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Standard disclaimers: the FK universe and its characters are property of James Parriot and Sony/Tristar, among others; and I'm not making any profit from this story.  Permission to archive at www.fkfanfic.com , JADFE, and ICS.
Comments and maybe a little smoked sturgeon with a slash of Stolichnaya to stormborn@prodigy.net
This is an epilogue of sorts to One Night in Byzantium and Byzantium Nights.

Dawn in Byzantium (01/01)

Outside the thick walls and tightly shuttered windows of the house the day was beginning in the streets of Constantinople: a steadily rising bustle heralded the dawn.  The two men inside the darkened room paid no heed; their attention fixed on each other, eyes of ice locked on eyes of indigo.

Nicholas broke the gaze, lowering his eyes to the snowy flesh beneath him as he continued his absorbed exploration of his master's body.  A soft sound of pleasure rose from the other's throat as hands traced the contours of pectorals and ribs, lightly brushed the concavity of the stomach, moved down to the semi-erect phallus.  He paused.

It intrigued LaCroix, this new obsession of his son's.  He hardly knew what name to put to it.  Fascination? Ardor?  It had been the best part of a year since he'd first come to Nicholas' bed and for most of that time the child had been...well, responsive, certainly, but almost passive.  Nicholas would abandon himself to the pleasures of his senses, but shy away from acknowledging them.  Recently, though, some dam had broken in him.  One morning a month ago he had rejected LaCroix's advances; the next morning he had flung himself upon his father in a wide-eyed lust.

And since then he had prowled along the paths of pleasure with a focused intensity that delighted LaCroix, pricking him out of the self-assured rut he'd fallen into.  He could feel the pale blue of his eyes being displaced by a paler gold as he watched his son leaning over his erection.  "Well, Nicholas?" he asked.  "It's a cock.  What do you plan to do with it?"

If he were mortal, he would have blushed.  Even so, his hand closed, tender-rough, around the shaft.  He ran his hand up its length, feeling it grow heavy and rigid in his grasp.  Power...  And yet, he thought as he looked closely at the rose-silk head, so exquisitely sensitive.  Running his thumb over it he felt, rather than heard, LaCroix's reaction.  He leaned closer to lick it gently, feeling the incredibly smoothness.  Brushing it with his lips, then taking just the head inside his mouth, he had the impression of some deep mystery in this part of the male body.

He wanted it.  Relaxing, he slid it easily down his throat, until all but the last few inches filled him.  Mmm... so good... he held it until felt LaCroix's hand come to rest lightly on his hair, then tightened his lips around it and drew back quickly.  A sharp gasp rewarded him, and he repeated the maneuver again and again, each time taking more of it.  When his lips finally met the wiry brush of public hair a surge of lust stabbed through him, and he wrapped his fist around his own erection.  He moved faster, stroking himself as he moved his mouth on LaCroix's cock.

Then his head was abruptly pushed away.  He snarled, and looked up at his master with golden eyes.  "Do you want to finish it now?" LaCroix asked.  "Or move on to other...amusements?"

The elder smiled as that wicked, slanting grin appeared on his son's face.  As Nicholas sat up LaCroix's gaze dropped to the cock his son was still stroking.  Lovely...  A throaty chuckle brought him back from his distraction.  Nicholas was positively leering at him, his head tilted to one side as if considering his next move.  The young one took hold of LaCroix's cock again and leaned forward to breathe, "I like this."

"Good," LaCroix said deliberately.  And waited.

He hesitated, momentarily unsure.  "Is it wet enough?"

"That's up to you."  Their gazes locked again, then Nicholas bent quickly over his master's cock and coated it thickly with saliva.  Not relinquishing his grasp on it, he flung one leg over the other man's hips, straddling them.  Meeting those eyes again, he held them with his own as he gradually impaled himself, working his inner muscles to take it in.  Finally he gasped, and stopped.  For a moment he sat still, his sphincter throbbing rhythmically against the immutable hardness inside him.

Strong hands caressed his thighs, digging into the tight muscles.  LaCroix looked at his protege with hedonistic greed, mingled with a healthy appreciation of beauty.  Those full thighs met the strong hips with a balanced economy of line.  The stomach was flat but not meagre--a richness of supple flesh punctuated by the hollow of the navel rising to the deep ribcage.  A light dusting of golden hair, palely delicate nipples... and a throat that both the mortal and the vampire found maddeningly erotic.

Nicholas' face was glazed with his own arousal; eyes half closed, mobile mouth parted with pleasure.  He worked the cock inside him with soft growls, exploring it with those deeply intimate muscles.  As LaCroix watched his movements became more pronounced, until he was grinding slowly away on it.
His gaze focused on his master's face and he leaned forward without breaking his rhythm to spread his hands on the other's chest.  "You feel so good inside me," he hissed.

"Your ass is delicious."  LaCroix let his fangs show as he hissed back, his voice a rasp of darkness.  "What you're *doing* is delicious... "

A deep moan rose out of his son; his eyes closed as his head rolled in abandon.  One of LaCroix's hands moved upward to grasp his hip as the other caught the back of his neck, pulling him closer.  "Faster," he demanded.  "Harder.  Yes, that's it, Nicholas... Harder!"

Nicholas was slamming himself down on LaCroix's cock; his fist moving in a blur on his own cock.  "I want--" he sobbed, "I want--"

"Then take it!" LaCroix roared, pulling that golden head to his throat as he twisted his head and sank his own aching fangs into the sweet flesh.  His orgasm exploded within him; the semen and the blood boiling over.  Nicholas' ass spasmed tightly around him, draining him as the young one drank from him with a savage joy.

At last he collapsed on LaCroix's chest.  LaCroix welcomed the heavy weight of him, the slick feeling of his sweaty skin, the smell of blood and come rich in the room.  Gut-deep, this feeling of satisfaction spreading through them both.  So good, that he abandoned all thoughts of getting out of bed to clean up and wrapped his arms around his son.

Nicholas' voice was slow and heavy.  "Did you like it?"

He kissed the top of the golden head.  "Yes, mon amant, very much indeed."

"I'm glad..." the voice trailed off in slumber, before LaCroix had a chance to say anything in response.  So he just smiled, cradling his son, and followed him off to sleep.

<FIN>

Molly/StormBorn
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