Soul Reaver Fan Fiction ❯ The Last Lesson ❯ Chapter 2

Vorador followed Janos through the retreat. Shadows from the guttering candle flames scuttled over the cold stone hall, leading the way. Janos stopped to open a door. Inside was a richly appointed bedchamber, the walls hung with tapestries. The massive tester bed bore long black velvet curtains, and the bed itself was covered with a down-filled midnight blue silk coverlet. Against the far wall were a chest of drawers and an armoire.

 

“Long ago, “ said Janos, “before the humans and vampires were deadly adversaries, we entertained human company. To accommodate them, we built these chambers.”

 

“I see,” said Vorador, looking around.

 

“Even though humans no longer accept our hospitality, I maintain the chambers,” said Janos, running his fingers over the luxuriant nap of the drapes. “They have their uses still.”

 

Vorador stared at the bed. So his intuition was correct.

 

“Was that,” and Vorador gestured toward the bed, “why you asked me to remain?”

 

Janos turned to face Vorador, his expression somber. “Yes.”

 

“I see,” said Vorador, and fell into brooding silence.

 

“Do you?” Janos laughed quietly, a melancholy sound. “For once, perhaps you see more than I do.”

 

Vorador moved toward Janos. “Why, Janos? Why me, why now?”

 

Janos placed a finger across Vorador's lips. “Tonight is not the time for such questions. Tomorrow, if you still wish to know, I will answer everything. But not until then.” He brushed against Vorador's mouth with a fingertip. Vorador felt the fingertip slide across his cheek, and down his jaw line. Janos let his arm drop to his side once more.

 

Vorador sat on the bed. He looked up at Janos. After a second of hesitation, Janos sat beside him. His wings trailed behind him like a sable feathered cloak. Vorador glanced down as Janos' hand slipped into his.

 

The silence in the room grew. Vorador turned towards Janos. Janos moved into his arms, laid his cheek on Vorador's shoulder. His eyes stared out into the chamber. Vorador could not guess what he saw, but knew that it was nothing presently with them.

 

Vorador glanced down at Janos. Janos raised his head from Vorador's shoulder. He took Vorador's face in his hands, leaned forward to press his mouth to Vorador's.

 

Despite himself, Vorador flinched. Janos released him, pulled away and sighed. “Vorador, have you never done anything like this?”

 

Vorador had, once. A distant cousin from his mother's side had stayed with his family for a time. The experience had not been unpleasant, merely unsatisfying. After it was over, he was grateful that there was no pretense of romance. Unlike his previous encounters, he had no need to feign affection or demonstrate any warmth he did not feel.

 

“It's not that,” muttered Vorador. It wasn't, either. “You were my teacher for many years. I have trouble thinking of you as a lover.”

 

“Vorador,” said Janos, with a warm smile. “When have you ever had a lover?”

 

Vorador recognized the truth in Janos' words. During his life as a Nosgothian nobleman, he'd had many partners, as such was expected of a man of his station. His first sexual encounter had been with a chambermaid of his father's household. Physically, it was satisfying enough. The girl was no stranger to the acts of pleasure, and took delight in teaching them to him. Vorador learned quickly. At the time, it seemed like his every wish come true.

 

Several hundred years later, Vorador now realized the profound emptiness of that encounter, and of every encounter that followed it. His partners called it lovemaking. To him it was only sex, the satiation of a primal urge.

 

Now after centuries, he understood that, like Janos, he too hungered. But his hunger, as yet, had no name.

 

Vorador took Janos in his arms again, his eyes taking in every detail of Janos' face. Janos drew closer, so that their lips brushed against each other. Vorador could feel Janos' breath float over his skin. Janos' mouth pressed to his, drawing closer, yet so imperceptibly that Vorador was unaware when it had become a kiss, knowing only that it had. His lips parted to Janos'. The kiss became a caress, a mutual embrace of tongues. Then it became something more. Janos' mouth slanted across his, greedy and devouring. His hands clawed at Vorador, grasping at the hard flesh.

 

Vorador cried out into Janos' mouth, even as his own hands clasped Janos' body. He was overwhelmed, almost afraid. Janos' passion had become a monstrous force that threatened to engulf and obliterate him.

 

Yet he wanted this.

 

Janos drew back. His eyes shone feral, blind with naked need. His body was poised and tensed as he stared at Vorador.

 

Vorador felt helpless. He had never seen his sire behave this way. For the first time in centuries, he was at a loss as to what to do.

 

The chamber seemed to echo with the sound of harsh, quickened breathing. Vorador could not tell if it were Janos' or his own. Maybe there was no difference.

 

“Janos,” whispered Vorador, his voice laden with raw emotion. “Janos!”

 

The demon that wore his mentor's form lifted his head. He shivered, and was Janos once more. “Forgive me, Vorador. It has been too long, I fear.”

 

Vorador grasped Janos' shoulder, held him. He placed his hand on Janos' cheek, trying to say in clumsy gestures what he had no words to express.

 

Janos took his hand, pressing his lips to Vorador's palm. In a fluid motion, he rose from the bed. He held out his hands to Vorador in invitation. Vorador accepted, rising to join him.

 

Vorador remained still, letting Janos take the lead. Janos ran his hands over Vorador's body. Vorador watched in bemused silence as Janos' fingers pushed open the fasteners of the crimson tunic, tugged at fabric that slid off his skin in a sensuous rush. Janos moved with measured grace, removing each garment with reverence, then putting it aside. Vorador's eyebrows rose. He had never considered the act of disrobing a form of lovemaking in its own right.

 

Vorador looked down. Janos had gone to his knees. Liquid sweetness flowed into him. Vorador closed his eyes, inhaled sharply. Janos had enveloped him, his tongue arching over Vorador's swelling shaft. Each delicate, wet stroke evoked an elemental response as primitive as time itself. Janos' hands clasped his buttocks, stroking the narrow hips and thighs. Vorador reached down to embrace Janos' head with his hands. His fingers brushed through the soft, dark hair. Vorador felt a growing tightness, and knew that for him, too, it had been too long.

 

Janos released him then, and stood. He unfastened the clasp of his belt. Vorador pushed Janos' hands aside. “No. Let me do that.” At least he could return the favor. Janos smiled, then, stood quietly as Vorador deftly removed the sleeveless robe. Vorador unfastened and removed Janos' leggings. He eased Janos' pants down to his hips and hesitated. Janos' pants were heavily tented in front.

 

Janos eyed him in mild amusement. “Vorador, are you embarrassed?”

 

Vorador said nothing, but frowned at his Maker. He finished removing Janos' pants, and rose to his feet.

 

Janos moved to the bed again. He drew back the bedcovers, beckoned Vorador to his side.

 

Vorador approached the bed. He took Janos' proffered hand and sat beside him. Again they embraced, mouths and tongues deeply entwined. Vorador felt Janos' hand slide down his back to his bottom. Janos' digits parted Vorador's buttocks, delved deeply into the tight crevice. Vorador pulled his mouth free of Janos', body tensing. “What—?“

 

“Vorador, you must know that I want you,” Janos spoke quietly. “Will you allow me to have you?”

 

Vorador, sensing his mentor's earnestness, was silent. He struggled between loyalty and unreasoning outrage that Janos would ask such a thing of him. “Janos, I am no catamite!”

 

“No, you are not,” countered Janos. “But this once, I would sample every pleasure your body has to offer.” As he spoke, his hand strayed to Vorador's groin to fondle him. Vorador closed his eyes in growing desire.

 

“For the rest of the night I will do whatever you wish of me.” Janos' fingers seemed to weave a spell upon Vorador, conjuring lustful response even as his fingers plied the feverish flesh. “But please indulge me in this.”

 

Vorador sighed and stretched out onto the bed, lying on his stomach. “Yes, go ahead. Just…do it.” He recalled the other occasion with distaste, and hoped that he would not have cause to regret his decision.

 

Janos leaned down to drop a kiss on Vorador's lips, then he rose from the bed. Seconds later, he returned with a small jar.

 

“I don't want this to be more unpleasant for you than it is,” said Janos, opening the jar. “Long ago, an alchemist friend made this unguent for me, for this very purpose.” Vorador smelled something earthy and warm, with an underlying herbal sweetness. A soft laugh escaped Janos. “At the time, I never once thought I would have need of such a thing. Fortunately it keeps very well.”

 

Vorador felt Janos' fingers slip between his tense buttocks again. His body stiffened. One of the fingers had found his sphincter, and had opened it. Vorador could feel himself dilate to accommodate Janos. He grunted at the disagreeable stretching sensation. “It will go much easier for you if you try to relax, Vorador,” whispered Janos.

 

There was sudden, spreading warmth, and the discomfort eased. Whatever Janos had applied to his flesh evidently worked. He felt the digit go as deeply as it could. Then it was withdrawn. He shivered. The sensation of being broached lingered. Not pain. It was something else. A sensation of vulnerability so alien that Vorador could not find words to describe it.

 

Vorador felt Janos kneel behind him. “Spread your legs,” said Janos. Vorador did so.

 

He felt the weight of Janos' body on his. Something that felt impossibly huge thrust between his buttocks. He felt it pause; just touching that last, fragile barrier between Janos and himself. Janos' hands grasped his hips. Vorador felt their bodies being pulled together.

 

Vorador gasped, his body rigid. Nothing could have prepared him for the shock of being penetrated. His sphincter clamped painfully shut around the invading member. He gripped the pillow with both hands, buried his face into it and moaned, eyes clenched shut.

 

Janos' hands stroked his hunched shoulders. “Vorador, I'm in.” Vorador listened to the hoarse whisper. “Tell me when you are ready.”

 

Vorador nodded. He breathed deeply, willing his body to relax. Little by little the cramping eased. Janos must have applied the unguent to himself before he entered Vorador's body because the warmth spread, becoming a deep glow. He turned his head to see Janos' face. “Go ahead,” said Vorador, steeling himself for the onslaught.

 

It never came. Vorador felt Janos move easily inside him. He expected pain, but there was none, only the voluptuous slip of lubricated flesh against flesh. Janos' arms reached around to encircle him. Vorador felt Janos' hips start to rock into him. With every thrust, Janos' thighs brushed against his bottom.

 

Vorador relaxed against the arms that cradled him. He listened to Janos' breath quicken. All the while, Janos pressed deeper into his body, moving faster. Janos' arms trembled, his embrace tightening. Even as Vorador felt the first stirrings of pleasure, he knew that Janos could not last much longer.

 

Janos gasped, and his body froze, quivering. His wings spread out across the bed. “Vorador,” he panted. He slumped forward, body limp, still embedded within Vorador's body.

 

Vorador lay still within Janos' arms, remembering the dissatisfaction that marked his only experience with another male. Devoid of friendship or respect, it ended as it had begun, in bed. When it was done, the two parted without exchanging another word. He never saw the other man again. It was just sex. But at the time, sex was all Vorador could imagine wanting.

 

This time was far different. Vorador didn't know why, only that it was. Unlike the last time, he wanted more.

 

Janos rolled over onto his side. Vorador sat up, faced Janos. Janos gazed back. For a time, the two shared the silence.

 

Vorador drew himself up to a sitting position. He held out his hand to Janos. “My turn,” he said.

 

Janos drew closer, taking Vorador's hand. “What do you wish of me?”

 

Vorador touched Janos' lips. “More of this.”

 

Janos understood and smiled. He bent low over Vorador. His wings fanned out to cover him, so that Vorador could see nothing of what he was doing, only feel it.

 

Vorador, smiled, too. He felt warm air flow over him in a sensual wash. Something bumped against him. Janos' lips. He could feel them on him, feathery kisses and soft bites. Janos' hands massaged him, cupping and kneading his body. He tensed, his head falling back as Janos' mouth engulfed him again. “Yes…”

 

Vorador ran his hands down Janos' supple back. He glanced down at Janos' bottom, now curious. Slowly, he placed one hand across both buttocks, let one digit slip into the tender cleft between them. He watched a shiver run through Janos' body. Janos' chuckle sent a shiver through his body, too.

 

“Janos,” said Vorador, looking around the bed. “Where is that jar?”

 

Janos released him, and sat up. He handed the jar of unguent to Vorador. Vorador opened the jar, then motioned to Janos. “Turn around.”

 

He dipped his fingers into the jar and applied the unguent to Janos, even as Janos had done for him. Janos' sphincter constricted around his fingers, but he kept working the warming salve deeply into Janos' body. The taut flesh yielded to his patient manipulation, allowing his fingers to slide deeper into Janos' body with ease. Everything was ready. He looked down. Janos grinned up at him.

 

“Once again, you prove yourself an apt pupil, Vorador.” Janos spoke with pride.

 

“High praise, Master Janos,” said Vorador. “Now let me show you something.”

 

“Would the pupil instruct the teacher now?” Janos looked at Vorador, amused. Vorador could sense the underlying curiosity.

 

“I would,” said Vorador, grinning back. Janos nodded, listening.

 

“I learned this ingenious technique from a chambermaid in my father's employ,” continued Vorador. “It can be adapted to either sex, and offers limitless opportunities for either partner to please the other.”

 

Janos looked thoughtful. “Ingenious, indeed. Show this to me.”

 

”With pleasure,” replied Vorador. “Stand for a moment.”

 

Janos smiled at Vorador's quip and rose from the bed. Vorador sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled Janos onto his lap so that Janos' legs straddled his. Vorador took Janos' hips in his hands. Slowly he entered Janos' body.

 

Janos grimaced. His wings flared wide. Vorador heard the hiss of sharply indrawn breath, felt Janos' sphincter tighten around him. His hands slid to Janos' bottom, running his hands over the supple muscles. He opened his mouth to flick his tongue tip over Janos' tiny nipples, first one, then the other. Janos inhaled sharply again, and this time Vorador knew that it wasn't pain. “You see the advantages,” said Vorador. He brought his hands back to cup and fondle Janos, stroking him to taut readiness. Vorador felt his own deep desire unfold and rise. He wanted this.

 

Janos smiled at him. “So gentle, Vorador. You amaze me.”

 

Vorador took Janos' hips once more, growing impatient. He raised and lowered Janos onto himself with care, all the while knowing an urge to move faster, thrust harder. So unexpected, the feel of Janos' body. Slick, yet tight and clinging like moist silk. Vorador wanted to lose himself in it, to banish all restraint and immerse himself in the moment. For Janos' sake, he dared not.

 

“Vorador,” said Janos, laughing gently. “I cannot believe that such extraordinary restraint on your part pleases you.”

 

Vorador sighed. “It does not, Master Janos. I have no desire to hurt you. But I have no desire to be gentle, either.”

 

“Then do not,” said Janos. “I have no need for gentleness.”

 

Vorador blinked, taken off-guard by Janos' candor. It seemed unlikely, completely at odds with the Janos he thought he knew.

 

“You look surprised,” said Janos.

 

“I am,” said Vorador. “Before tonight, I would not have expected any of this of you.”

 

“I am no saint, Vorador, whatever you may think,” Janos reminded him. “You have spent most of your life as a man in the company of other men. Tell me this. Are not all men part beast at heart? I have met no one who has never known any wayward desire.”

 

“I have not, either,” answered Vorador. He smirked. “Even the Sarafan bastards know what to do with their women when they think no one is looking. But…” He hesitated. Something troubled him yet, but he had no idea what.

 

Janos again placed a finger across his lips when he started to speak. “Please. No more talk, Vorador.” Janos spoke in a tense whisper. “You are making it difficult when it does not need to be. Do what your instincts tell you. Give into your true nature, and let me give into mine. There is no need for either of us to hold back any longer.”

 

Vorador understood and nodded in assent. He gripped Janos' hips again, brought them down, this time with jarring force. Janos gasped at the impact. His wings shook. “Yes, Vorador. ”

 

Vorador could not hear him. Nothing mattered to him now but the quickening plunge of his hips, and the rise and fall of Janos' body. Vorador only knew the slick grip that brought him closer to the edge with every stroke. Janos moaned, feral again, his hands tearing at Vorador's body. Vorador felt them raking down his back, but dimly, as something far removed. The rich scent of spilled blood filled the chamber. Janos moaned and buried his face against Vorador's neck, his bloodlust so intense, it was tangible. Vorador could sense Janos' mouth nuzzling his throat, like a newborn, guided by instinct alone. He turned his head, felt Janos' lips part in a soft snarl to suckle at the fragile skin. Vorador thrust once more, as deeply as he could. His body went rigid, every muscle straining. Janos' fangs sank into his flesh, tearing into the vein.

 

The boundaries between Vorador and his mentor blurred. Vorador felt his passion fuse with Janos' to create a more potent passion that encompassed them both and magnified as the two became one.

 

Gripped in the throes of climax, Vorador was oblivious to all. He knew only that he was no longer alone.

 

In that utmost moment, there was neither Janos nor Vorador, but one being. A single entity with two bodies that writhed together in consummation, united in mind and soul.

 

 

Vorador lay back, sated and drowsy. Janos lay by his side.

 

Vorador became aware of the sensation of wetness, and of the cloying odor that now permeated the chamber. He recalled how Janos, in the heat of passion, had slashed his back. The wounds had already healed, leaving no trace. But the silk coverlet beneath them was now covered with his blood.

 

“Janos,” said Vorador.

 

Hearing his name, Janos glanced at Vorador.

 

“Janos, this bedspread is now completely ruined.” Vorador's voice was grave.

 

“Yes. I fear it is so,” replied Janos, equally grave.

 

Vorador snorted, finding the seriousness of the moment absurd. Janos chuckled in agreement. The two looked at each other. Vorador shook his head, his sides already shaking. That was all it took. Within seconds, both men were reduced to tears from fits of uncontrollable laughter.

 

The laughter went on and on.

 

 

Vorador relaxed, feeling no urge to rise. Janos' presence alone was an open invitation to linger.

 

He glanced at Janos, then slid his arm around Janos' body. Janos smiled, moved to lay his head on Vorador's shoulder.

 

Nosgoth could have fallen into the Abyss for all that it mattered to Vorador. Janos was here with him. Somehow Janos' head on his shoulder made everything right.

 

“Vorador, why did you agree to remain?”

 

“Because you needed me,” said Vorador.

 

Not true. Instead, he needed Janos. No one else had ever meant as much to him. Losing Janos would mean losing a vital part of himself.

 

“I can understand why you would accept pleasure from me.” Janos nuzzled Vorador's chest, and glanced up. ”But why would you allow me to cause you pain?”

 

Vorador pulled Janos closer. Janos could have eviscerated him for all he cared, so long as it made Janos happy.

 

“Because it pleased you,” said Vorador. “Janos, you are my Maker. I would do anything for you. Surely you must know that.” He shrugged. “A little pain is trivial.”

 

“I do,” said Janos. His expression was troubled. “But why, Vorador? It cannot be simply because I am your Maker. I have made other vampires that have shown no loyalty to me, much less the loyalty you have shown me tonight.”

 

Vorador knew what it was. He knew, too, what he had felt and denied himself from the very beginning, and realized the name of his hunger. The one thing he had long sought he had found at last where it had always been. By his side.

 

“Because I love you, Janos,” said Vorador.

 

It was true. Vorador saw that it could not have been any other way. The centuries they had lived, both united and separate but always together, had brought them inescapably to this point.

 

Janos raised himself on one elbow to stare at Vorador, mouth open, eyebrows raised as far as they could possibly go.

 

Vorador fought back an urge to smirk. He had never seen his Maker look so astonished.

 

“Again you amaze me,” said Janos. His voice became wistful. “I never thought to hear those words from your lips, least of all to me.”

 

“I know of no one else that I would say them to,” said Vorador.

 

“I see,” said Janos.

 

“Do you?” Vorador. “Once again, you see more than I do.”

 

“Once perhaps, but no longer.” Janos smiled and leaned forward to cover Vorador's mouth with his. A simple affirmation, not of passion, but of emotions stronger and more enduring. Vorador had never known a moment so perfect.

 

“Janos." Vorador ran a fingertip over Janos' lips. "You had that unguent made for me, didn't you?”

 

Janos kissed Vorador's digits, one by one. “Of course.”

 

Vorador grinned. “Did you think it would take as long as it did to use it?”

 

“I had hoped not,” answered Janos, and laughed.

 

Vorador laughed, too. “Rejoice, Janos,” he said. “At last we are equals.”