Hi! I never really did getting around to writing the story between Shizuka, Asato Ichijou and Kaname like I planned to in 'Smooth as Glass', but I'd really like to develop the relationship between Kaname and Ichijou (lecherous old man that he is!) since the author of VK manga has left so much to the fans' imaginations. So...this is another attempt, set about 30 years after the manga/anime.

Enjoy!

The Court of Faith was constructed to intimidate. It has been built in the likes of the human Colliseum in Rome, and indeed is used for a similar purpose – for the people to watch a life duel between opponent. The contestants are to compete in a round arena, flat and devoid of any obstacles. Row upon row of seats rise all around the arena in large circles, to be filled with by watching spectators.

Kuran's followers cluster beneath his standard – a loping wolf with its jaws agape. Beneath that fluttering flag of scarlet and sable, three sigils are prominent - the proud swan of house Souen, the gambolling seal of house Aido and the rearing desert viper of house Kain. There are many others, noble houses of little name and lesser worth, all backing the Kuran wolf with their support. The vampires stand around anxiously, tense and expectant of the upcoming match between their lord and I.

And on my side, beneath the flag of the Council of Ancients there are thirteen banners representing each noble on the council. Age old symbols, all of them a hand beneath the onyx and silver pennant of my thirteen thorned rose. There are few on my side who are young – indeed, we are all of us aged and experienced, all the more suited to hold the position on the Council.

Kaname approaches from the other side, flanked by his three loyal lieutenants – Hanabusa Aido, Akatsuki Kain and Ruka Souen. Time has worked its potent magic, and gone are the children that stood clustered in the Moon dormitory of Cross Academy. In its place are adults.

Ruka Souen takes after her mother and sisters in almost every aspect, from the lustrous sheen of pearl in her hair to the slender, sensuous figure encased in dewy skin. She is most worthy of Kuran, a rare maid who, I expect, will surpass her mother in beauty.

Kain has put on another few inches and now tops me by a full head and a half, but height matters not between one so different from he as I. The steadfast flame in his eyes burns as brightly as his vermillion hair. He is Kuran's longest standing friend and ally, for I have reason to say that my grandson has broken platonic ties with Kuran.

Aido is the youngest, and at a few years shy of fifty, has changed the least. His face is still boyish and round, still with that stubborn furrow about his golden brows. My eyes flick over him once before dismissing him with impunity, and I see the flash of insult in those azure eyes.

My eyes finally fall on Kuran, and oh, how he has changed, like stored wine. When I first saw you, my boy, you were a tubby little cherub not even three feet tall, but already a crown prince at that, the apple of our eyes. You grew up and learnt the cruelty of our ways, our cold bloodedness and apathy, but you were never shaken by it. Emotions like pity and horror have long been bred from the line of royalty...so it was that you looked like an angel while committing a demon's deeds. You killed your uncle and lost both parents, and moved into your appointed role as 'lord' without shedding so much as a tear.

You came to my hold at the age of sixteen? Or was it fifteen? Time passes so quickly! A glorified murderer; my servants, my family, and I, we had to suffer your authority, a young little upstart who knew too well a pureblood's ability to make others obey. I couldn't help admiring you, even as I wanted to break your will to mine.

Look at me, I said to you. Look at my power. Look how I toy with you, Kuran.

I know why you refrained from pushing my limits, Kuran. You were alone, a pureblood, yes, but even purebloods have to rest. I had too many friends for you. I still have too many friends for you to match. For almost four years, you would look me in the eye, and hold my gaze as your parents would have instructed you, but you never dared to do more than that.

Looking at him now, it has been worth the wait of five decade years just to see how time has perfected his visage.

Kaname Kuran is a mere shade over fifty years old, and he looks like a man of his mid twenties. Gone is the whipcord lean youth that accepted my obeisance in the Academy all those years ago. He too has grown, and not just taller. His shoulders have broadened to a warrior's breadth, his chest thickened to a man's heaviness, his jaw is just that much stronger. Here stands a prince of alabaster in his prime, at the peak of his manhood. His hair falls around his shoulders in lazy waves, and his eyes come afire with pleasure and delight as they meet mine.

We cross the boundary between the stands and the arena. My followers array themselves calmly in their seats, but Aido frets worrisomely in his seat. The tension in the air ascends to a tangible crescendo of heartbeats and stilled breathing, but I remain calm and collected.

So does Kaname. He is wearing the colours of his house, ebony and crimson, and they are as dark and rich as the scent of his blood. He stands so near I can feel his blood, pounding through his skin, singing its siren song beguilingly and – dare I say it? – seductively.

For a moment I am overwhelmed by the sheer vitality of him, that I am taken aback and even a little intimidated. But my apprehension departs as quickly as it came, and my excitement returns tenfold to burn in my blood like a drug.

I draw steel; a two handed great sword that most would have difficulty wielding, I make it dance and spin as an extension of my mind. I am three centuries your senior, and you cannot hope to match my experience with skill, strength and speed. You unsheathe your twin swords; the very air hums with he eager song of sharpened steel. You hold two long, sleek 'bastard' blades that cut as well as stab. It suits you, Kaname Kuran – prince of royalty and bastard of the council – you could even be my bastard, because I was your surrogate father.

We meet each others' gaze. A learned scholar am I, and a young fool you are, smirking and raising an elegant eyebrow in caustic acknowledgement of an old friend.

The sheer arrogance in the carriage of your head, the tilt of your comely chin, is utterly provocative in itself. I want to see your disbelief as I defeat you in single combat; I want to see the despair in your eyes whenever I approach you; I want to see your hands tremble as you pleasure me – I want it all, now.

Because for all your blood and power, you stand naked and vulnerable before we rulers of the council, belly nipple and manhood tipped in silver moonlight. The bourgeoisie will coo at such an image of a whore.

There is as a discernible sexual vibe from my councillors and I have to smile. I step as though shifting my weight, and lunge forward, smooth as summer silk; Kaname moves to parry, our blades flashing and aiming for flesh.

There is a collective gasp at the speed of the attack, this is nothing to us – I twist aside and counter effortlessly, driving Kuran back.

Quicker than fleeing deer and fiercer than the mongoose, we whirl around each other, blades clashing again and again, and somehow, somewhere, it is no longer a duel, but a dance – a performance we have been practicing for all our lives. Moonlight flashes off liquid mirrors.

Suddenly we break apart, springing lightly to opposite sides of the ring. My sword is poised over my head, ready to be brought down. Kuran's blades are crossed in front of him.

Kuran cocks his head, making his wrists swivel like a snake's head.

The dance resumes at a breakneck pace, without warning, and we slide into our roles simultaneously. We are art, a masterpiece of fear and delight, we are a whirlwind of gold and black and red, neither giving way, neither slowing a beat.

Come now, Kuran, is this all you have? All these poses and formations I can read like a nursery rhyme – the cat in the courtyard; the falcon's dive; oh, a rare one – the heron's flare; but each of these are old school techniques.

I switch gears swiftly, and you follow suit; we up the tempo of our waltz to a tango, except that our dance floor is littered with traps and mines. Time is distilled. The flutter of your eyelashes is crystallized in my sight, the evanescent flash of delight seems to linger a lifetime.

Left – right – left – left – left – left! So close! My sword glances pass the concave of his side and he bends away to dodge it. So close! The throb of my blood and his must be filling the arena. I spare a glance upward and nearly pay for it as double bolts of light dice the air in front of me. I have to leap back to avoid being halved.

When I was your age I moved with dexterity. Long ago, you were already moving with mastery. Your back arches, your legs step and turn with a sinewy suppleness. Each of your action is a deliberate and erotic display of your body, and from the amused sparkle in your eye, you know it.

All the eyes of the arena are on you.

What do you guys think? Do review and leave a comment or two regarding anything! Constructive criticism is always welcome.

By the way! One of my lines is an adaptation of one in a poem. Who can guess the name of the poem and the author (as well as the line?) xD Kudos goes to the ones who get it!