antoine’s muscles peeking out from between his fingers as he separated his buttons, one by one, was riveting. Pierre hitched his breath as he saw Antoine’s strong shoulders bared. He could swear that Antoine heard it when he smirked in his direction. As Antoine arranged himself on the chair on the podium in the center of the room, Pierre took in the sight of his ethereal beauty in the candlelight. He studied Antoine’s form.

“You don’t really paint, do you? You don’t know how to pose.”

“No,” Antoine said with a laugh. “I don’t paint.”

“What do you do, then?”

Antoine smiled. “I get around a bit. I travel and just go where my mood takes me, really, but I do stop off to see Leon and a few others around here.”

“Oh, so that’s why I keep seeing you. I live with him...with Leon.”

“He’s a great man,” Antoine said with a grin.

“He is. He’s like my older brother.”

“I’m glad that he’s with you.”

They smiled at that.

Pierre stepped up to the platform to arrange Antoine into a suitable pose for a painting. When he touched Antoine’s forearm to place it against the side of the armchair, Antoine reached for his wrist.

“Wha—?”

“Forget about the painting,” Antoine said as he stood up swiftly.

Pierre jerked in surprise as Antoine leaned in closer. Something about the way that Antoine spoke and the burning look in his eyes made him allow it.

“Uhh...um...Yes,” he replied.

He quickly got lost in Antoine’s amber eyes as Antoine held his gaze, then looked down to his lips. When he was kissed, Pierre thought that whatever Antoine wanted him to do, he’d do it. Wherever Antoine led, he would follow. Antoine brought his hand up to his mouth as he nibbled his lower lip. He leaned down to bring Pierre’s hand up for a kiss, carried out like a true gentleman. Pierre felt himself blush. He felt a heady swirl of emotions, as well as the rearranging of the blood south in his body. His pulse beat a fast rhythm in his chest. He allowed Antoine to support his back as he leaned in closer for the most romantic kiss that he had ever received. After that, Antoine pressed him back against the chair, exploring his mouth with moistened lips before stroking his cheek.

“I have to go,” he whispered as he sucked at Pierre’s neck. “It will be bad if I continue.”

“Anhh,” Pierre groaned as Antoine nibbled the juncture between his neck and shoulder. “Please, continue.”

Antoine shook his head. Pierre pulled him back in for another kiss as Antoine’s hand came up to his throat. He traced it, leaned down to kiss the column, and then hissed with frustration.

“I can’t.”

He pulled away, then reached to the floor for his shirt and vest. Pierre pouted as Antoine dressed himself. He’d just had the most amazing experience of his life—as his body had let him know when Antoine had kissed him—only to be abandoned.

“Must you go? Will I see you again?” he asked as Antoine frowned pensively in the doorway.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry that I flirted with you,” was all that Antoine said as he slipped out the door and off into the night.

Pierre stood in the center of the room, too surprised to move. He touched his lips where Antoine had kissed him, feeling hot in his stomach. Eventually, he returned to his room at the boarding house, where he slipped into his nightshirt and blew out the candle to get some rest. He let his hand slip up in between his thighs to rest against his cock. When he thought about Antoine, he simply had to pleasure himself, thinking about Antoine’s eyes and lips...of his wet tongue that had teased him. He stroked himself into high arousal, panting and groaning Antoine’s name as he came with a shout, sated and warm, before collapsing into a pleasant sleep.

He went out with Leon every night after that, hoping to run into Antoine again. He found no one, not even memories of him, as he asked friends and acquaintances whether they knew him. He grieved for Antoine for weeks. He had never known such passion with anyone. Who was that mysterious man behind Antoine’s flirtations and his heated kisses? Even Leon had only had fleeting accounts of him—only a few stories from debaucherous parties or the like. Pierre definitely thought that his prince was a wild one. He also knew viscerally that he was wild from the bruises on his neck, which he saw in the looking glass whenever he unbuttoned the collar of his shirt.

Time passed. Pierre continued to draw, paint, and sculpt. He stopped searching for Antoine, choosing to spend long hours in the studio. He tried to put his feelings into his work—feelings of loss, regret, and sadness. Leon found him one day, lying in bed clutching a bottle of gin as he drew in a notebook spread out on his mattress. He opened the windows wide; Pierre flinched at the sudden, sharp brightness in his eyes.

“C’mon, get up! You’ve been drawing all night!” Leon said as he took away the bottle and then looked at the sketch. “Antoine again? Why are you always drawing him? I mean, I know he’s eccentric, but there are better muses.”

Pierre sighed. He couldn’t tell anyone what had happened with Antoine. He looked up guiltily into Leon’s concerned eyes.