The Secret Muse of Lorenzo Cellini

Finally, the newest written lore is complete! I started this story months ago but struggled to continue it because audios were taking priority and I needed time to think on how to continue it. Now that I have a little more free time to focus on writing, it is here, and just in time for Christmas!

I say this every time, but I really enjoy writing these. I hope to do all characters at some point, but for now, I shall do what I can. I will make a poll later on who you would like a snippet of. 

Enjoy!

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Sharp, green eyes raked down his naked chest, the eyebrows above furrowed in concentration. A numbing shiver ran through him, yet he remained frozen to the chair, stretched and exposed. The man’s wrist rolled back and forth in swift strokes—a mesmerising movement he had seen countless times before.

“Are you cramping?” Lorenzo asked.

Dontis hummed in response, fighting the need to shake his head. “No, I’m hungry.”

Lorenzo laughed softly, scratching his stubble now dirtied with plaster. “For what?”

“Guess.”

The artist smirked, tilting his head. “With you, it’s either roasted meat or a tart. But because we had pheasant yesterday, I’ll guess that you want beef.”

A huff of amusement escaped the incubus as he flexed his fingers. Of course Lorenzo knew. Acute perception joined his many talents; even a creature like Dontis could not fool him—as expected, considering their likeness. Lorenzo possessed ethereal qualities that drew humans towards him: his fluid motions and piercing stare among a few. 

The music of birdsong whistled through the balcony as the knife sank in and curled with precision. He cherished these moments, when their only company was each other and that stare pierced into no one but him. To have such a handsome man keen and yearning for inspiration proved his charm worked regardless of species. Lorenzo could never get enough.

“Aren’t you hungry too?” Dontis said.

“I am. And I’m fine with that because…” He narrowed his gaze, nicking away at the sculpture’s shoulder before taking a step back to admire his work. “I think I’m finished.”

Dontis curled his limbs inwards and straightened his back with a satisfied sigh of relief, and his joints popped in appreciation. Before, he sat under the morning sun and the evening oil lamps with only minor breaks, but today, the sky was painted with soft pinks and oranges. 

He stood and joined Lorenzo’s side, tightening the silk fabric around his waist. The plaster resembled him with stunning detail, carved, curved, and contoured as if the artist experienced touching every muscle. And he had.

The sculptor smoothed his thumb over a pale, unmoving cheek. “Your shapes are bewitching. I think this might be my best work yet.”

Unlike Lorenzo’s previous works of him ordained in jewellery and the finest linens, this depicted a creature of seduction, draped across a chair in lecherous desire. The horns were crafted to perfection, his long arms bent back to accentuate a sensual arch, and toned legs seemed to stretch far beyond that of a human.

“Is this how you really see me?”

Lorenzo turned to him. “Too pure to touch, but I must make sure it’s accurate.” His fingers slid down Dontis’ neck, tracing over a sharp collarbone. “Every line… every curve…” He splayed his hand gently against the incubus’ throat, slipping up to parted, supple lips. “Where the small indents can only be felt.”

Dontis would’ve flicked his tongue out as a tease if not for the dried plaster. Instead, he stepped closer, pulled the tool from Lorenzo’s hand, and set it on the nearby table. “You sound obsessed.”

“An artist should be. How else could I give it shape?” 

A small smile spread across Dontis’ lips. “And beyond the art?”

Lorenzo glanced at the neck before him, his now free hand following the pulsing vein beneath. “You taste sweeter than all the finest wines. And I’ve been gifted many a fine wine.”

“Really?” Dontis laughed, pressing against Lorenzo’s chest to force him backwards. And they walked in tandem until the sculptor fell back into the ornate red sofa, seeming incredulous but also wanting. He had seen that look countless times, and it darkened further as Dontis slipped a leg over and straddled his lap. “Then you have to savour me more.”

“I always try to.” Lorenzo brushed long, dark hair away from his nape, angling the jaw up as he shifted closer. “But when I’ve been waiting for so long, my want turns to need.”

“And desperation,” he added, earning a curt laugh from Lorenzo.

“Once I start, I can’t stop…” He licked his lips and traced soft kisses upon Dontis’ neck, to which the incubus obliged without question. His eyes fluttered shut as kisses changed to soft nips. He didn’t care that Lorenzo’s stained hands caressed his naked back, keeping him stationary but close. The false hope that perhaps this being needed him, that he was more than a simple muse, brought him a strange solace. 

And as sharp teeth penetrated his skin, Dontis winced and shuddered, massaging Lorenzo’s scalp with calm strokes. Gulps preceded slow, heavy breathing, tight with a subdued desperation that Dontis smirked to. Having a vampire so wanton for his blood boosted his ego more than any sculpture ever could.

His conscience waned, ebbing to a pleasant low until a tongue replaced fangs, soothing the punctures with languid swipes. 

“You started swaying,” whispered Lorenzo, cupping Dontis’ chin and pulling down so their eyes locked. And what eyes they were, now warm and content from his meal.

“You didn’t take too much.”

“But if I didn’t stop, I would’ve. I can never get enough of it.” He swept in for a deep kiss that the incubus groaned into.

“No more humans for you?” Dontis said between pants.

Lorenzo scoffed. “Not after tasting you.”

He had wondered what properties of an incubus enticed vampires. Was his blood sweeter, or thicker? A rare delicacy, or an addictive drug? He still didn’t know the lengths of his abilities—being just shy of eighty—but the creature squeezing his hips and biting his lip was his greatest lure thus far.

Dontis nipped Lorenzo’s chin and slid off of his lap. “Does that mean I am only yours?”

“Do you want to be?” Lorenzo stood, wrapping an arm around Dontis’ waist.

He desired belonging to all manner of people, satiating them in ways unique to him. And yet to be exclusively Lorenzo’s, to monopolise those green eyes strangely flared his arrogance. He did not own that gaze, but he loved it on him. He loved it tracing over every inch of his body. Under sun or moon he did not care, as long as he seized it for his own for moments at a time. “You couldn’t have anyone else anyway.”

Lorenzo smirked. “And what’s that meant to mean?”

“That I’ll always be at the top of your list.”

 A laugh escaped the artist, though his smile showed the agreement. “That’s very presumptuous of you.”

“Is it?” Dontis said. “What we have is beneficial for both of us. You get inspiration, and fame, and glory. I get shelter and protection. I don’t need to worry about humans, and you don’t need to worry about your next idea. So far, it’s been working.” 

“I’ve got plenty more than just that. Your horns too.”

Ah. He almost forgot. Dontis pulled away and breathed deeply, grabbing one ribbed horn. On an inhale, he twisted, and twisted, and the horn turned. A dull pain shot across his scalp, but he continued until his wrist no longer rotated. And through an exhale, he yanked down. It came out with a squelch, unbroken and unblemished save for the blood at its root.

“These are the longest yet, aren’t they?” Lorenzo said.

Dontis repeated the process on the other horn and gave them to the sculptor, ignoring the oncoming throb that was sure to become a headache. “Smaller ones aren’t as valuable, and I want good wine.”

Lorenzo smirked and dropped the horns in the basin to soak along with his hands. The vampire’s name echoed throughout marbled halls, interwoven among other famed artists who chiselled their vision into plaster and stone. There was no harm in making more money on the side; Dontis was told his horns fetched quite the price on the backstreets of Florence.

“How was the reception for your last piece? I liked that statue.” He still remembered the ache in his back at the twisted posture he held for hours. But the result more than made up for it: a creature with a snake’s lower body and a human’s upper, contorted with a curious allurement—an artwork aptly named ‘Defiant Deceit’.

“They loved it,” said Lorenzo, drying his hands. “The eyes especially.”

“My eyes, you mean.”

“Yes, your eyes.” He joined Dontis and slid a thumb up his cheek. “They said it was too good to be just a sculpture and wanted to know who my inspiration was.”

His gaze narrowed. “And what did you tell them?”

“That it’s a secret. I think they want you for their own work.”

Dontis scoffed. Those humans didn’t deserve him. They provided him with nothing but the threat of death. “I don’t want them.” He nipped Lorenzo’s jaw. “I want you.”

“I wouldn’t give you up. You’ve changed my life.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” he said with another kiss, but Lorenzo gripped his chin.

“I’m not. I wanted to sculpt and make a name for myself without force. If I started all of this with a lie, I’d have to keep at it for many years, and to many people. But I did not want to cheat my passion. With you…” He huffed in amusement, as if recalling the memory. “The moment I set my eyes on you, my hands itched for my tools. And ever since, they haven’t been so eager for anyone else—not even my original ideas.”

“But what you’ve made with me—”

“—Have all started with you at its base. I can’t explain it, but I know that I’ve found my calling through you. I know that with you by my side, I’ll create things unlike the world has ever seen. But only if you stay with me.”

Dontis smiled. “What’s brought this on?” But the smile faded once Lorenzo turned.

“I’ve been hearing whispers.”

“And what do they say?”

“That some in my circle believe I’m engaging in rituals for my muse. Dark magic.”

“It’s a good idea for your next statue: an offering to a devil. Make them squirm.” There was nothing like seeing fear in a human’s eyes. He’d sell more than his horns to watch them cower and quiver.

“It’s tempting. But I don’t want to be hunted. Do you?”

“They won’t suspect me. I can take out my horns, wait to heal, and I’d look like anyone else—from a different country, maybe, but human still. With you, they’ll bait you with blood. That’s all it takes.”

“And if I was found out?”

Dontis hummed in thought. “I’d survive as I always do. Move somewhere else and—”

“Become another’s muse.”

He scoffed. “You don’t like the sound of that?”

“No, I don’t.” Lorenzo slumped down into the chair, forehead wrinkling in anguish. “You’d forget me?”

Impossible. Dontis kneeled before him and slid a hand through the side of the sculptor’s hair, unveiling forlorn eyes. “Never. No matter who I am with… I will always remember Lorenzo Cellini, the vampire prince of Florence who, without, I’d be dead.”

“Is that all I am? Your saviour?”

“Right now, you’re my lover.”

Lorenzo shook his head. “Until it’s inconvenient for you.”

Dontis pulled away, confused. “That was the agreement, wasn’t it? I give, you give. Or…” Oh no. That look was all too familiar: the strain of hurt and disbelief behind a pained, sorrowful gaze. “…You fell too hard for me, didn’t you?” he whispered.

The sculptor simply replied with a guilty bow of his head.