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Jean-Pierre is afraid in all his eighteen years the Master has never hurt him; it is anticipation and longing
that keep him so still. Savoring the touch, the brief caress that leaves him aching for more. He clenches
his jaw, resisting the temptation to kiss the fingers on his lips. He did that last year and Pierre had
withdrawn his hands as if burnt, as if soiled, and the rejection had stung. So this year Jean-Pierre keeps
himself still, making the most of the moment while it lasts.
Pierre doesn't linger, pulling his hands back once he is reacquainted with the shape of Jean-Pierre's face.
Tonight another carving will join Pierre's collection of the family. Jean-Pierre watches eagerly while Pierre
unbuttons his ruffled cuff, pushing the sleeve up past his wrist before raising it to his mouth. Pierre's lips
are marked with blood when he lowers his wrist again, holding it out to Jean-Pierre while being careful
not to let it drip.
"With my blood you are bound, Pierre intones the ritual words while the boy bends down to taste the
blood pooling on his wrist. It tastes strong in Jean-Pierre's mouth, salty and metallic. Swallowing it is like
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drinking brandy, a burning warmth in his stomach and a dizzy euphoria feeding his desire. He swallows
eagerly, murmuring in protest when Pierre reclaims his arm. Licking his lips to catch the last of the taste
he watches Pierre licking his wrist clean before refastening his cuff.
"Your wrist, Pierre tells him: less than a command, more than a request.
Jean-Pierre fumbles slightly undoing his cuff, eager for what he knows comes next. Once his sleeve is out
of the way he places his arm in the vampire's hands.
Pierre pauses for a moment with his lips against Jean-Pierre's wrist, marking the location of the veins
with his tongue, his breath cold against the damp skin. Nibbling on his lip Jean-Pierre tries to keep still, to
not give away how good that touch feels. He takes a sudden breath as fangs pierce his skin and there is a
quiet moan that he isn't aware of making at the tugging sucking that seems to caress him from inside.
"By your blood you are bound, Pierre intones with a flash of fang as he encourages Jean-Pierre to taste
his own blood.
His blood tastes flat compared to the vampire's and doesn't feel anything like when Pierre drinks and
Jean-Pierre is quick to lift his head again, trying to swallow the taste of blood from his mouth. Pierre
gently takes his wrist again, licking the puncture wounds closed and Jean-Pierre swallows a whimper as it
sends a shiver down his spine. When Pierre releases his hand Jean-Pierre withdraws it slowly, closing the
button with trembling fingers.
"There, not so bad, Pierre murmurs.
"Ah, not so bad, Jean-Pierre replies with a shaky smile, bad isn't a word he'd use to describe it.
Jean-Pierre takes a deep breath before undoing his elaborate formal collar, his fingers still unsteady. It is
only the fifth year that he has been considered old enough for the next part and he has been looking
forward to it for weeks. Taking the collar off and holding it in his hand he kneels by Pierre's chair, tilting
his head to bare his throat to the vampire.
"My blood is yours. My life to nourish you, my blood to give you life, Jean-Pierre whispers the words
his Papa taught him on his thirteenth birthday.
"A gift treasured and used, Pierre replies, moving close to the heat of the boy's throat.
The blind vampire pauses for a moment, his fingers lightly tracing the hot skin of Jean-Pierre's neck. With
a breath he can smell the blood so close to the skin. His tongue and lips find and test the strong pulse
before he moves back, away from the siren call of pulsing blood, to a point farther from the artery. His
fangs pierce the skin in a smooth motion and he sucks lightly, savoring the rich flow of living blood.
Jean-Pierre's breathing hitches at the first sting of the bite before he carefully steadies it to long slow
breaths, trying to enjoy the sensation of Pierre feeding without being so lost in it as to do something that
would make the other pull away. The tugging on the side of his neck and the soft caress of lips and
tongue call to a deeper part of him, a part is much harder to control than his breathing. His hands tighten
on the collar-ruffle, bending the careful creases out of shape in the effort to keep them from straying on
his lap. Jean-Pierre's breathing is getting ragged now and his breeches are too tight by the time a gentle
tongue licks his neck.
"Thank you, Pierre says solemnly, catching the last of the blood from his lips.
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"You're welcome, Master, Jean-Pierre replies very sincerely and Pierre smiles, nodding his head in
recognition.
"Well ... it's late ... you should probably get going to bed, before your sister comes down to chastise me
for keeping you up. Pierre's tone is more hurried than usual.
"Yes Master, Jean-Pierre replies demurely. If he thought it would help to protest he would but as it is
he leaves quickly.
* * * *
Lying on his bed in his small room Jean-Pierre is glad of the privacy of having no brothers. Moonlight
leaks in through cracks in the shutters, casting strange shadows but Jean-Pierre doesn't notice them, his
eyes are shut and his thoughts are fixed on a room two floors away. Calling forth the memories of that
evening Jean-Pierre runs his fingertips over his face, trying to recapture the touch of those cold fingers.
Pressing his fingers to lips Jean-Pierre wonders what it would be like to kiss Pierre. His skin is cold to
the touch, would his mouth be warm or cold against his own? Would his fangs scrape Jean-Pierre's
tongue? Fangs...
Jean-Pierre sighs, his fingers search the side of his neck in vain for puncture marks. Licking his lips he
sighs again at the memory of Pierre's bite, his breath coming faster as the memory of it proves enough to
rekindle his arousal. He pulls his nightshirt off, the fabric scraping his cheek in his haste. His hands move
to rub and tweak at nipples while Jean-Pierre imagines the vampire over him, drinking from his throat
while clever fingers play with his nipples.
With a moan Jean-Pierre moves a hand down to rub his aching arousal, thinking of Pierre's hand
touching him there instead. Gentle fingers explore the sensitive flesh, a light teasing touch here, a firm rub
there. Thrusting into his own hand Jean-Pierre moans at the thought of Pierre surrounding him, touching
him in any and every way he can think of.
"Master ... Pierre, is his strangled cry as his orgasm explodes over his chest. Lying there panting he
trails his fingers in the milky liquid, bringing it to his lips and wondering how Pierre would taste.
* * * *
Pierre waits for the footsteps to fade into silence before leaning back in his chair with a sigh. He savors
the lingering flavor of blood in his mouth, catching the last traces of it with his tongue. His fingers run
lightly over his clothing as he enjoys the warm, vital feeling of arousal that comes with feeding. It is
something that Pierre has felt many times, every time he has fed from the blood of the living, and yet there
is something sweeter when he drinks from this boy. This delightful boy with his beautiful voice and loving
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