14 comments/ 55310 views/ 59 favorites All Hallows' Even By: Pelaam Pelaam October 2007. Christophe felt the tear that trickled slowly down his cheek, but was unable to wipe it away. Nor could he shout to summon help, even if any would hear or heed his cry. He was cold, alone, terrified and helpless. As evening had fallen on the night of All Hallows' his elders, led by the itinerant priest, had marched him to be tied to the sacrificial pole outside the village. He wore only a rough shift that covered him from neck to mid-thigh. He had been bound tightly and a gag of the same coarse material as the shift, and which smelt of mould, had been affixed. It dug cruelly into the side of his mouth but, as with his tears, the youth could do nothing to alleviate his suffering. For the last three years on All Hallows' Even, a sacrifice had been selected from the village. Like the two girls who had preceded him, Christophe was left as an offering to the unseen and unknown evil so that the rest of the village may live safely for the rest of the year. The young man thought he had known dark, lonely days since the deaths of his parents the previous winter, but this was even beyond the emptiness he had felt at their passing. Cold seemed to have crawled into his very marrow turning it to ice. He whimpered disconsolately. None would come to succour him. They would remain warm in their homes, windows and doors locked securely, and return to mourn over his body after the sun had risen. The village had not always had such a barbaric act. Strange to say it was only after the arrival of the itinerant priest that they had begun the sacrifices. The grey-haired man had wandered into the small village that lay nestled against the large, dark, forbidding mountains. It was summer and their priest had died the winter before. Christophe had like the old, frail man, but had taken an immediate dislike to the wandering priest. He called himself Michael and was as enigmatic as he was charismatic amongst the elders of the village. He had soon been embraced to their bosoms although Christophe was not the only one of the younger people who felt ill-at-ease in his presence. His dark eyes seemed to look at them...inappropriately. He had heard tales that Michael was to be found carousing in the tavern or in the company of the local bawdyhouse women. It was not the saving of their souls that he seemed to crave. Within a few short months, Michael had persuaded the elders that to ensure the village prospered and remained safe from the evil rumoured to live in the mountains, a sacrificial lamb was necessary. Christophe had been just sixteen when he found that the 'lamb' was to be pretty little fifteen-year-old Mary, one of his few friends. Last year it had been seventeen-year-old Rachael, this year, just one scant week past his eighteenth birthday, it was to be him. Christophe trembled in a mix of cold, fear, anger and loneliness. He would be found, as the others before him, naked, violated and dead. Taken brutally by the unnamed evil. He would be mourned as he was buried then the village would spend a year going about its normal business, until the next sacrifice was needed. He moved his head to ease the discomfort. His blond hair was now plastered to his head thanks to a light rain that was falling. He closed his normally sparkling sapphire eyes. He knew he would never experience warmth or love again and his body and soul cried out silently for the loss. Christophe felt a different cold as he remembered the priest's hands touching his naked body. He shuddered uncontrollably. The touches were meant as a benediction, but when the priest had anointed him with Holy oil, they had felt like a caress. They had lingered over places no one had touched Christophe before and the young man had not liked the wolfish smile when he had blushed crimson at the intimacy his naked form had endured. Just like Mary and Rachael before him, Christophe was as pure in body as he was in spirit. Although, a growing few in the village had challenged the priest, the discovery of the bloodied, broken bodies and subsequent safety of the village inhabitants ensured their voices remained unheeded. A noise in the oppressive darkness had him whimpering fearfully into his gag. His eyes searched the night for its origin and picked out twin, red pin-pricks of light that glowed eerily and were headed towards him. Christophe screamed around the cloth in his mouth and pulled frantically at the rope that held his arms tightly above his head. He felt the blood trickle down his arms, but continued to struggle, only caring about escaping the beast that came towards him. He used every ounce of his slender frame's strength, only to finally slump, sobbing, still imprisoned. Terrified and exhausted Christophe summoned the courage to fearfully raise his head and stared at the red-eyed figure. It had remained motionless during his panicked efforts, now it moved forward again. "I hope you have not used up all your strength, Christophe. I want to feel you struggle as I take you." Christophe's eyes opened wide in shock. He *knew* that voice. It was not the voice of a beast. He watched as the figure lowered a lamp containing two small, red candles and then pushed back the hood of the thick cloak it wore. He shook his head disbelievingly as the priest stood before him, his pudgy face contorted by a lascivious leer. He heard cold, mocking laughter. "So gullible your elders, plus, of course, corruptible. Some liking to enjoy very...special...sessions with young girls that I was able to arrange for them. Girls that required chastisement for example. They were a little happier that a male youth was the sacrifice this year. I think I will stay just one more year before I vanish as I came. Of course, you will not be here to see that." Michael reached for Christophe's cheek and gripped the blond's chin with painful tightness as the boy tried to turn away. "Mary fought like a hellion for all her tiny size, Rachael laid immobile and prayed. I did have half a mind to have you last year, but Rachael snubbed me in the village, sealing her fate and sparing you...until now. You are quite exquisite for a boy. Very beautiful," he murmured, his face closing so that Christophe could smell his fetid, brandy-laced breath. The words of evil spoken from a so-called man of God had numbed Christophe to his very soul. He stared helplessly at the man before him. Michael's body was corpulent, his face ruddy and pockmarked. Although he had always found the man repugnant, it was the sheer ugliness of the man's soul that was so repellent to the bound youth. It was as though Christophe could feel the cold aura of evil the man emanated. "I got hard from touching you before," the soulless voice hissed sibilantly into his ear. "I almost spilt my seed. Then I had to show restraint, but now I can do with you as I please. As often and as mercilessly as I choose. Nobody sets foot outside their door this night, not when I spend two weeks visiting everyone personally to put fear in their hearts." Christophe's head had begun to shake back and forth in denial once again. He could not believe this was happening. He sent a frantic, silent prayer for succour, from any source. Surely this was a nightmare from which he would soon awake? "What is that you say?" Michael mocked, touching Christophe's gag. "But I am a priest? Ah, yes, I was once a priest, 'tis true. However, my more carnal ways and enjoyment of corporeal pleasures brought censure and I was de-frocked. But that was many years and even more miles from here. You would be surprised at just how easy it is to insinuate yourself into a position of power in these small, isolated villages. There are so many men who are gullible, greedy, corrupt or credulous enough. And tonight, an innocent like you pays the price." Christophe tried to squirm away as clutching hands groped greedily beneath the short shift. They stoked at his thighs before reaching to fondle at his lax length to his muffled screams of despair. Frantically he kicked out, pleased with the contact he made and the grunt of pain that ensued. He would not simply lie and let himself be ravaged. Even if he must ultimately lose, he would force Michael to fight for what he wanted to take. A short, cruel laugh preceded two hard, brutal blows to his unprotected midriff and Christophe's breath was expelled forcefully. As he hung limply, slaps to his face had his head ringing and left him dizzied and disorientated. He felt himself be cut from the pole, his hands still bound, to crumple to the ground. Too dazed to resist, he felt the shift sliced from his body, his nude form illuminated by the full moon that suddenly shone bright, making him look like an ethereal being. "Let's get you positioned..." The priest's voice penetrated his haze as he was roughly pawed before being rolled on his stomach, his legs spread obscenely apart. "What....who is it?" Michael shouted into the darkness. "Show yourself." He stood holding his lamp, certain he had heard a sound. He stepped away from his victim, angered his despoilment had been interrupted and anxious to return to it. Christophe tried to move. He dug his fingers into the damp earth and tried to drag his body away. His arms, aching with having been pulled so tight above his head, were slow to obey his brain's frantic commands. He gave a sob as he painfully inched forward. There was a shriek of fear, cut short and the sound of a brief struggle before silence once again settled as a thick blanket. A hand to his naked shoulder had Christophe screaming into his gag once again, then he realised these hands were trying to soothe, not violate and the voice was different. He went limp, small hiccupping sobs breaking free. "I have you now. You are safe." The voice was accented, deep, dark and soothing to Christophe's distraught spirit. He let himself be rolled over and felt the gag be carefully removed. As the moonlight illuminated him once more, he thought he heard a gasp, but his rescuer was shrouded in darkness. His hands were cut free and he clutched desperately at the body that held him before plunging into an abyss of darkness. **** Turquoise eyes opened slowly. Christophe's body ached everywhere and he gave a soft moan. Then he sat up and stared in disbelief. He lay in an opulent four-poster bed. The cream sheets were silk, the thick woollen coverlet a deep indigo with blue and gold stitching. The curtains of the bed and at the window opposite were the same indigo. He could see an over-stuffed armchair in blue and gold brocade which sat by a roaring fire to the left. The lower half of the room's walls were in dark wood wainscoting, the upper half painted a creamy colour and decorated with tapestries which helped retain heat. Across from the fire was a large wooden chest of drawers and on each side of the bed, a matching bedside locker. Glancing at himself he saw he wore a cream silk nightshirt. From the way it hung off one shoulder then the other, it was clear the shirt's owner was of a broader build. He let his hand slide over the silk and then the wool. The weave was very fine. Whoever owned this home was of wealth that Christophe could scarce imagine. He knew there were castles dotted all around the mountains where he lived, but none were particularly close to his village, yet the room reminded him of a castle, not a house. He wondered just how long he had remained unconscious. He jumped at a noise to the left and a door opened after a perfunctory knock. Christophe could do nothing other than stare at the man who entered. Straight hair, as black as a raven's wing, hung like a glossy curtain to broad shoulders. Silvery grey eyes were warm and intelligent. A patrician nose and almost chiselled features denoted nobility and breeding. His height and breadth told Christophe it was this man's shirt he wore and which covered his nudity. The thought made his body tremble with an unknown sensation. The black velvet jacket and pants seemed to have been sewn onto his frame as they caressed the strong muscular body and a pristine, white frilled shirt completed the ensemble. The clothes seemed to emphasise the man's beauty, elegance and masculinity. Christophe's eyes ran back up to the man's face and a crimson blush stole across his cheeks as he met the amused look from his benefactor. "I...I am sorry if I was staring. It was very rude of me," Christophe tried to halt the flow of words before it became an incoherent babble. "There is no need for shame, young one," the stranger replied. His accented speech was strangely reassuring as he approached the bed. "I have no doubt you are as curious about me as I am about you. Of course, I had the benefit of seeing you as I tended you. It is only natural you would wish to study me." Christophe was certain he could sit and listen to the man speak all day, the beautiful, lilting voice soothing him. Then, just as his initial flush had faded, it surged once again at the man's words. "Relax, young one," the voice now held at trace of amusement that matched the man's eyes. "I am Lucien and this, such as it is," he said waving his hand in a sweeping gesture "is my home. You are safe here and welcome to remain for as long as you wish." "Christophe...my name is Christophe." Big blue eyes locked on grey that glittered enthrallingly. "A beautiful name that befits its owner," Lucien said with a slight bow. "But how did one so lovely come to be beaten and naked? Were you attacked by bandits?" He sat at Christophe's side. "Will you tell me?" Christophe had the strangest feeling Lucien knew it was not bandits and was testing him to see if he would trust him with the truth. He gazed levelly into the entrancing eyes. He would gift this man with the truth, he deserved nothing less. Hesitantly, but with mounting anger and fervour, Christophe recounted how he came to be where Lucien found him. As he spoke, Lucien sat, a silent sentinel, as the tale was told. "I cannot be sure, but I...I think some of the elders knew it was him. They... they let him... two innocent girls...he hurt them, killed them ...would have hurt me...I thought perhaps...perhaps one brave soul from the village..." A strong hand clasped his shoulder as Christophe's anger threatened to become tears once more. He looked at Lucien, the bigger man's tight visage and clenched jaw testimony to the restrained anger. It was also apparent in the cold clipped tones, so at odds with the warm voice Christophe had previously heard. "I am sorry for the loss of those who fell to his hands before but I am glad that you were spared. You were alone when I came across your body." "In truth I have been alone since the death of my parents, my lord. They died last year." Christophe's voice was soft and sad. "I have almost forgotten what it is like to love and be loved." He blushed once more at the direction his words had taken. He glanced shyly at Lucien, hoping he had not caused offence. He received an affectionate smile that encouraged a timid one of his own. Then the spell was broken as Christophe's stomach protested loudly that it had been empty for too long. "It would seem you need to feed, young one," Lucien laughed. Although the sound was pleasant to Christophe's ears, the young man had a strange feeling it had been a long time since the older man had laughed. "Lie here and relax. I will have some food prepared and bring it to you." "Surely your servants, my lord ...?" Christophe began, but stopped at the elegantly raised eyebrow. "I have a few loyal to me that dwell here,' Lucien replied. "But I choose to serve you... and my name is Lucien." "Yes, my lord...I mean, Lucien." The look from the silvery eyes seemed to bore into Christophe's very soul. It took an act of will not to fling the shirt from his body and bare his breast to the penetrating gaze to let Lucien see into his heart. As though reading his thoughts, Lucien smiled once more and then was gone. Christophe sat and thought in the other man's absence. He believed he could feel an air of melancholy from the older man. He had mentioned servants, but not family. For all of Lucien's wealth he might be as lonely as Christophe. Loneliness. At the thought, Christophe brought the loving faces of his parents to mind. They may have been poor, but they had love and if they lacked some material goods, they had each other. Sometimes it was the warmth of their love that had kept the cold at bay. Their loss still weighed heavily on his heart. "You are crying." Lucien's concerned voice broke into his reverie and he dashed at the tears with the knuckle of his hands. Then he was in a strong embrace. Unthinkingly, he clutched desperately at the broad shoulders and luxuriated in simply being held by one who cared and grieved once more for his loss. As he began to recover control of his emotions, he was eased back from the strong body of his comforter. He mourned the loss of warmth and security and gave a watery smile as Lucien's thumbs wiped away his tears. "If I were given the opportunity, Christophe, I would ensure you never cried again, nor felt cold or lonely." Christophe felt the sincerity behind the words and his smile became a little stronger. "You have already shown me such kindness, I can never repay you, Lucien," he said. "The pleasure of your company for however long you would grant it to me, that is payment enough," Lucien said. "Now you must eat and drink and recover your strength." He brought over a tray for Christophe to peruse. "What was it that caused you such sorrow?" he asked as Christophe stared at the food before him. "The memory of my parents. We might have been poor, but I knew I was loved, that there were those who cared." "For what you deem it worth, Christophe," Lucien said. "I care. You have shown courage and fortitude and I am glad it was I that found you." "It means a great deal," Christophe said sincerely and met the soul-searching stare evenly. It was the truth and he was pleased at the smile he received. His eyes slid to the tray. It contained fresh bread, various meats and cheeses as well as a large glass of water. There were also two glasses of a rich, ruby-red wine. "I thought you might drink with me once you had some food inside you," Lucien offered. "If it pleases you." "It would please me greatly," Christophe said sincerely. His hesitant picking at the food rapidly became a ravenous attack. He cleared the tray, sighing with satisfaction. He accepted the goblet of wine as Lucien removed the tray. He took a small sip. It was strong, robust and warming and it made the younger man more loquacious. "Tell me of your dreams, Christophe," Lucien encouraged. "I really only hoped to emulate my father," Christophe murmured. The wine made him feel warm and relaxed. He looked down at the coverlet, gripping it tightly. "I hoped to find myself a wife to share my life the way my father said mother was his soul-mate." Concentrating on the pattern of silk thread, Christophe failed to see the disappointment in Lucien's eyes. "I thought it would be what I wanted...but now..." "Now, Christophe?" Lucien asked, leaning closer. "I am not...I do not..." he sighed his frustration. "Would it help you to hear that although I have long searched for one to be at my side, I have never sought a wife?" Lucien asked. "Never..." Christophe repeated. Uncertain cerulean met steady silver. "I do not think it is a wife I now seek," he said, plunging forward bravely. A cool hand stroked his cheek and he leant into the caress. "Tell me what you want. I have to hear it from your own lips," Lucien encouraged. "Tell me whether you could want me." "Yes," Christophe croaked. "I want you. I have never thought to want a man and I do not understand what I feel, but it is as though your soul calls to me." All Hallows' Even "Do you trust me?" Lucien asked, closing the gap between them so that his breath blew gently against Christophe's cheek. "Yes." As the word left his lips, Lucien's mouth closed over his. Unknown passion and desire surged as if a spark had ignited dry tinder. Christophe's hand fastened in hair the colour of midnight as he was lowered onto the bed. The nightshirt slipped, fully exposing one shoulder and a small pink nipple haloed by a rose-pink areola. Christophe cried aloud as sharp teeth nipped the innocent flesh only for a moist tongue to sooth the small hurt. He could barely believe that a touch to his breast would inflame his manhood, but he felt it stiffen as Lucien worshipped his nipples, ripping the shirt to reach the virginal flesh beneath. He moaned wordlessly, his head thrashing, as his breasts ached and throbbed in concert with the hardness between his thighs. A sharp bite to one reddened nub in concert with a tweak to the other and Christophe cried out and shuddered through his climax. He panted softly in the aftermath, trying to speak, to apologise, fearful that his untimely release would cause Lucien to abandon him. "Beautiful," Lucien husked. He locked his eyes with Christophe as he brought his fingers to his lips. He smiled at the wide-eyed gaze as he licked at the precious crème. "Sweet." He offered his fingers to the young man and was pleased to see Christophe suck at them. Christophe closed his eyes for a second as he considered his own salty taste. He opened them again to see Lucien naked. The older man's nude body every bit as magnificent as Christophe imagined it would be. The coverlet was hurled from the bed, the nightshirt following and Christophe lay exposed to Lucien's ravenous gaze. The younger man considered he should feel shy, but the love and lust in glittering grey eyes had him writhing with a need he could not name. He instinctively spread his legs, offering himself. He had no maiden's portal for Lucien to unite their bodies yet he desired to house the long, thick shaft that hung hard and heavy between Lucien's legs. "For all the time I have lived I find I do not possess the words to adequately describe your beauty," Lucien said, his voice a silken caress of Christophe's ear. "Your skin is like the finest marble," he continued, kneeling between the spread legs and stoking satiny inner thighs. "It is flawless, yet warm and living. Your face is more beauteous than any rendition of beauty I have seen by the best of artists' hands. Your eyes are the blue of a cloudless sky and I could lose myself in their depths. Your hair is as soft as silk and as bright as the sun. I could never have presumed to have found one of such innocence and purity that could love me. That could be willing to share their body with one so dark as I. Tell me, my angel, let me hear your dulcet tones speak the words I have yearned for so many cold, empty years." "My body is yours, Lucien. I have no knowledge of how I might please you. But I trust you and I ... I love you." Lucien groaned as if in pain and stretched to mate his mouth with his golden beauty. He felt warmth slowly seep into his heart, a feeling long since fled. As the kiss ended, he gazed into azure depths that held love and worry. He pulled one of Christophe's hands over his breast and placed one of his over the slender chest of his mate. "Feel how they beat in harmony, little one. My heart can only beat for the one I love." "Show me love, Lucien," Christophe pleaded. "Make us one." His body ached for this man in a way he was unable to understand or bear. "I will, sweet one, I will," Lucien promised, peppering small kisses over Christophe's face. His lips kissed and nipped down the expanse of fragile flesh at the vulnerable throat. He sucked briefly over the thundering carotid. He nibbled briefly at the still red nipples, before descending lower. He stared avidly at the small, slender shaft that jutted from its nest of blond curls. Holding to slim hips, he enveloped the virginal flesh, the primal beast within appeased to be the only one to know this boy so intimately, would only ever be the one to have such intimate knowledge. Lucien teased his lover with slow suction and swift licks. He nipped daintily at the sensitive underside and swirled his tongue over the smooth, domed head. He probed insistently at the tiny slit, his mate's juices intoxicating and addictive. Dropping lower, his tongue explored the velvety sac, the precious orbs it contained high and hard. Lower again and he licked at the sensitive flesh between his mate's sac and the hidden opening he was yet to explore. The impassioned cry reminded him of his lover's lack of experience and he quickly engulfed straining flesh as Christophe found completion once more. Lucien drank deeply of the innocent offering, reluctantly releasing softening flesh. He kissed his mate, crooning pleasurably as leaden hands petted at his shoulders and back. "You give me surfeit of pleasure, my lord," Christophe murmured. "What can I do to please you?" "Let me love you. Let me make you reach the heavens. I need to touch you intimately, to open and stretch you enough to receive my flesh." "I am ready, Lucien," Christophe said. With patience, tenderness and infinite care the older man began his preparations. Lucien poured oil onto his hand. Christophe jumped as a wet finger slid sensuously between his cheeks and probed at his entrance. "Relax," Lucien leaned forward to lick the head of his flaccid length. Christophe jumped again at the unexpected action, but immediately sank back into the bed groaning. Lucien's warm, wet mouth distracted him and before he knew it, his shaft was halfway enveloped within Lucien's mouth and there was a finger fully inside him. Christophe let out a pained sound and tried to squirm away from the wanted invasion. Lucien's finger felt too big. The finger moved and Christophe was on the verge of begging Lucien to stop when he sucked Christophe completely into his mouth. "Oh," Christophe cried, arching his back. Lucien pressed his hips down, further impaling him. Christophe moaned at the sensation. The finger still felt large, but it was no longer painful. Then, Lucien crooked his finger. The pleasure shocked Christophe. Stars exploded behind his eyes and he let out a cry that he was sure could be heard in the heavens. His body convulsed and shook. "What was that, my lord?" Christophe gasped when he could able to speak again. His mind was still a morass from the jolt of unexpected delight. Lucien stroked the jewel within once more. Another cry freed itself from Christophe's throat as his body received another pleasurable jolt. "That is your prostate." His finger curled and hit the spot again, making Christophe twist in the sheets and pant harshly. "A special sweetness for us to enjoy, my love." Lucien resumed sucking Christophe, his tongue doing wicked things to the head of the now fully resurgent shaft. "Lucien" he whimpered, threading one hand again into his lover's hair. He needed something to anchor himself. More oil was poured onto his entrance and then a second finger slowly pushed into him. Christophe bit his lip, expecting pain once more, but experiencing only fullness. He relaxed a little as Lucien scissored and twisted his fingers, probing deeply, yet mindful of keeping pain to a minimum. Lucien added a third finger and Christophe's hand tightened in his hair at the strain. Three fingers were uncomfortable. He lifted his hips a little to ease the pressure and inadvertently pushed his hardness deeper into Lucien's mouth. He let out a soft sigh of pleasure. He pumped his hips slowly, enjoying the feel of his flesh moving wetly in and out of his lord's mouth. He barely noticed the fingers moving inside him and jerked when they pushed against his jewel. Christophe shook and gasped, pleasure was building up so fast inside him that he squeezed his eyes shut and his teeth ground tightly together. Lucien withdrew his fingers from his body and pushed Christophe's legs up so his knees were aligned with his shoulders. "I want you to get me ready for you," Lucien said, taking one of Christophe's hands and pouring the remaining oil into it, "Rub it on my manhood." Christophe stared at his hand and then at his dark lover. He reached forward hesitantly as if afraid he trespassed. His fingers slid slowly around the engorged flesh. Christophe took comfort from the realisation that it felt no different from his own shaft. He was amazed at its heat, as if the fire of desire was at its core. His hand slid up and down slowly, his eyes seeking continuous approval for his actions and he was emboldened by the groans of appreciation that spilt from the more experienced male's lips. Lucien removed Christophe's hand once satisfied he was sufficiently oiled and before the innocent, virginal touches could ignite him to climax before entering his lover. He positioned himself at Christophe's entrance. With a deep breath from both of them, Lucien began to push slowly, but steadily into Christophe's body. Christophe's eyes watered at the burn but he let out no sound. He wrapped his legs around Lucien's waist as directed. He had never felt so full before. Pain began to ease and the feeling of pressure decreased. He shifted his hips for a better position, causing Lucien to move inside him. His eyes fluttered open in surprise as the movement made his sheath contract against Lucien's hardness. As Lucien was fully enveloped, each man felt himself become complete; all the cold, dark places in each becoming filled with warmth and love. Lucien rocked carefully into his lover's beautiful body. "Lucien!" Christophe cried as his lover's shaft nudged his sweet spot. Pleasure swept through his body, rolling in continuous waves around him. Lucien withdrew a little further and pushed in a little harder, moaning softly. Little mewls spilt from Christophe's mouth as Lucien repeated his actions over and over. "Lucien," he moaned again. "Let me love you," the older man continued. He continued to rock against his mate until, with a shuddering cry of his name, Christophe came again and wet heat spread between them. As the tight sheath clenched around him, Lucien gave a primal bellow, fastened his teeth at Christophe's throat and poured his essence into the still-trembling body. Christophe gave a wanton cry, firstly from the hot juices filling his body and then at the suckling at his throat. He knew he would wear his lord's brand of possession the next day. He felt light-headed and floating and only slowly realised that Lucien was still buried inside him...and still hard. "No more, my lord," he begged. "I surely cannot bear your pleasure again." He gave a guttural groan as Lucien's hand unerringly found his sated flesh, beginning a steady stroking that caused his limp length to begin to twitch at the touch. 'Once more, beloved," Lucien crooned. This time his undulations became harder and deeper. Christophe was barely aware of Lucien's never-ending thrusts. Every touch he felt, every sensation coalesced into a single sensation of ecstasy that enveloped his entire body. Then, Lucien lifted Christophe's legs over his shoulders and pounded into him with all his strength. Christophe wailed his appreciation with a deafening cry. His body was shaking, he was hard again, and Lucien was fisting him as he slammed into his body, both men groaning loudly. "Tell me you want this, want me," Lucien demanded, his hips ramming into Christophe's heat, his hand stroking at the rigid rod. "More than anything ... more than anyone," Christophe vowed. "Tell me more," Lucien demanded. "I ache for you, I burn for you. It is an all-consuming fire within me. I need you more than breath," Christophe panted, his head thrashing from side to side, small hands griping tightly to his bigger mate. "Your words inflame me, my love," Lucien growled. "I would hear still more." "I cannot bear it, my lord. Lucien, please, spill your seed within me, give me release." "If I offered you eternity with me, would you take it?" Lucien persisted, continuing his erotic assault. "Yes, yes, with open heart and open arms. Give me your seed, Lucien." He screamed as a cataclysmic climax stormed through his slender frame. He shook and shuddered, the tiny trickle of his seed no reflection of the enormity of his release. He felt the wet heat surging through his bowels as Lucien's seed flooded his body. He moaned as Lucien's teeth once more latched at his throat and a lassitude began to settle over him leaving him floating between awareness and oblivion. His eyes fluttered closed and silence descended in the bedchamber. **** A small whimper escaped into the darkness. Christophe tried unsuccessfully to open leaden eyes. A caress to his brow settled him instantly and a loving voice was in his ear. Softly, my love. I am here. You are too weak to move. You need to feed and rest once more." Christophe panted with need, as a hunger he had never felt before swept through his body at the coppery scent that suddenly permeated the air. He sucked greedily at the warm elixir. "Not too fast, angel," Lucien crooned and laughed softly at the low growl of displeasure as he removed his wrist from Christophe's mouth. He kissed the pale lips, licking at them, tasting himself and cradled the small, cool body closer to his powerful frame. "Sleep in my arms, beloved. When you next awake, we will face eternity together. **** The next morning a small procession left the village to go to the sacrificial pole. Some already cried for the loss they knew they would find; the loss of another bright, young innocent. Others were concerned that the priest was not in his lodgings, but took solace in the suggestion the prelate was probably already praying over Christophe's corpse. As they approached the site, the party split into two. Those that ran shrieking back to the village in fear and those who remained in stunned shock and disbelief. The pole to which Christophe had been bound was snapped in half like a dry twig. Instead of the golden youth, it was the priest's body they found, throat torn out as if by some huge, fell beast. Yet no beast of four legs could have impaled the priest's dead body on the remains of the pole imbedded in the ground, nor could it have penned the message, in dated, ornate script, that was fastened to the copse's chest. 'A curse on you and your village. You embraced evil and fed it those you should have fought to the last to preserve; your innocent and your pure. Instead you gave them willingly in a sacrifice that was neither needed nor warranted. Search not for Christophe for he has been taken far from your reach. He will never be hurt by you again.' **** The words proved prophetic. In less than the turn of a year the village was nothing more than a graveyard of empty, rotting and decayed buildings. It was devoid of and shunned by humanity. Its name uttered in whispers and associated forever with the depravity it had nourished. The name of Christophe passed into legend. All that was ever found of the youth was the coarse shift he had been forced to wear. Many miles away, in a castle that had been little more than an ornate crypt and was now a home, a being of the night that had once walked in solitude and shadow marvelled anew at the naked, golden form of his sated lover. Lucien bent once more to drink his fill of kisses from lips that spoke of love and devotion. Christophe smiled contentedly and tugged his lover's head down for more intoxicating kisses as the dark male pulled back. Lucien gazed with adoration at the beautiful young man that illuminated his life and warmed his heart. A day did not pass that Lucien failed to offer thanks to the guiding force that led his steps one fateful year ago. The ancient vampire and his chosen mate knew neither would ever know coldness or loneliness ever again.