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Simple Pastimes (1/2)
by Les GS

Nicholas and Lacroix don't belong to me, but to Sony/TriStar. Thanks 
to Shan who thought May 2000 could use more than a few paragraphs, 
Kathy Whelton for keeping me in line, and to Julia Kocich's scalpel. 
Permission to archive on JADFE.

Who and What: Nicholas and Lacroix, explicit male/male sex.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The scent of blood oranges slipped in through the lattices of the 
villa's shutters, the garden volatile in the torrid heat of high 
summer. Nicholas ambled barefoot down the cool dimness of the 
corridor toward the library. With no great enthusiasm, he thought 
perhaps to delve further into More's new work, `Utopia.' Though it 
was late in the afternoon, still too many hours loomed before 
twilight would set him free for his night's diversions.

As Nicholas neared the library door, Lacroix emerged, book in hand. 
Like his protege, he was dressed in a robe which covered him from 
neck to ankle, though his was dark gray while Nicholas's was blue. 
Seeing Nicholas approach, his maker paused at the library's threshold.

Nicholas greeted his master politely, although his own voice sounded 
flat to his own ears as he simply said, "Lacroix."

"You seem a bit ... out of sorts, Nicholas," the elder vampire 
commented, the weight of the cool gaze he fixed on his companion at 
odds with the lightness of his tone.

Nicholas frowned slightly, hoping this was not an opening for Lacroix 
to make any plainer his growing impatience that the ache of Janette's 
abandonment smoldered yet in his heart. A few of their conversations 
had turned this way as of late. His maker no doubt thought that this 
past season in Rome should have allowed enough time for that wound to 
heal. Yes, he'd busied himself, enjoying the company of musicians 
and artists, particularly the master Raphael, while he and Lacroix 
had ranged across hunting grounds from luxurious palaces to the 
stinking alleys of Roman slums. But his heart did not "move on" as 
easily as the fickle Janette's or the icy Lacroix's. His maker had 
made it clear that he considered this inability a foolish weakness.

"The day is over long," Nicholas said curtly, determined to deflect a 
further harangue on the subject by giving his maker an excuse for his 
sour mood.

"Do you find it so?" Lacroix replied, one brow lifting as if in mild 
astonishment. "Well, we can't have that." He smiled then, pale eyes 
glinting in the dimness. Nicholas realized that, by choosing to 
accept him at his word, his maker had decided to devote himself to 
diverting him. He opened his mouth to assure him somehow that this 
wasn't necessary, but Lacroix spoke first.

"Have you read this?" Nicholas shook his head dumbly as Lacroix held 
up the volume in his hand, 'Orlando Furioso' by Ariosto. "No?" he 
continued, still smiling easily. "Come with me and I'll read to you 
what the good poet has penned."

The elder vampire started past him, down the hallway. Nicholas stood 
a moment, eyeing the form striding away from him, the shoulders 
squared with arrogant assurance. Then, with a slight shake of his 
head, he followed uneasily.

Lacroix's rooms, cool and dark behind heavy shades, ranged around a 
central atrium. Nicholas trailed him through the sitting room to the 
bedroom beyond. He felt a slight tightening in the pit of his 
stomach, which the sweet fragrance of roses and the musical splashing 
of the fountain from the courtyard outside did nothing to alleviate.

He reminded himself that his maker's choice of room really told him 
nothing of his intentions. Lacroix's habit was to make where he 
slept the most comfortable of dens, setting his favorite reading 
chair there. As he went deeper into the apartment, Nicholas 
carefully did not examine the cause of his growing tension.

Drawing in a slow breath, the young vampire stepped into Lacroix's 
bedroom. Perhaps all that he planned was to read a lovely poem in 
his most engaging manner, and discuss it afterward. They had idled 
away many pleasant afternoon hours this way over the last three 
centuries. It was just that his maker had so many other, more 
complicated, ways of thwarting ennui.

The solid wooden shutters of the large arched window set high in the 
wall opposite the door were securely bolted, and the only light in 
the room came from a single candle set on a low square table between 
two armchairs. Settling in one of these chairs, Lacroix looked up. 
"Come. Sit," he said, indicating the other chair with a tilt of his head.

Nicholas's bare feet padded across the cool, dark red tile. He 
angled away from the large bed set against the wall to his right, 
with its intricately carved headboard and four thick corner posts. 
He sat, crossing his legs and arranging his robe comfortably around 
him, shrugging off a faint sense of disappointment. Lacroix began to 
read.

Nicholas's eyes wandered unseeing over the room as Lacroix's deep, 
lithe voice ensnared him in the tangled tale of love, war and 
chivalry. As Orlando discovered the inconstancy of his lady-love, 
his heart clenched in his breast, these echoes too close to his own 
raw, recent suffering.

"I am not -- am not what I seem to sight:
What Roland was is dead and under ground,
Slain by that most ungrateful lady's spite,
Whose faithlessness inflicted such a wound.
Divided from the flesh, I am his sprite,
Which in this hell, tormented, walks its round,
To be, but in its shadow left above,
A warning to all such as trust in love."

Nicholas's vision seemed to swim, the fresco of interlaced patterns 
on the wall flickering strangely. He blinked rapidly, his 
disorientation a disturbing semblance of Charlemagne's knight's 
burgeoning madness, and he turned to Lacroix, discomfited.

Lacroix continued to read, eyes on the page before him. Both elbows 
rested on the arms of his chair, his far hand holding the book. The 
fingers of the other passed idly back and forth through the flame of 
the candle between them, its fluttering creating the illusion of 
writhing ribbons on the wall. Nicholas made a small noise and the 
other man stopped reading, turning to meet his protege's gaze in the 
sudden silence.

Lacroix's mouth turned up at its corners as he closed the book in one 
hand while the fingers of the other continued to run through the 
bright tongue flickering on the candle's wick.

"Didn't you ever play this game as a boy, Nicholas?" he inquired 
lightly. "Perhaps with the other squires, while you were in 
training. Boys like such games, vying to see which is bravest in the 
face of pain. Usually when bored, of course," he finished dryly.

"I'm not bored," Nicholas said steadily, unsure of his maker's 
intent, but not particularly interested in singed fingers. Fire was 
one of the few things that could kill him now, so he had become more 
wary of it than when he'd been mortal.

"No, of course not," Lacroix replied with an agreeable smile. His 
eyes moved to follow the smoky curls the steady passage of his 
fingertips teased from the disturbed flame. "Even so, occasionally 
the simple pastimes of our youth can be welcome, refreshing 
diversions."

The image of Lacroix as a boy, with simple pastimes, eluded Nicholas. 
He did, however, remember the contests he and his fellow squires had 
goaded one another into. Fingers in a candle flame would have been 
among the milder.

"Ah, but this is not interesting," Lacroix declared abruptly, pulling 
his hand back. "*Too* simple." He rose, tossing the book on the 
seat of his chair, and with Nicholas's widened eyes upon him, strode 
across the room toward the window. Two straight backed, armless 
chairs stood against the wall beneath it. Lacroix gripped them both 
by the top rungs across their backs and lifted them, swinging them 
before the bed, into the center of the room. He set them there, 
facing each other about four feet apart, and then stepped back, 
inspecting them. Stepping over to one, he adjusted it, sliding it a 
few inches away from the other, then nodded in satisfaction.

He then looked over at Nicholas, his smile including his protege in 
the proceedings, as though the younger vampire understood what he was 
about. "That should do. Bring the candle," he directed.

Brow furrowing, Nicholas rose slowly, taking up the silver candle 
holder by the ring affixed to its saucer-like base. As he approached 
Lacroix, candle flame wavering in the breeze of his movement, his 
maker reached up to the collar of his own robe and unfastened the 
frog holding it shut. With a fluttering rush of heavy silk fabric, 
Lacroix pulled the garment over his head and tossed it onto the bed 
behind them. Like Nicholas, he was nude beneath it.

"All right, set it there." Lacroix pointed to a spot on the floor 
midway between the two chairs. Nicholas, only a bit nonplused by 
Lacroix's sudden nakedness, complied, crouching down to put the 
candle where Lacroix wanted it. Turning his openly puzzled look upon 
his maker, he stood again, stepping back from this odd arrangement of 
furniture.

"I suppose we could do this clothed," Lacroix said, lips quirking 
with that humor peculiar to himself. "But that would get more 
exciting than even I prefer." With that, he bent, placing his hands 
on the seat of one chair, then lifted his feet one at a time onto the 
other. As Nicholas watched, he lowered himself, shifting his arms 
and lower legs on the chairs, until, from knee to elbow, his body 
formed a straight bridge between the chairs, his face framed between 
his knotting biceps, genitals dangling awkwardly.

The flame of the candle flickered beneath Lacroix's navel, perhaps a 
mere six inches underneath him, the light glowing pale gold on his 
pallid skin. He grunted speculatively, then said, "The sensation of 
heat builds." His brow furrowed. "But still, not much of a 
challenge." He raised his head, fixing the other vampire with his 
lambent gaze. "Get up on my back, Nicholas. Perhaps that will make 
this more difficult."

Sure he did not wish to engage in any contest involving fire, 
Nicholas still felt the subtle thrill that any challenge sparked in 
him. Almost without conscious decision, he found himself moving 
toward Lacroix, fists grasping the fabric swirling around his thighs, 
hiking his robes as he leapt up nimbly, feet landing squarely in the 
small of his maker's back.

Lacroix grunted loudly, his body flexing beneath the other man, 
abdomen forced down toward the singeing flame. That his penis swung 
forward, placing its tip in the focus of the most intense heat for an 
instant, may have had something to do with the speed with which he 
straightened his back, lifting himself under Nicholas's weight.

Nicholas laughed softly, balancing easily upon the undulating surface 
beneath his feet. He flexed his knees, bobbing up and down, pushing 
Lacroix toward the scorching flame, small as it might be. It was 
strange, feeling the muscles along Lacroix's spine grow rigid under 
his soles, as though he stood on stone thinly overlaid with resilient 
flesh.

A burst of breath sounded from beneath him, then Lacroix said, "While 
it's gratifying that your boredom's abated, don't get so enthused as 
to break the chairs, Nicholas. They're not as sturdy as my back."

"We didn't set any limits, Lacroix," Nicholas countered, grinning, 
shifting his feet so that he stood directly upon the other's shoulder 
blades. "Neither time nor actions." He could feel sinews tighten as 
his maker's shoulders and upper arms took up the strain.

"Eventually the candle will burn out," Lacroix noted wryly. Nicholas 
felt a slightly irked admiration that he spoke with no sign of effort.

"Or will get snuffed out... somehow," Nicholas said, stepping 
backwards onto the other man's bare buttocks, bouncing lightly upon 
the tensed mounds. He heard Lacroix's soft hiss as his body bent, 
but slightly, it was true. Still, his sensitive belly was shoved 
closer to the heat's center. And even more exciting, his phallus 
probably swung forward into the seared air just above the flame. But 
Nicholas knew he was simply goading the other man. Yes, Lacroix 
would tire at some point, even with his formidable strength. Long 
before that, however, the candle would have extinguished itself.

"All right," the younger man drawled, trying his footing along the 
backs of Lacroix's thighs, "the time shall be the length it takes you 
to recite, say, the 'Chanson de Roland,' from his leaving the Gate 
'til the tempests rise in France. Meanwhile, I believe I will 
attempt a jig."

"Recite..?" Lacroix's rising tone was somewhere between amusement 
and umbrage.

"I could do the recitation, of course," Nicholas assured him. "But 
I'd be inclined to insert long pauses. For dramatic emphasis. But 
if you'd prefer..."

His maker's back quivered beneath him and Nicholas realized he was 
laughing. Then Lacroix's ribs flared as he took a breath and began, 
"'Through Gate of Spain Roland goes riding past On Veillantif, his 
swiftly running barb...'"

Grinning wickedly, Nicholas commenced his dance. His agile steps 
sure on the irregular, flexing surface beneath him, he double-timed 
the rhythm of Lacroix's steady chant of Roland's original story, this 
version free of romantic entanglements. He even joined in on the 
shouted refrain proper at the end of certain verses. And though he 
could not discern it in his maker's supple voice, Nicholas could feel 
the effort required to sustain his cavorting in the taut muscles 
under his feet. He found himself laughing as Lacroix wound through 
the last stanza:

"'And many say: "It is the latter time, The world is ending, and the 
Great Doom is nigh." They speak not true, they cannot read the 
signs: 'Tis Roland's death calls forth this mighty cry.'"

On that final word, Nicholas sprang from Lacroix's back with one last 
forceful downward thrust. As his feet touched silently on the red 
tiles, Lacroix dismounted from the chairs, shoving away from them, 
landing upright beside the candle. Nicholas's eyes flitted 
searchingly over him, drawn to the angry red splotch, rapidly fading, 
on his abdomen, then back up to his face. Lacroix, meanwhile, 
placidly studied the candle, brows furrowed over his clear, measuring 
gaze.

"Fine beeswax," the elder vampire mused. "It burns long and hot. 
Though shorter than when we began, the candle should serve you well 
enough."

A quick breath slipped in between Nicholas's parted lips. Then he 
shut them firmly as his fingers twisted open the frog holding his 
robe closed at his throat. As he pulled the garment over his head, 
Lacroix, belly once more alabaster white, disappeared from view. 
Wrapped in momentary silken darkness, Nicholas allowed himself a 
quick, rueful grin. He had *known* he would take his turn suspended 
between the chairs the instant he had leapt onto his maker's back. 
He had simply not worked through the details of what that would 
actually entail. Yet again he found himself facing the consequence 
of a decision he had not been aware of actually making.

The hem of his robe skinned over his head, and he tossed it, along 
with this flash of reflection, to one side. Lacroix held the back of 
a chair, sliding it forward a few inches to accommodate Nicholas's 
slighter stature. Mouth curving roguishly, he looked to his now nude 
companion, then indicated the chairs and candle with a sweep of his 
hand.

"Does it suit?"

Nicholas quirked an ironic eyebrow, replying, "No doubt the fit is 
exquisite. But if you'll give me just a moment to try it for size..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Continued in part 2.



Simple Pastimes (2/2)
by Les GS

Disclaimers in part 1.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lacroix's ice blue eyes widened as he made a silent, expansive 
gesture with both hands, inviting his protege to please himself. 
Nicholas stepped forward as he looked from one chair to the other, 
measuring their placement judiciously. Bending at the waist, he 
placed his palms on the heavy silk brocade upholstery, aware of its 
slick coolness. He lifted one foot then the other onto the second 
chair, their tops and then his shins gliding back over the sleek 
fabric as he lowered himself to his elbows on the first. Ducking his 
head between his bunched biceps, he folded his forearms together 
along the front edge of the seat. Sinews tightened in his armpits as 
cords of muscle along his spine and across his chest and belly easily 
took up his weight. He felt a flush of animal delight at the fluid 
power of his own body.

Then warmth washed across his belly, mild at first, the intensity of 
the burn growing slowly. He glanced uneasily below him, at the tiny 
flame dancing on the tip of the creamy beeswax shaft. There seemed 
almost a wicked gleefulness in its movements, the way it flickered 
and leapt, straining up to reach the flesh suspended above it. And 
while the candle's placement brought most of the heat to his lower 
abdomen, he could certainly feel it on his genitals as well, dangling 
vulnerably beneath him.

"Yes?" Lacroix inquired, his voice breaking through Nicholas's 
sensations.

Nicholas collected himself mentally and physically, then said 
clearly, "Yes, ready." He saw the other man take a swift stride 
toward him, and braced himself for Lacroix's leap up onto his back. 
But the jolting landing never occurred. Instead, Lacroix stepped 
over him, straddling his legs. Then he lowered himself, sitting 
astride Nicholas's upper thighs. His movements stirred the air, 
causing the flame to waver, lessening the heat for a moment. So, 
even though Nicholas sagged a trifle as his maker's weight settled on 
him, nothing distracted him from the sensation of Lacroix stretching 
out upon him. Hard hands gripped his hips, giving Lacroix a balance 
point as his lifted his legs, laying them along Nicholas's, his feet 
joining Nicholas's on the chair cushion. Lacroix hitched forward a 
bit, fitting his loins snugly against Nicholas's tensed buttocks, 
then lowered his chest to his back. His lips moved against his 
protege's nape as his spoke.

"With my weight evenly distributed, you should be able to support 
both of us for quite some time, don't you think?" The grip of his 
hands on Nicholas's hips loosened, becoming a caress sliding slowly 
over his ribs.

"Lacroix..." Heat flared, centered on his navel as the candle flame 
steadied. He arched his back, lifting both himself and Lacroix, the 
twinge in his groin perhaps no more than constricting muscles.

"No limits, Nicholas. You said so yourself," the elder vampire 
reminded him, low voice resonant with amusement, fingers lingering on 
Nicholas's chest, exploring the tightened muscles there. "You set 
those for my... challenge. So I shall set them for yours." He 
chuckled. "It is fair, you must agree." His palms, resting lightly, 
cupped Nicholas's solid pectorals.

"Fair... yes." His assent was echoed in his flesh, in the twitching 
of his thickening penis.

"Sweet concord," Lacroix murmured, his palms now gently brushing over 
his protege's nipples. The tiny buds clenched with the attention, 
their delight inducing another pang in Nicholas's groin. The heat 
ebbed away for a moment, then bloomed, hotter than ever, and with a 
small grunt Nicholas shoved upward, his firm buttocks jamming tighter 
against Lacroix's groin.

"Mm." Lacroix's rumble of pleasure vibrated through Nicholas's back, 
and one of his maker's hands left his chest to sweep slowly down his 
side. That palm slid over Nicholas's hip bone, fingers running along 
the crease where thigh met loin. Fingertips nestled behind his 
testicles while thumb and finger on the other hand delicately pinched 
a nipple. With a certain dismay, Nicholas realized that as his cock 
stiffened and lifted, it would only be brought closer to the glowing 
hot air above the candle flame.

"Limits," Lacroix sighed, apparently finding something distasteful 
about the word. "If we must, then... Time -- as long as the candle 
stays lit. Actions... -- whatever might serve to extinguish it." 
Fingers left Nicholas's breast to trail along his collarbone as the 
other hand cradled his dangling testicles.

Nicholas, silent, bit at the inside of his lower lip, struggling to 
quell his body's reaction to that touch creeping toward his throat, 
the cunning fingertips skimming his scrotum. Recalcitrant, his cock 
continued to swell, the burn building along its tip more stimulating 
than deterring, at least at the moment. He'd learned too much of too 
many kinds of pleasure under these hands, along with myriad other 
lessons. That, and his inborn response of confronting any challenge, 
kept him from flying upward, away from the pain that nipped at his 
belly, and tossing Lacroix from him. Though the more sensible part 
of his mind insisted this entire contest was folly, he was not about 
to quit so soon, not before he'd endured as long as Lacroix had.

Even with every muscle rigid with effort, Nicholas knew that 
Lacroix's body covering his own so evenly made this easier for him 
than his jig had been for Lacroix. And though the fire stirred a 
certain uneasiness in him, if he needed to, he could lift himself 
away, even with Lacroix on his back, using his power of flight. 
However, as Lacroix had exercised only his physical strength, doing 
so would cost Nicholas their game. He peered downward at the candle, 
at the merry, flickering light, how it licked at his belly, painting 
the ivory of his flesh with a golden luminescence. He wondered, for 
a fleeting moment, what Raphael would do with this image, his taut 
abdomen and his cock, lavender-tipped and lifting itself into harm's 
way. Sweetness suddenly pulsed from the root of his shaft upward, 
astonishingly sharp. Taken unawares, his breath escaped him in a 
burst. The head of his lengthening penis, foreskin stretching over 
the swelling glans, entered the scorched air above the candle. Eyes 
and lips clamping shut, he lifted himself higher, ass pressing hard 
into Lacroix's groin above him. His maker's low chuckle reached his 
ears, the shaft stiffening along the crevice of his buttocks 
informing him that Lacroix was aroused as well as amused.

The tips of Lacroix's fingers trailed upward, over his throat, each 
point of pressure leaving behind it a tingling trail. His cock 
jerked in response, up toward his belly into slightly cooler air, 
then wavering downward again with the continuing hot bite along the 
underside of his shaft. Muscles in his shoulders and thighs 
quivered, sagging with this distraction. He growled softly at 
himself - he didn't want to lose this contest.

Lacroix cupped his testicles, then tugged down on them, momentarily 
diverting Nicholas with the pleasant near-ache of that stretch. Then 
a prickling burn peaked again over his belly and cock. Nicholas 
squirmed fretfully beneath Lacroix's weight, wanting to rub away the 
fierce, scorching itch.

"Let me help, Nicholas," Lacroix said softly, lips nuzzling the curls 
at the nape of his neck. Then his large hand grasped Nicholas's 
shaft, skimming upward, then down again.

"Oh." Nicholas shuddered, pleasure-laced relief washing through him 
as that cool palm soothed away the building piquancy of the candle's 
burn. A number of slow strokes and the pleasure provided usurped the 
primacy of the relief. He closed his eyes, rigid stomach muscles 
trembling. Within him, he felt the deeper craving stir, more than 
simple sexual lust becoming aroused. Lacroix's deft caresses 
combined with the tight draw of the sinews in his belly, groin and 
thighs sent a piercing delight shooting through his loins. A 
delicious echoing ache throbbed in his upper jaw, beneath his canine 
teeth. Just a few more...

Lacroix took away his hand, setting it now on the hot skin of his 
protege's quivering abdomen. Nicholas gasped, eyes flying wide as 
the other's shielding hand left his cock. The shaft's underside, now 
even more sensitive with his peaking sexual excitement, endured an 
abrupt gust of scalding air. A low snarl escaped him as he arched 
upward, shoving back at the mass pressing him down toward that 
smoldering assault. He found no escape. Though the cool, lightly 
rubbing palm eased his scorched belly, the fire's ferocious bite 
seemed concentrated on his stiff cock. His erection faltered, his 
penis drooping even closer to the flame. Breath hissed through the 
keen feeding teeth that jutted abruptly into his mouth.

Lacroix's low, supple voice slipped through the red mist beginning to 
simmer in his brain. "Perhaps we can do something to eliminate the 
source of your discomfort, Nicholas."

Lacroix's hand slid up Nicholas's belly, fingertips running through 
the golden fuzz in the center of his chest before finding a nipple. 
His other hand - oh, blessedly cold - curled around his protege's 
flagging shaft. A deep groan welled up from deep inside Nicholas as 
cool comfort engulfed his cock.

Lacroix's hand began skimming up and down over the smooth, taut skin 
of Nicholas's shaft, slowly at first. Renewed pleasure coiled at the 
base of Nicholas's cock, drawing his testicles up tight against his 
body. As his maker's hand on him sped up, the candle's heat became 
swift searing kisses between the encircling chill of his spread 
fingers. Another groan bubbled up from Nicholas's chest, his surging 
blood-lust roughening it with a metallic rasp.

Bliss shoved its way with slow inevitability up his shaft, compelled 
by Lacroix's skilled fingers, the rapid, excruciating flutter of burn 
and cold on this so responsive flesh. He shook, the power of that 
violent vibration passing through the chairs he hung upon, wooden 
legs rattling on the hard tile. He moaned again, yielding as ecstasy 
conquered him at last, the tension of his suspended body driving his 
explosive climax to a sharpness that approached agony.

He heard Lacroix's laugh as his aim proved true, the sputter of the 
drowning candle rising with the steam of singed blood-mixed semen. 
Orgasm racked him again as Lacroix's fist, now slippery with 
ejaculate, continued to pump his cock. Every spasm only inflamed him 
further, inciting him to assuage his now savage blood-lust.

And with the extinguishing of the candle, he could, free now that he 
had met Lacroix's challenge. He lunged upward, using both physical 
and mental powers to launch himself high from the chairs, his maker 
riding still upon his back. In the brief moment they were airborne, 
Lacroix released him. As they separated, Nicholas twisted so that 
when their feet thudded upon the tile, they faced one another.

They stood, poised and silent, bright stares locked, blue-white and 
burning topaz. Then Lacroix smiled, upper lip pulling back to reveal 
his long canines, spreading his arms, welcoming Nicholas to him. As 
Nicholas stepped into his embrace, the fierce ice of Lacroix's eyes 
mutated to lucent gold.

Lacroix gathered him in, the hand slick with Nicholas's come sliding 
over the base of his spine, then down, the wet palm settling on one 
buttock, pulling their groins together. Lacroix's iron hard shaft 
ground painfully against Nicholas's belly. Rumbling deep in his 
chest, the younger vampire's arms tightened, crushing his maker 
closer to him. Twisting his neck, he opened his mouth wide as he 
struck, viper-like, for Lacroix's throat. Razored fangs pierced 
resilient flesh, penetrating the carotid beneath Lacroix's ear. 
Blood gouted into his mouth, feral and pungent on his tongue. He 
swallowed greedily, black flame igniting in his guts then racing 
along his veins, saturating him with an excruciating bliss. He 
writhed inwardly, the sensation almost too much to bear, his deepest 
needs assuaged by a chaos which threatened to devour him. Only 
Lacroix's blood did this to him, scourging him from within at the 
same time as it drove him to these rapturous peaks.

He tasted Lacroix's savage hungers, as yet unsatisfied, a discord 
jarringly unresolved with the dark exhilaration that sang along his 
own nerves. Acting to remove the disturbing dissonance, he jammed a 
hand between them to grab Lacroix's cock. He jerked roughly, feeling 
the jolt in his own body, hearing his maker's low snarl of mingled 
protest and pleasure.

Lacroix's fangs sank deep into his throat, triggering another spasm 
of bliss, a bright, searing flash shimmering behind his eyes, 
throughout his flesh. Lacroix's blood, thick in his mouth, brought 
him the sensation of hanging still on the verge of orgasm, the 
feeling of being suspended on that gloriously torturous peak twisting 
weirdly within his own continuing climax.

Then Lacroix came in his fist, the sweet eruption smashing through 
them both, shoving them to the final pinnacle of exaltation. 
Nicholas succumbed to the pleasure consuming him, awareness 
dissolving into it, into the blood flowing into him, his and 
Lacroix's, joined.

~ ~ ~

He roused, opening his eyes to discover himself sprawled across 
Lacroix's bed. A cool breeze, tender with the scent of bedewed 
roses, wafted over his skin. The high wide window's open shutters 
framed a clear sky, deep black studded with pinprick stars. He 
turned his head to Lacroix, stretched at his ease beside him; back 
propped upon pillows set against the headboard, ankles loosely 
crossed, Ariosto draped across his naked lap. He raised his eyes 
from his book as Nicholas stirred.

"That was amusing," he remarked, the softness of his voice welcome to 
Nicholas's still humming nerves. "If a bit... adolescent."

"Your idea," Nicholas replied thickly, reaching up to run his hand 
over his face, finger and thumb rubbing his eyes to chase the 
grogginess away.

A low snort of amusement escaped Lacroix. "I wasn't complaining, 
Nicholas. I enjoy the simpler pleasures. On occasion."

Fingers trailing from his face down his chest to his belly, Nicholas 
searched for any residual tenderness. He found none, the smooth skin 
again without blemish. He let his hand fall limply, shutting his 
eyes and sighing softly with the pleasure of the heavy, liquid 
looseness in his muscles and joints.

"I suppose this is one solution."

Nicholas opened his eyes, turning his head on his pillow to look up 
quizzically at his maker.

"Though, in the long run, you'll no doubt find it the more... wearing 
of your options." Lacroix snapped the book shut, setting it to one 
side and swinging his legs off the bed. "Not that I mind. It offers 
an intriguing challenge."

"What?" Nicholas frowned, Lacroix's opaque utterance only puzzling 
him further.

The elder vampire turned his head to gaze down at his protege, brows 
quirking in mild surprise. "Why, conceiving of pastimes that engage 
you so profoundly that your melancholia is utterly expunged. At 
least briefly." Lacroix stood, plucking his robe from the bed and 
pulling it over his head.

Nicholas blinked as he realized that he had, for a short time, not 
endured the sorrow of missing Janette or the hurt of her rejection. 
That his present bone-deep contentment sprang not only from his 
physical satiation. His heart had been eased, temporarily, by his 
thoughts and senses being completely absorbed in the experience his 
maker had created for him.

Lacroix shrugged to settle the slippery silk around his shoulders, 
then went on, fingers twisting the fastenings closed at his throat. 
"As you have not, even after a season's worth of distractions, freed 
yourself from this slavery to yearning for what is gone, making your 
life tedious - to us both - we'll simply have to use more direct 
methods. Methods in which you'll live from moment to moment, rather 
than in recollection of time past."

Lacroix smiled down at him, a wicked glint in his eye, running his 
hands down his chest, smoothing the slick fabric of his robe. "I'm 
going to bathe before going out. Join me?"

Nicholas nodded slowly, though he did not otherwise stir. "Yes, I'll 
be there in a moment."

Lacroix's smile broadened, though he glided from the room with no 
further comment.

Nicholas's gaze wandered to the window, to the wide, clear sky beyond 
it. He probed the empty space Janette's leaving had ripped within 
him. Still sore, despite Lacroix's best efforts, sore in a way that 
his maker, in the iciness of his nature, was incapable of 
understanding. Though it was not quite as tender as when she'd first 
left him or even a month ago. Did he cling too hard and too long to 
his feelings, to his past? Janette claimed he clung too close to 
her, smothering her.

He dismissed this with a snort, sitting up and rolling off the bed, 
ready now for that hot bath. He couldn't be shaken so easily from 
the constancy of his heart. Not even by Lacroix's promises of more 
extreme "methods" of distraction if Nicholas could not find his own 
cure for heartbreak.

He scooped his robe up off the floor as he followed Lacroix. A 
reckless grin slanted across his mouth as he flipped it over one 
shoulder. Besides, he never could resist a challenge.

FIN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Comments, critiques, expressions of outrage welcome at: 
LoosCanN@sprynet.com

Loose Cannon's FK Fiction: 
http://home.sprynet.com/sprynet/looscann/

_Orlando Furioso_ of Ludovico Ariosto, translated by William Stewart 
Rose (London, 1910) is in the public domain and can be found on The 
Online Medieval & Classical Library at: 
http://sunsite.berkeley.edu/OMACL/
(Note: I have changed the word "thrust" to "trust" in the final line 
of this stanza, feeling it must be a typo. "Trust" is a more apt 
translation of the original Italian "speranza.")

The Penguin Classic edition of _The Song of Roland_ was translated by 
Dorothy L. Sayers, copyright 1957.