The Soprano Ch. 04

“Did she now?” Sebastien murmured. He had resumed petting her now, sliding his fingers slickly over her. “Like you?”

“I, um…similar, I guess. But different. Sweeter.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said, withdrawing his fingers from her and licking them slowly, enjoying the way it made her blush even more furiously. He leaned over offering his fingers to René, who sucked them into his mouth. Then René leaned farther into him, kissing him and twisting their tongues together. Claire’s stomach jerked at the vision of the two men kissing, tasting her in each other’s mouths while Sebastien resumed fingering her.

“So you did it more than once?” René asked after their lips had parted.

“Mmhmm, yeah. We went to the same college and it might have happened a couple more times.”

“You would do it again…?” Sebastien murmured into her ear.

“Was-was that an, um, a question or an order?” she asked breathlessly.

“What do you want it to be?”

“I…want to stop talking about this and…”

“What?”

“Get fucked,” she whispered. He laughed delightedly, pulling her down for a kiss.

-----

At last the Season of Death, as Claire had affectionately taken to calling it, was coming to a close. Their last concert had been somewhat spectacular and different, but they were returning a bit to more comfortable and familiar territory with their final concert of the year. It was going to be a bit unusual, in that they were having two intermissions, with a short musical interlude between them.

They were leading off with the stormy and well-known Mozart’s Requiem, perhaps the composition of his most fraught with mystery and intrigue given the uncertainty and deathly circumstances surrounding its composition. After the first intermission, they would present Richard Strauss’s Four Last Songs, German poems set to music. Admittedly, Sebastien had chosen them to show off Claire’s voice, but his real gift to her was in the piece he chose to close out their concert: the Brahms Requiem.

He had walked in on her months ago singing along to it, and she had admitted it was one of her favorite pieces of music. She had sung it in a choral setting once, long ago. Perhaps the gorgeous, soaring voice of the soprano soloist had somehow influenced her decision to become a soloist herself. She hadn’t remembered thinking about it that way, but it made sense.

The choir Sebastien had chosen to participate in the concert had sung both pieces before, many times, so he was confident they would be able to perform well even though rehearsals had been minimal. In the weeks after Thanksgiving, rehearsals had been frequent and intense. Claire could admit to some amusement – as well as arousal – watching him keep the choir in line. If their attention was not perfectly where it should be, he snapped at them just as he had done with her.

At the dress rehearsal, Sebastien had been particularly unyielding. The choir had tripped over one or two especially difficult passages, and he had tangled with the choir’s usual conductor over how and when he should cue them. Everyone was feeling the sense of urgency that comes with knowing that there was nothing more they could do. The performance would be the next day, and there was little more that could be improved.

He had been a little shorter with the group than usual during the first half of rehearsal, stalking off to his office at the break to cool off. Claire had snuck off a little early, mostly for the pleasure of surprising him as he swept in the door. Dropping his stack of music absently on the table beside the door, he gripped her waist and pushed her firmly back into the wall. The back of her head knocked into the wall gently, and she noted Sebastien’s eyes glinted with some indescribable emotions.

“Mon abeille, what are you doing in here? You do realize we are hardly alone…”

“Well, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you, but you’re being a little mean out there, you know,” she said, breathless from the closeness and the intensity of his gaze.

“Somehow I get the idea this is not a complaint,” he said, leaning in very close, his lips just a breath away from hers. She nearly moaned in anticipation.

Just then, softly scraping footsteps announced the approach of someone outside his door. They pushed away from each other hurriedly, Claire clasping her hands behind her back and looking expectantly at the door as it opened. It was Aaron, the choir conductor, and he looked surprised to see her there.

“Um, hello. I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said. Claire felt a blush creeping over her face, but she simply gave him a little smile as Sebastien answered.

“No, what can I do for you?” Aaron looked momentarily startled that Sebastien seemed to have no intention of dismissing Claire, but after a short paused he spoke again.

“I was just thinking we should go over that one passage again…”

“Aaron,” Sebastien said, coming over to clap the other man on the shoulder, “relax. I think we have come to a good compromise, and when we reconvene we shall have them try it again and be sure. Go take your break. I promise it shall all come out well.”

“All right,” Aaron said slowly, giving Claire a last lingering look before he left. Sebastien shut the door softly behind him and locked it. Then he whirled on her again, and she backed away from him until she bumped into the sofa. Her knees buckled beneath her and she sat abruptly. Sebastien pushed her onto her back and climbed onto the sofa with her, lowering his hips down onto hers.

“You are not nearly as careful as you should be, Claire.”

“I believe it was both of us he walked in on, Maestro,” she countered.

“Hmm,” he grunted. “Seems as if someone is hoping for a whipping tonight.”

“More like a belting. Watching you out there telling everyone what to do, mmm…but not now. I think it’s already been fifteen minutes.”

“Indeed so,” Sebastien sighed a bit regretfully. “Go ahead and I shall follow you in a moment.”

The rest of rehearsal went no more easily in terms of wrangling the choir, although Sebastien and Aaron were considerably more congenial, having worked out their little issues. When it was over Claire lingered, watching groups of people chat, noticing those women who seemed particularly eager to get as much time to look at Sebastien as possible. Of course, she obviously understood that impulse, and she knew how lucky she was to get to work with him all the time, much less have all the rest of what they had. At last everyone had filtered out and Sebastien approached her in the empty auditorium, bag in hand.

“I will see you tomorrow, then,” he said softly, coming to stand beside her. At first she said nothing, merely leaning forward and resting her cheek against his hip. Then she slid off the seat, dropping to her knees, and pressed her face into the front of him. She tipped her head up to look at him, and saw that he was looking down at her inexpressively.

“Maestro, if it’s okay, I’d like to come with you tonight.” It would be something a bit unusual. For whatever reason, she rarely spent the night before a performance. It’s not so much that they were superstitious, exactly, just that each seemed to prefer the comfort of their own private routines to prepare for concerts.

“Very well,” he said, taking hold of her hands and helping her to stand. They left together, and Claire’s heart began pounding heavily in her chest. She felt so nervous all of a sudden, and she didn’t know why. By now she’d been to Sebastien’s apartment a number of times and sometimes they didn’t even have sex. Perhaps it was because after so many months it was the first time she’d asked to come – the first time it’d been unplanned by her to get a reaction, anyway.

The ride home was very quiet, neither of them knowing quite what to say on the eve of a performance when they usually would not speak to each other. Once they had arrived, Claire wondered momentarily if she should simply go into the guest bedroom to avoid bothering him, but what purpose would that really serve? Anyway, she hadn’t even finished the thought before Sebastien had taken her hand, whisking her upstairs.

He guided her into his bedroom, toward the little sofa he’d brought up to face the wide windows so she could watch the city when she was there. He really did have an amazing view, and it was just as good after dark when the lights twinkled as far as the eye could see.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Please, yes,” she murmured, feeling herself start to sweat a little as he turned to walk away. Really, what was the matter with her? This was her boyfriend. She loved him, and it was normal to want to spend time with him. She shook it off and went to his closet, intending to put on her usual pajamas for impromptu nights over – Sebastien’s underwear. But when she opened the closet doors, she saw a few silky things hanging at one end and inspected them.

Nightgowns. Sweet, sexy, flirtatious, and her size. Perhaps for nights like this. She pulled one out – a short one in deep plum silk with lace trim – and changed into it, remembering to fold her other clothes neatly and pile them on the floor.

Sebastien returned with their tea, setting it on a little table in front of the sofa. When he turned, he was surprised to see her and his eyes drank in the sight hungrily. He bent down to kiss her and she found herself returning it passionately, deepening the kiss until they were both breathless. He unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it off and tossing it over the back of the sofa while Claire ran her hands over his chest and stomach, resting them on the waistband of his pants.

“May I?” she asked softly. When he nodded, she undid his pants and slid them partway down along with his shorts. He was already hardening, and she surprised him when she ran her tongue lightly over him before taking him completely into her mouth. He sighed softly, threading his fingers through her hair but not taking control of things for once. Claire loved it, loved the way he was so soft and so hard at the same time, the way she could tease him with her tongue or her speed, just however she wanted it.

When she touched her teeth to him, so lightly, and dragged them upward, his fingers knotted tightly in her hair and he pulled her off of him. His mouth crashed down on hers and he rolled on top of her on the sofa, kicking his pants off completely. The nightgown slid up above her waist as they writhed together, and she felt his cock pressing into her inner thigh insistently. She expected every moment to feel him pushing up inside her, but he resisted, focusing on plundering her mouth. At last he drew back, breathing heavily and licking his lips.

“What…what do you want?” he managed to ask her.

“I…Maestro, I…I just want you.” It was all she could think of to say, but it brought out the most tender expression on his face. He slid the nightgown up over her head, flinging it away somewhere, and cupped her breasts gently. As he kissed her again, much more gently this time, she could feel him entering her and she shivered. He wrapped his arms around her and sat up, pulling her with him so that she knelt on his lap.

“Mon abeille,” he murmured into her ear, “you shall always have me.”

“Always?” she repeated in a low voice, feeling simultaneously pleased and terrified.

“As long as you wish it,” he whispered.

She rested her head on his shoulder for a long time, nestling her nose in the crook of his neck and breathing in his scent as she rode him.