Lessons
   by Les GS

Lacroix looked up from his book as Nicholas wandered into the sitting room. His newest creation was silent, so Lacroix went back to his reading, conscious of course of his fledgling slouching around the room, poking and teasing the fire into a blaze, winning himself a mild singeing as a flare of sparks sprinkled his bare feet. Cursing, tossing the iron poker with a clatter on the hearth, Nicholas retreated, then threw himself into another of the great chairs, to slump there, hand on cheek, glowering at the flames. All in all, a charming performance, Lacroix mused, studying his protégé over the top of his book, the young man's golden hair tousled, his muscular form draped only in his white sleeping gown. Apparently Janette had banished him from their room rather precipitously, without allowing him to scoop up some clothing. Nicholas glanced over at him, and Lacroix met his eye with a raised brow and a bland smile.

"Women," the man spat out.

"And what leads you to this stirring indictment of the gentle sex, Nicholas?" queried Lacroix, closing his book as he leaned back in his chair, recrossing his legs and twitching his dark surcote straight over his knees. Of course he knew. His creation had no mental defenses against him, only a few weeks into his new life. This in addition to Janette's peeved annoyance bristling in his connection to her. But he wanted to hear Nicholas's reasonings. Such as they were.

"Janette! Janette, of course. She is ... she is so ... demanding."

"Ah," Lacroix said lightly, brows lifting. "And you find yourself ... incapable of meeting her demands..?"

Nicholas naturally bridled at the suggested insult to his manhood, a manhood potent in mortality, which he had found delightfully enhanced by his new state of being. "Incapable?" he scoffed. "Of course I'm capable. The question is..." and he leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees to look earnestly into Lacroix's eyes, "...the question is, do I want to meet her demands."

"And why would you not, Nicholas? Has the savor left your love already? This was to have lasted rather longer, you realize. Eternity, perhaps..."

The man leaned back in his chair again, rubbing his lips with the knuckles on one hand, his gaze sliding uneasily from Lacroix back to the fire. "No," he muttered against the back of his hand. "No, it has not. I burn for her, I become lost in her..." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, sliding one hand over his groin to conceal the stirrings there. "I want ... I want to please her, Lacroix. But what she asks of me..."

"And what precisely does she ask of you that is so difficult to provide? I really can't imagine, Nicholas."

Nicholas glanced toward the door, perhaps trying to sense if Janette had left her room. Meeting Lacroix's eyes again with some difficulty, he lowered his voice. "She wishes me to use my mouth. On her ... on her woman parts." He made a vague gesture toward his own crotch with his hand. Amused by Nicholas's reticence, well acquainted with his more pungent vocabulary, Lacroix nevertheless kept his expression sober. Nicholas's love for Janette and the realization that she was under Lacroix's protection, his daughter basically, drew from him this more delicate word choice.

"And has she not used her mouth upon your," Lacroix mimicked Nicholas's gesture over his own groin, "man parts?"

Nicholas leaned back in his chair again, stretching out his legs, eyes returning to the fire, one hand cupped over his groin. The knuckles of the other again rested against his lips, this time partially concealing a small smile. He then glanced over at Lacroix, bringing his hand down to drape his forearm over the arm of the chair. "Yes," he replied, still smiling.

"And did that please you?" Lacroix asked unnecessarily, lips quirking at his progeny's unconsciously self-satisfied pose.

"Of course," Nicholas replied softly, as his half-lidded eyes hazed with memory.

"Well, then," Lacroix went on briskly, "I fail to see the problem." Though, naturally, he did, being a student of the time and place, of all times, all places. But best to drag it out and nip his fledgling's little misunderstanding in the bud.

Nicholas's brows rose. "It's different, Lacroix. For a woman of the world like Janette, it means nothing for her to do these things."

"Do you call her a whore, Nicholas?" Lacroix demanded softly, eyes icy blue. He had taken her from that life, freed her from all constraints, except, naturally, his own will, and this young whelp of his had best not confuse that freedom with harlotry.

"No," Nicholas quickly avowed, glancing at Lacroix, concerned he may have offended him. He hurriedly clarified what he meant. "It's just different for a man. As you know. What is shameful, debasing for a man, isn't for a woman. If a man does these things, well, he becomes less than a man."

"It is debasing to give Janette pleasure," stated Lacroix flatly, attempting to slice the matter to bare bone, to show the man his folly.

"No, that's not what I mean, Lacroix," Nicholas protested, wondering why the man was being deliberately dense. His eyes left Lacroix's and roved over the wall, as though attempting to see beyond it to the room where he had left his passion. Or rather from which he'd been cast out. He murmured, voice deep, almost sultry, "I would please her. I ache to give her pleasure every day of our lives. But..." He turned back to Lacroix, eyes narrowed with annoyance. "As a man, Lacroix. I want to please her as a man should. As I have until now. Why does she seek to unman me?"

Lacroix sighed. This really was so tiresome. Not that he blamed his protégé for this particular attitude. He wondered if it was a remnant of his own people, who had brought civilization and order to this area a thousand years ago, give or take a century. Placing one's mouth on another's genitals, especially a woman's, degraded one utterly, to the Roman way of thinking. Even as a mortal, he had been quick to see these notions as specious, limiting, and toss them aside. And of course, Nicholas was dealing with this time's peculiar concept of sin and a woman's damning part in the "original" one, thereby painting all her gender with the taint of a dangerous carnality. Even this lusty knight, clearly a great lover of women, found something dangerous to his manhood in this simple, extremely pleasurable act. But, regardless of the root of this prejudice, and whatever other similar limitations his Nicholas's upbringing had placed upon him, it would not do to let it stand. One couldn't allow conventions to come between oneself and one's desires. Especially those whom he had selected to join his ... family. And, to be sure, a little pedagogical venture into this subject could be quite diverting. He rose, dropping his book on the seat of his chair.

"Come up to my room, Nicholas. We have something that needs doing."

Hesitantly, Nicholas stood, stomach knotting a bit as he became aware that Lacroix, his master in this vampiric apprenticeship, had some kind of lesson in mind for him. And that those lessons pushed him to his limits, and then beyond them, smashing ideas he had about himself, about the world, often painfully. Not physically, usually, though he had broken Nicholas's arm the second day, to show him how quickly they healed. He had also had Nicholas break his arm, to show him how easily they could cause hurt. Both lessons had been ... uncomfortable. And strangely exhilarating, freeing. He searched Lacroix's face for some sign of his intentions, even groped mentally at their connection, attempting to discern his mood. But though Lacroix's lips curved upward when he perceived his progeny's use of his new powers, Nicholas could glean no hint of his designs. Lacroix turned away, and Nicholas followed him out of the room, to where Lacroix slept.

Janette's room, which he had shared with her since he had become a vampire, was full of beautiful things, fine fabrics that called to his hands to touch, to fondle. Lacroix's room seemed spare, at least in comparison, though the covers and canopy on the large four poster bed, the hangings on the wall, would not have been out of place in a king's chambers.

"Take off your shirt and get up on the bed, Nicholas," Lacroix said quietly, his back to the other as he took off his surcote and hung it carefully on a peg in his wardrobe. He turned back to face Nicholas, who stood stiffly, unmoving, by the door. He raised his brows.

Nicholas looked at him, eyes narrowed with growing suspicion. "I don't want to do this, Lacroix."

"How do you know, Nicholas? What do you think is going to happen?"

The other's brows came down as he heated with anger and indignation, much more comfortable emotions to deal with than fear of impending humiliation. "You're going to try to fuck me," he ground out. "To sodomize me. Some kind of lesson in debasement, no doubt."

"Nicholas, I do not try. I would either do it or not do it. And today ... I choose not to." He spread his arms, displaying his mid- calf length bliaud of heavy black silk. "I will remained dressed, as you see me. Now stop dawdling and get on the bed."

Lips tight, glaring at Lacroix, he stood stock still a moment longer. He did not find his pleasure with men. He didn't particularly care that others did, though he had a true man's contempt for those that made themselves as women, taking another man's cock in their mouth or ass. He didn't take Lacroix for one of those, knowing he bedded Janette, and seeing the great delight he took in the feminine charms of his ... meals. But Lacroix might... He could take him, he realized, easily overpower and rape him anytime he chose. And there was very little he could do to prevent it, though Lacroix would not leave such an attempt unscarred. He had lived with the fear of being sodomized whilst a captive in the Holy Lands, but had avoided that fate. He didn't like having that resurrected. But Lacroix said he wouldn't ... this time. What was he going to do, this time?

Lacroix's cold gaze had rested on him heavily as these thoughts quickly passed through his mind. Unwilling to display his uneasiness, Nicholas, narrow-eyed glare fixed on his maker, paced slowly over to the bed. At its edge, he stripped off his night shirt, casually dropping it in a heap on the floor of the well-ordered room. As he slid up onto the bed, his stomach clenched a bit, again wondering where Lacroix was taking this, his declaration that he didn't intend to ... bugger him removing this from his realm of experience. Nevertheless, he arranged himself into an easy, insouciant pose on Lacroix's bed, one hand behind his head on the pillow, the other hand resting on his belly, ankles crossed. He raised his brows, the insolent slant to his mouth daring Lacroix to show him something he didn't know.

Face impassive, inwardly delighted by his fledgling's challenging demeanor, Lacroix sauntered over to the bed and settled on the edge, his hands clasped and folded on his lap. He let his eyes roam over Nicholas's quite pleasing form, and while the man didn't actually move away from him, the sense of him shrinking back was palpable.

Lacroix picked up his protégé's more germane comment; his tone light, casual. "Though, as you guessed, this is a lesson in debasement. Or more precisely, in what it is and is not."

Nicholas closed his eyes at Lacroix's words, his tension growing. He found himself torn, both hoping the man would blather on all day and seething with impatience to get this all over with, to be on the other side of this experience and have it done. He listened with half an ear, waiting, waiting, for Lacroix to ... do whatever it was he was going to do.

"Debasement is a state of mind, Nicholas; an offense among one people is meaningless to another. Or 'natural,' even ideal. We must never make the mistake of accepting their mores as absolutes. Because, Nicholas, in the blink of an eye, that will change. These notions are as ephemeral as the mortals who hold them. There is only one thing which is constant.... Yourself. Your pleasures, your desires. You must never, ever, allow the small-mindedness of those around you deny you your ... gratification."

At the word 'gratification,' a cool breath tickled through the hairs at Nicholas's groin and his eyes flew open as Lacroix's mouth closed over his limp cock.

"Oh-" and then Nicholas's voice choked off, unable to utter any of a mortal's casual blasphemies.

Nicholas had loved this when Janette, when other women had done this, the slippery wetness, the skillful twirl of a tongue, the gentle sucking, had always driven him quickly mad with lust. The incredible shock of having of having a man - of having Lacroix -- take him into his mouth couldn't diminish how ... good it felt. Or suppress the realization that his master's skill was considerable. Scandalously so. But surely giving him pleasure couldn't be his intent. What was he doing?

The recollection of the last, the only other time this man had placed his mouth upon him jolted through him. Every muscle in his body clenched as his once thickening cock withered. Was Lacroix going to bite him again, his fangs sinking into his penis the same way they had torn his throat? That searing, stunning pain... But the man remained unfailingly gentle, his teeth carefully hidden. Slowly, other memories came to him, of the sensations following the immediate pain of the bite. The jumble of images that flashed past too quickly to comprehend, mingled agony and darkly savored ecstasies. The mind-numbing bliss that had suffused his entire body as Lacroix had drawn him in, dissolving him into roiling chaos. Then the flaring lust for life that had surged through him, that lust carried to him on the flaming cold intoxication of Lacroix's blood. So that when Lacroix had wrenched his bleeding wrist away from his greedily sucking mouth, he had flung himself like a brute animal into Janette's willing arms; burning, burning.

Lacroix closed his eyes as Nicholas, finally over his fright, bloomed in his mouth. The scent, the taste of Janette lingered on the young man's skin, in his curling pubic hair, and he sucked dreamily, savoring their mingled essences. The thickened head of the swelling phallus bumped against the back of his throat, and he pulled back, drawing hard on the stiffening staff, smiling around it at Nicholas's startled gasps. He shoved his tongue under the foreskin, the other crying out, shaking, fists clenched, as he exposed the tender glans. The skin, velvety soft under his lips, the shaft a welcome, weighty fullness on his tongue, drew a sigh from him, and he began working Nicholas's cock in earnest. The Greeks had held that a small phallus was the sign of a man of reason. Nicholas, to his delight, was evidently a man of great emotion and sensuousness. He growled with hunger, swallowing his son's long, heavy cock, while his own, marking him as a man with a bestial nature, swelled, snaking its way down the leg of his silk braies. He reached down, quickly adjusting himself through his tunic before he could become uncomfortably constrained. Nicholas's trembling hands came to rest upon his head, hesitant fingers moving through his bristling hair.

He brought his own hand up to rest lightly on Nicholas's testicles, as he shifted his whole body, kneeling between his protégé's eagerly spread legs. The man gripped his head more tightly, thrusting himself up into his mouth. Again Lacroix growled, wallowing in the impressions spilling through his link to his most recent creation. The whole-hearted surrender to sensation, to pleasure, his avid hunger for a mind-erasing ecstasy burned through their connection, and Lacroix increased his efforts, eager to encourage that need in his son.

Nicholas grunted with every upward thrust, as he popped again and again through the tight constriction of Lacroix's throat. The rippling convulsions as Lacroix swallowed his plunging length drove him into a frenzy; his fangs jutted down into his mouth, piercing his lower lip and he snarled at the taste of his own blood. His snarl became a rasping moan as Lacroix's lips, tongue and throat shoved him up to a peak of pleasure so sharp it was almost pain.

Lacroix wrenched his head away, out of the other's grasp. Nicholas's rigid, spit-wet shaft slapped down against his tension taut belly. The man cried out, climax forestalled, his hands flying to his bereft cock. He found his wrists seized in a grip of iron, and panting, whimpering, Nicholas opened his eyes, jerking ineffectually against Lacroix's implacable hold. Vision blurred with lust, he peered up at the face inches away from his own.

"Am I debased, Nicholas, demeaned?" Lacroix whispered hoarsely, breath scented with sex. "Am I in any way less than I was before I took your prick in my mouth?"

Blinking, Nicholas attempted to clear his sight, his thoughts. Lacroix's grip on him, though not painful, proved unbreakable. The powerful ... pressure of the man's presence in his mind was unchanged, inescapable. Nothing ... had changed. He was still ... Lacroix, whatever that made him.

"No," he murmured, staring into the ice blue eyes, head rolling slightly from side to side in negation. Reason moved slowly in his lust-drenched brain, but he felt something shift. He had kissed this man's ring in homage, called him master. That he did this... Then his thoughts stumbled, his groin beginning to ache desperately, demanding release. His gaze flicked down to Lacroix's lips, slightly swollen and quirking up a bit at the corners. "Are you ... are you going to finish?"

Lacroix smiled, mouth bending into an ironic curve, and backed away down his body. He released Nicholas's wrists with a slight squeeze, and though his hands twitched up against his flanks, his protégé knew better than to make a grab at his cock. Kneeling back between Nicholas's legs, Lacroix ran his hands over his youngster's horseman-hard thighs, then said, "Roll over."

Nicholas inhaled sharply, a flare of fear spearing up his spine.

"You said..." he protested, his hands curling into fists.

"And what did I say, my Nicholas?"

"That - that you wouldn't - wouldn't sodomize me."

"No, not today. That's right. Roll over, Nicholas."

With that reassurance that was no reassurance, Nicholas rolled onto his stomach, his rigid cock pressed into the cool silk of Lacroix's bed covers.

"Up, Nicholas. Come up." Lacroix's hands were on his hips, pulling him onto his hands and knees. Eyes closed, guts a knot of tension, Nicholas obeyed numbly, not sure what Lacroix had in mind, only half trusting that he would keep his word. He waited in an agony of uncertainty as Lacroix shifted his position behind him. His hands clenched the thick silk spread as Lacroix casually stroked his buttocks before gripping his hips again.

He jerked forward at Lacroix's first touch in the crease of his ass, only his master's grip on his hips keeping him from flinging himself onto his belly. Then he froze in astonishment. The thing nudging against his asshole wasn't Lacroix's cock or even his fingers. It was his tongue. It circled the tight ring of his sphincter, then slid slowly down to his balls to lave them luxuriously, drawing one, then the other, into a gently sucking mouth. He groaned as his testicles were released, and Lacroix licked back up to his anus, rubbing the tight opening with a flat, wet tongue.

"What ... what are you doing?" Nicholas moaned, the shock of Lacroix placing his mouth on that part of him nearly overwhelmed by the luscious sensations.

"Really, Nicholas, you have this odd trait of demanding one state the obvious," Lacroix murmured, his lips lightly brushing the tender flesh to the side of his progeny's well-clamped orifice. "I'm licking your ass." And he did just that, running his tongue up and down the crevice between Nicholas's round, hard cheeks, before bringing it and his lips back to the tightly furled bud at their center.

"Why?" Nicholas breathed, the shivering pleasure running across his buttocks and thighs and up his spine astounding.

"Does it feel good?"

"I d-don't..." Lacroix's tongue probed him more firmly, that rigid slickness pressing through the tight ring of his asshole. At the same time, the man's hand came up between his legs to lightly stroke the underside of his cock, to caress his balls. He leaned back against that mouth, that hand, melting into them as he groaned, "Ohhhhh, yesss..."

Lacroix continued his ministrations a moment, Nicholas's sighs a sweet music, his body's willing response to his touches enflaming his own groin with swelling desire. Then he removed his mouth from Nicholas, though he continued his light stroking of his rigid shaft and drawn up testicles. Straightening, he murmured, "That's why, mon cher protégé. It pleases you and amuses me. It's so, so simple."

Rocking his hips impatiently, Nicholas slid his demanding cock through the fingers cupping him with a growing irritation at Lacroix's incessant talking, when his mouth would be so much better put to use-- The sharp, feral scent of his maker's blood suddenly filled his nose, and he whipped his head around to peer over his shoulder. Lacroix interrupted his perusal of the first two fingers of his right hand to smile at him languidly. Then he went back to watching the red oozing from his bitten fingertips, rolling his wrist so that the drops would not fall to his bed. Then, smiling again into Nicholas's enthralled face, the young vampire's eyes glinting gold as he licked his lips at the scent of bloody seduction, he placed his fingers against his anus, slowly massaging that tight ring before slipping the first finger in.

Nicholas gasped, then snarled as the invading digit pressed deep into him. He began to pull away, then found Lacroix's grip on his penis quite effectively immobilized him. Unless he wished to emasculate himself, because he knew Lacroix was not going to let go. His muscles knotted as he prepared to endure the probing, clinging to Lacroix's word that he would go no further than this. A burning ache started in his sphincter as his tension constricted that ring of muscles. Gently, slowly, Lacroix's finger slid back and forth in him, slick with spit and blood. Somehow this was more infuriating than being stabbed at painfully. Because it felt ... good. Lacroix's other hand kept a firm grasp on him, still working him, keeping him stiff. The sweet fire building again at the root of his cock and Lacroix's persistent careful massage of his sphincter slowly eased the ache in his ass. A groan escaped him as Lacroix's second finger entered him, the stretching painful and pleasant at the same time. Then the fingers turned in him, Lacroix pressed, stroked at a specific point...

"Oh, fuck," Nicholas gasped, spasming helplessly with the nearly unbearable pleasure. His ass, his guts, bloomed with a heavy liquid fire and moaning deeply, all his resistance melted away.

"Nice, eh, my Nicholas?" Lacroix murmured. "See what you miss out on when you shun exploring all sensual possibilities?" The pressure of a thumb against the fingers was added from outside, rolling over that long neglected pleasure spot. Lacroix's hand stilled on Nicholas's cock as he held him balanced again on the brink of explosion. His protégé quivered under him, unbreathing, mind washed clean by incipient bliss. Then he eased his grip and Nicholas took a great sobbing breath as his orgasm was denied him again.

"Fils d'une putain, Lacroix," he snarled, the Change heating his eyes, his brain, urging him to savage the one causing him such maddening frustration at the same time as it had him bucking backwards to impale himself on Lacroix's fingers. Lacroix responded by thrusting vigorously, taking care to stroke that sensitive gland, though lightly, lightly, so as not to bring the encounter to a precipitous conclusion. Nicholas's cock drooled liberally over his fingers as it plunged through them, the stickiness as the pinkish fluid dried threatening an over-stimulating friction. Lacroix removed his hand, smiling at Nicholas's growled annoyance, enjoying his fervor, to spit into his palm. Nicholas groaned as Lacroix closed his fist around him again, pushing himself through that careful, slick grip.

Lacroix inhaled deeply, luxuriating in the scents of his protégé's arousal, with that hint of sandalwood, of his own blood. As he held Nicholas just at that point before a tumble into orgasm became inevitable, he allowed the moment to capture him, time congealing around him. Candlelight honeyed the sleek skin of Nicholas's back, taut columns framing the shadowed length of his spine leading up to the knotted muscles of his shoulders and upper back. It glinted off a lengthened fang, was mirrored in an amber gleaming eye, creating a mask of ecstatic agony as Nicholas tossed his head, snarling. The brute potency of the rigid shaft he gripped in his fist contrasted exhilaratingly with the melting surrender of the flesh around his thrusting fingers. His own groin burned, his erection a fierce ache, the silk of his undergarment a chafing torment. The newly forged link to his creation shivered as Nicholas teetered on the brink, and with a harsh gasp, Lacroix pulled back, shattering the spell. He released Nicholas's penis to grasp his hip, shoving his fingers deeply into his ass, then leaving them motionless. Nicholas writhed under him, seeking his touch, close, so close to the completion Lacroix denied him.

"No. No, no," the man rasped, though he didn't move to grab himself. "More. More now." He shoved back, urging him on. Lacroix moved with him, providing no stimulation.

"More? More what, Nicholas?" Lacroix murmured, carefully pressing his fingers deeper into his protégé's ass. Grunting, Nicholas leaned back, attempting to impale himself further, craving the pressure, to be filled and finally propelled over the edge. Lacroix eased away from him.

"Ah, fuck you, Lacroix," Nicholas spat, clenching his sphincter tight on the other's fingers, rocking his hips, searching for that touch to his ass or his cock that would bring him relief. "Give it to me," he ground out, demanding his climax. There was a moment's pause, both men utterly still. Then Nicholas turned his head to stare at Lacroix with burning eyes, a slanting, crafty grin curving his lips.

"Yesss, Lacroix, give it to me," he whispered, voice deep, rough with lust. He undulated his hips slowly. "Fuck me. I know you want to. I can feel it."

Lacroix's eyes widened. "Do you hear what you're saying, Nicholas?" he breathed. "You're asking another man to fuck you, to take you in the ass."

Nicholas blinked, confusion muddying the clarity of his desires. Then Lacroix's fingers moved inside him, pressing up against that secret spot. He sighed, trembling once more on the verge before Lacroix drew back again. His urges regained their razor keenness.

"Just ... just do it, Lacroix," he whispered, through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut tight. "I ... need. I need."

"That's right," Lacroix replied, voice soft, smooth with his satisfaction. "Your needs, Nicholas. Your ... desires. They are all that matter. The foolish notions that rule mortals do not apply to us."

His protégé cried out as he slipped his fingers from him, then froze as he leaned over him, his groin tight against Nicholas's buttocks. The supple silk of his tunic did nothing to conceal the iron hardness of the long shaft pressing along the crevice of his ass. Lacroix continued, murmuring into his ear, "Yes, I shall fuck you. And you ... you, Nicholas, will fuck me." He paused, smiling at the sensations roiling through their bond. "But..." Lacroix pushed himself away, patting Nicholas's flank. "But not today." He got off the bed, jerking his tunic straight. Nicholas reared back to sit on his heels, mind reeling, staring at the tall, slender figure in black. Lacroix looked up, meeting his gaze mildly.

"What is it, mon fils?"

"Wh- I don't... I will fuck you..?" He cupped his hands over his crotch, trying to soothe it as his thoughts whirled, again remembering himself kissing his master's ring, paying homage. Unsettled, exhilarated, he found himself growling, "And why not today? Now?"

Lacroix reached out to lightly stroke his progeny's cheek. "Did you enjoy that, Nicholas?"

"Yes," he hissed, his eyes glinting as he resisted the impulse to snatch that hand from his face, use it to drag the man back onto the bed. "Yes. It felt ... good." His fingers began roving lightly up and down his cock.

"Why would I deny myself that pleasure? Hm? Because the ephemeral mayflies we live among say I am demeaned by the act? Meaningless, Nicholas. These mortal conventions are meaningless, and I will not allow them to stand in the way of wringing every drop of pleasure I can from my existence. I am no more diminished by taking your prick in my ass than I am by taking it in my mouth." He smiled with a certain smugness at Nicholas's tiny intake of breath, his hands tightening on himself, that memory suddenly sharp in him. He was also pleased to see some of the bewilderment clear from his progeny's expression as his words began to sink in. Lacroix turned, still smiling, to walk to the door.

"Wait! And why not today?"

Lacroix looked over his shoulder, hand on the latch. "Because, Nicholas, I said not today. Remember? Besides, you have other business to attend to."

"Business..?"

Lacroix opened the door to reveal Janette, large eyes sparkling, highly intrigued by her maker's call. She glanced at Lacroix, gave him a slight nod and a tiny smile of shared mischief, then swept regally into the room. With difficulty, she restrained her giggles at the sight of Nicholas, kneeling on the bed, both hands gripping his penis, his mouth rather foolishly agape.

"Janette. I-uh, we-- It's not-" He shut up. She looked the queen, her head high, in a robe of white samite glinting with gold threads. He took his hands from himself, though he supposed he appeared no less a cretin with the monster that refused to die bobbing exposed before him.

"Really, Nicholas," Lacroix interjected, coming up to stand behind and to one side of her, his dark severity off-setting her flowing elegance. "Janette was quite aware of what we were doing."

"Indeed, Lacroix. Our ... connection was quite ... agitated," Janette murmured, her gaze on her lover. She flicked a quick glance at her maker. "And did you enjoy yourself?"

"Naturally." He bent to place a light kiss in the curve of her neck and shoulder.

"And it seems Nicolas did as well."

Lacroix glanced slyly at his rampant son. Then he circled Janette's shoulders with his arms, his fingers going to the tie at the collar of her robe. He loosed it, then undid the three below it. Nicholas watched, eyes widening.

"And now, ma chérie," Lacroix said quietly, "your lover has been exceedingly gauche and wishes to make it up to you." He took her robe where it opened at her throat and slowly drew it back. The silk slipped off her shoulders, then she was nude, the candlelight warming her pale skin. Nicholas's blue eyes turned black as his pupils dilated, drinking her in. Lacroix stepped back, his smug smile accompanied by a lazy blink, enjoying the burning interplay between his creations.

Janette's chin lifted, more secure in the pride of her beauty, captured forever by Lacroix's gift, than any princess in the finest, heaviest brocades. Nicholas's eyes roamed over her, caressing her, and she was well aware of her maker's lingering gaze. She wondered a moment why she hadn't taken them both together yet, then saw Nicholas's hand stray absently to his hard, arcing shaft and remembered she simply hadn't had the time.

Nicholas's avid eyes took in her high, round breasts, the arrogant thrust of their nipples, her narrow waist, the womanly flare of her hips, then stopped at the dark, silky triangle between her legs. His nostrils flared as the tip of his tongue slid out to touch his upper lip.

"Pull back the covers, mon fils," Lacroix murmured. "The spread has taken enough abuse." Nicholas started from his spell and eagerly lunged forward to drag the covers back, exposing the soft, white linen sheets. He looked back up at Janette, meeting her eyes, a tentative smile curving his lips. He gestured toward the open bed, managing a small but graceful bow from his knees. Janette stepped away from Lacroix, gliding to the bed, wide eyes locked on her Nicolas. She slid up onto the sheets, reclining with feline ease on her side, then, smiling now, became still, waiting for Nicholas's next move. Lacroix strolled over to the foot of his bed, tossed her garment across its foot, then leaned nonchalantly against the oak post supporting the canopy. Nicholas glanced up at him.

"Do you mind, Lacroix?" He looked pointedly at the door.

"Not at all, Nicholas," the other replied, ignoring the look. He spread his hands, made small pushing motions. "Carry on."

Nicholas glanced over at Janette and from her impish expression realized he had no ally there. He sighed. Considering what he had just done, what he was about to do, the presence of a third party was inconsequential. He had been having sex with others sleeping -- or not -- around him since his teens. But they had never been there to check his work. He shrugged mentally and did his best to put Lacroix from his mind by focusing on Janette.

He hesitated a moment, uncertain of where to start. Janette stretched back on the pillows with a smoldering smile, and his erection, which had flagged somewhat, sprang to fullness again. He moaned slightly, his resurgent cock, rigidly stiff, beginning to ache for a desperately desired release. Impulsively, he bent and set a kiss on her high-arched foot. She hummed, wriggling her toes, and he kissed them as well. She shivered and he realized that she was quite aroused herself, that she had been feeling the excitement through her bonds to Lacroix and to himself. He shifted himself to lie at her feet, and then with a sultry smile up the length of her body, he closed his lips around her big toe.

Lacroix smiled at the sound of his daughter's soft sigh, and watched with some interest as Nicholas slowly worked his way up her legs, kissing, licking, nibbling, before at last he reached the insides of her thighs. He didn't rush his task either, taking his time to savor Janette's sleek skin, the teasing aroma of her growing passion, her throaty moans and sighs. A note-worthy - and gratifying - restraint, given his progeny's ravenous craving to finally slake his lust, so stimulatingly evident in their bond. Nicholas's ... apology to Janette would be quite complete.

Lacroix's gaze lingered over the hard, round buttocks set so temptingly before him, and he contemplated taking Nicholas now, as Nicholas took Janette. Or one of them might take her from before while the other pleased her from behind. Both notions had definite appeal. He stroked his neglected phallus lightly through his tunic, then, smiling, dropped his hand. No sense in rushing this, in denying himself the joy of days, weeks, perhaps months, of mental and physical stimulation, of ... foreplay, as it were, before the final consummation. Besides, for this little ... lesson to be truly effective, his Nicholas, this intriguing new creation of his, should be the one to bring about that final step. To come to desire, away from the heat of passion, on clear reflection of what he'd just experienced, those pleasures of which he'd just had his first incomplete, tantalizing taste. To desire him, his initiator, and what he could do. It was far, far better to wait, relishing until then that state of arousal which brought savor, vitality, to his existence.

Nicholas nuzzled the curling fuzz before him, Janette's aching desire a tingling heat in his own mind, stronger than he had ever felt before. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the realization that the increased strength of their connection was because of their master's nearness. His primary thoughts, what little there was of them, concerned his own stupidity in denying her, in denying himself, this pleasure. He'd always adored the scent of a woman. How much more pleasing would be her taste, and the feeling of all those tender, convoluted parts against his sensitive tongue? He was who he was. How could this act, one that gave only pleasure, make him any less? He struggled against his impulse to make a mad dash for his goal, that release to be gained between Janette's thighs, determined to please her, to bring her to as near a state of desire as his own. To that same near-frenzy Lacroix had brought him...

With that thought, he became very aware of his maker's presence, looming behind him, his eyes upon him. A tingling ran up his spine, over the skin of his buttocks and thighs; the sensation of the man's tongue on him, his fingers in him, still burning along his nerves. More. He wanted more. Left unsatisfied, he wanted those fingers back, touching him in that place deep inside. Or ... more. To be filled... That rigid shaft, half hidden in the silk, pressed against him ... in him. His cock, squeezed between his belly and the bed, throbbed once with the thunderous beat of his heart, and he moaned with the pleasure/pain of it. He plunged his tongue between the lips of Janette's inner core, wishing it was his cock thrusting into her. Or Lacroix...

Lacroix watched as Janette, moaning, lifted her hips, pushing herself against Nicholas's mouth. Her fingers tangled in the dark gold hair, as Nicholas finally, finally, went at it in earnest. Fairly quickly, the impassioned strain smoothed from his daughter's face to be replaced by mindless rapture. She wailed as her bliss soared, and both Nicholas and Lacroix shuddered as it crashed through their bond once, and then again.

Lacroix left the room as Nicholas slid up her body to kiss her mouth with lips wet with her own fluids. He made his way through their rooms, tucked in the center of the manor, away from all windows, to the door of an inner atrium. He stepped through it into the small rose garden, taking a deep breath of the clear twilight air, fresh with dew and the blooming flowers.

He paused a moment, both internal and external senses alive. His lips parted slightly, as he inhaled slowly, lids sliding down to hood his eyes. He grunted softly as Nicholas's shattering orgasm surged through their link, closing his eyes through the rumbling aftershocks. Then grinning toothily to himself, luxuriating in his own unrelieved lust, his tantalized anticipation, he launched himself into the sky. A good kill and all would be very, very right in his world.

Fin


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