Usual disclaimers apply. Masquerade by Molly Schneider copyright 1998  
 
Venice stank.  But it was an oddly rich and beautiful stench, as darkly
fascinating as the ancient palazzos and the odd little passageways.  He
wandered into one of those passages now, leaving the noisy crowd on the
square behind him.  Smiling softly to himself, his senses singing with the
blood he'd just drank, he wondered idly just how long it would take before
they discovered that one of the more flirtatious revelers was missing.

The one following him was one of his kind, he could tell that, but not who
it was.  An old one, apparently, who could keep his thoughts completely
hidden.  Nicholas took a turn into a tiny court, then vaulted to the nearest
roof, and over again to a rubbish-strewn alley.  Good try, friend, he
chuckled.  Let's see you catch up--oof!  He was pinned against the rough
stucco wall behind him by a preternaturally strong arm across his chest.

He snarled, his eyes flaring.  There was no response from his captor.  It
was a male, a little taller than himself, wrapped in a black cloak from head
to toe.  A mask of Bacchus covered most of his face, but Nicholas could see
the glowing eyes, and the man's fangtips glinted in the moonlight.

"Let me go, if you know what's good for you."

There was again no reply, except for the tiny, elegant snick of a
switchblade knife.  What was this?  Why would a vampire use a knife?
Nicholas struggled, but the arm that held him was immovable, and his kicks
were deftly blocked.

No escape.  The knife came near him, light running along the sharp edge--an edge so sharp that it sliced through his cheek almost painlessly.  He gasped
at the shock, then  growled in his throat as the stranger delicately licked
the trickle of blood from his face.

Perhaps this one had seen him kill the woman and was now savoring the
enjoyment of her blood distilled with Nicholas' own immortal essence.  He
glanced around, looking for a weapon.  There was nothing; and then the blade sliced his other cheek.  The cool wet tongue drew an involuntary moan from him.

The cord of his cloak was slit with one slight movement; the knife circled,
deciding, then slit the front of his shirt.  His nipples puckered in the
cool night air.

Another gash, this one across his chest, and the stranger watched for a
moment as the blood welled, then bent to lap it up before it reached his own
cloak.  The stranger's mouth moved to his nipple then and he tensed to try
and break free again--but this time the blade was laid gently against his
carotid.  A warning; it *was* possible for their kind to bleed to death.

Against his will he found himself responding to the adept mouth teasing his
nipples, sucking, then biting first one then the other.  With shame and
anger he felt himself harden.  He brought his fists up into the stranger's
stomach, but the arm still pinning him  kept him from putting enough force
into the blow.

Fine, he thought, resigned.  Kill me now and get it over with.  There was a
wave of humor from his tormentor.  The stiletto moved lower, slicing
delicately into the skin of his stomach.  As the stranger bent to enjoy the
veil of blood, Nicholas had a moment in which he could have broken free and overcome his captor--but he let the moment slip by unheeded, as he rolled
his head against the wall, moaning deeply in his throat at the unbearable
pleasure.

His erection throbbed painfully, and his mystery lover cupped him with a
gloved hand.  He thrust against it, growling, and the stiletto neatly sliced
open the laces on his breeches.  The nearness of the razor-sharp blade to
his genitals made him tense, but the knife went away, replaced by a brush of
cool lips as the cloaked man dropped to his knees.

Cool lips, nuzzling him.  The briefest flicker of a wet tongue, an
exhalation of breath that made him gasp.  "Please," he begged, his voice a
low rasp.  "Do it, mother of Christ, do it!  Please!"--begging for the sex
where he would not beg for his life.  Then the stranger's mouth engulfed
him.  No teasing now:  the suction was strong and immediate.    With a force
not possible in human relations Nicholas slammed into the other's mouth, the
vampire on his knees meeting Nicholas' thrusts with equal ferocity, his lips
meeting the blond curls at his victim's crotch.

His orgasm was coming, and just as it hit the stranger drew his fangs the
length of Nicholas' cock.  Nicholas screamed in ecstasy, and his tormentor
drank down the sacred mixture of blood and come in deep gulps.

Then he was tumbling to the cobblestones.  A strong arm caught him, embraced him.  He grabbed for the proffered wrist and tore into it.

"I knew it was you," he said when he came to himself.

"Liar," LaCroix's voice hissed against the nape of his neck.  He was drawn
closer against his master; he could feel the impressive bulk of LaCroix's
erection pressing between his buttocks.  "I'd love to take you here,
Nicholas.  Take you right here and now in this filthy alleyway."

Nicholas dropped his head back against his master's shoulder.  "Do it . . ."

The mask of Bacchus tilted towards the aquamarine sky, the deep shadows of the eyeholes barely dimming the luminous glow within.  The cruelly sensuous mouth smiled faintly.  "Barely time enough before dawn--but still, time enough."

In the space of a mortal breath Nicholas was flung roughly forward onto the dirty cobblestones, the grit scraping his palms and bringing the faint tingle of blood to his nostrils.  He quickened again and growled, looking over his shoulder at his master with golden eyes.

The black cloak fluttered in the night air, then settled over them both.  Nicholas's breeches were pulled down and glove-clad hands ran over his bared buttocks before parting them.  One knee shoved his thighs apart and he rested his forehead on the stones, lifting his ass slightly for the expected penetration.  Instead, a leather-covered finger pushed into him.  "Not that," he rasped impatiently.  "We don't have time for play; just do it!"

There was a cool chuckle, then a black glove flickered on the edge of his vision, plucking something from the ground.  "But I do so *like* to play with your ass, Nicholas."  Something cold pressed into him--cold and hard and uncomfortably shaped. He winced away, then a wave of wantonness swept over him as he realized it was the hilt of the knife that he was being teased with, and he bucked against it with a harsh little cry.

"Oh, my son.  You can be such a delicious little slut when the spirit moves you.  You know, I believe I'd like to hear you beg a little."

Nicholas stole a panicked glance at the barely lightening sky.  "We're running out of time," he gasped.  "LaCroix, we have to do it now!"

"*I* don't have to do anything."  The knife-hilt began a leisurely stroking inside him.  "Beg, Nicholas."

"All right.  Fuck me, LaCroix!  Please fuck me, you know I want you to, you know I want you to fuck me so bad--"

It slammed into him then, that cock as hard and cold as the stones he lay on.  LaCroix was riding him furiously, not taking the time to match their rhythms, but Nicholas didn't care.  His every fiber was screaming with lust and bloodhunger, focused only on the drive to climax, his own mindless snarls echoed by the beast on top of him.  He ground his own erection relentlessly against the cobblestones--his cock was bruised and bloody, he could feel it; so was his ass, but it only excited him more.  "Give it to me," he demanded.

A strong arm circled his chest.  He was lifted onto his knees and he flung his head back, arching his neck for his master.  Fangs drove savagely into him, and he felt the coldness of LaCroix's come flooding inside him just as he seized the other's wrist and tore into the vein, his own seed bursting from him.

It was brutal and quick, their feeding.  Nicholas dropped LaCroix's wrist as he felt the heat on his face and chest.  Moaning in fear, he turned into the shelter of LaCroix's cloak.

The elder wrapped him securely in black wool and protective arms, and took to the air.  Soon Nicholas felt cool darkness again, then the softness of his feather bed as LaCroix laid him down.  His lover left him, and he slept.

FIN