Title: Waltz in Black

Pairing: Josef/Mick

Rating: R for low level sexual content

Disclaimer: All publically recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Mick is inexorably drawn to Josef.

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I watch as Josef saunters through the open doorway of my apartment, all confident-hipped swagger and cat-like litheness of movement. Once again--inexorably, inexplicably-- I find myself drawn to him.

My eyes lock with his for a moment, and he grins at me and arches an eyebrow.

"What's the matter, Mick, cat got your tongue?"

He takes a seat on the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, fingers tracing figure of eight circles over the cool black leather.

"Well are you just going to stand there gawking all day, or were you planning on offering me a drink at some stage?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, just a sec."

I'm stammering, nervous. I'm sure he can hear the way my breath keeps hitching in my throat. And still he keeps tracing those damn circles over the couch. If I didn't know any better I'd swear he was trying to seduce me with those elegant fingers.

"Here."

I press a hurriedly poured glass of blood into his hand and then take a seat next to him.

The silence is unbearable. I need to fill the space with words, anything to take my mind of his fingers, his fingers tracing circles over black leather, the thought of his fingers tracing circles over my own flesh.

"Great game last night, boy those Yankees really know how to play."

My attempts at conversation sound forced and asinine, and Josef laughs and shakes his head.

"Mick, relax."

He rests his hand on my knee then, a gesture of reassurance that sends a shiver running along my spine.

Josef looks at me for a moment, his gaze holding my own, and I swear I am made of glass. He smiles, eyebrows raised. His hand moves upwards, lightly stroking over my inner thigh, the accidental brush of fingers over cloth covered skin.

I swallow nervously and try to avert my eyes. Picking up my own glass from the table in front of me, I take a few swift gulps and then feel Josef's fingers prying it from my own.

He places the glass back down on the table and then suddenly his legs are straddling mine, knees parted and thighs astride my lap. He grips my wrists with his hands and presses my arms above my head.

"Josef."

I want to say the word 'don't.' I am nothing if not a product of my time, but Josef Kostan is as alluring as he is intoxicating. All that power and age contained in such an impish face and youthful body, I can't resist him.

"Please."

My voice is a strained whisper. He leans forward and presses his lips against mine. He tastes just the way I've always imagined, the scent of blood and roses, heady spices and rich copper.

He begins to move against me, hips grinding in circles over mine. The heat and friction is unbearable and I moan into his open mouth and move with him.

The pace of our dance increases. The movements of my hips become increasingly erratic as he leads and I desperately try to follow.

"Oh god."

My back arches, drawn upwards by an invisible string stretched taut above. And then the string breaks and I'm falling into an abyss of pleasure, feeling the front of my pants dampening, my own fluid mingled with his as we sink our fangs into each other's flesh and ride out the crests of our pleasure.

He leans back and looks at me when it's over, a triumphant grin on his face. Then he shifts and returns to his previous position seated next to me on the couch. He picks up the remote from the armrest closest to him and flicks on the TV, casually flipping through channels until he finds one he wants to watch.

By silent mutual consent, we agree not to talk about what just happened, but every now and then I run my tongue over my lips and taste the lingering scent of blood and roses, heady spices, and rich copper.