DISCLAIMER: I don't know who owns FK and the associated characters, but it certainly isn't me. This story *is* mine, however, and anyone who wants, for whatever odd reasons, to reproduce it, is quite welcome, provided s/he lets me know about it. There. I hope that covers it. This is a Natalie-LC story, fairly graphic sex, language, a little violence. Special thanks to Elizabeth Milford, who explained what a Valentine was. That Defenceless Position=20 By Wayward ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Do I know how I feel about *you*? God, I don't know how I feel about *Nick*. Neither do I, for that matter. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Natalie winced slightly as she scrubbed her back in the shower. The shower gel foamed in the tiny scratches his fangs had left in her skin. Her thighs, her back, her arms-- actually, almost all of her muscles ached. He was thorough, but rough. She didn't mind. Not much. Not really. Although, just once, she mightn't have minded a little.... well, a little gentleness. The wildness in him had attracted her in the first place, true enough. But control was sensual, too. Of course, the simple fact that she was still alive and kicking after bedding Lucien LaCroix implied a certain amount of control on his part, but still. *On the other hand....* If she expected tenderness from him, didn't he= have=7F the right to expect the same from her? That was a little intimidating. It would suggest an emotional side to their relationship that she didn't think existed. *On the -other- other hand, how could I bring up the subject at all? It isn't like I can just turn over and go, Hey, Lu, why don't we cuddle? I mean, after that, we might as well go on and buy matching robes. I mean, we don't do a lot of talking, anyway.* *On the other-- hang on, how many hands is that? Never mind. You've avoided the main question pretty neatly, Lambert, but face it: You don't know -what- the hell you have with him. It certainly isn't like you and Nick....* As usual, the thought of Nicholas Knight brought with it a pang of guilt. He had no idea of what was going on between LaCroix and Nat. *At least, I hope not. Of course, it isn't his business, but still. *Howsomever and nevertheless, there isn't anything between LaCroix and I. It's just fuck and run. Fly. Whatever.* She shivered slightly, thinking of the previous night. They hadn't said so much as "Hello." He buried his hands in her hair and forced her to her knees. Of course, it wasn't completely unwillingly; she was undoing his trousers even as he pulled her to his crotch. She took his already-erect cock in her mouth, noting in a distant, clinical part of her mind the taste of blood. She took him as deeply as she could, nearly choking. Above her, LaCroix tightened his grip in her hair, thrusting into her mouth. Without asking, or warning, he yanked her to her feet and took her standing against the living room wall, hard and fast, her pantyhose in shreds around her thighs. He pulled her blouse from her body, trailing his fangs over her shoulders, leaving thin red lines. She came once, twice, and found herself on her knees again, tasting her own wetness on his cock, as he came in her mouth, blood and come mixed together. After, he had dropped to his own knees beside her, kissing her mouth, her neck, thrusting his fingers into her again and again until she came a final time. She lay, dazed, on the carpet. He stood, zipped his trousers, and was gone. Her arms were bruised this morning where he had gripped her, but except for that, the whole thing might've been a dream. Irritated, Natalie realised she was getting aroused again. She dragged herself out of the shower, wrapped a towel around her dripping, dark hair, and prepared to face her day. All things considered, things went pretty well. Nat was satisfied with herself. She kept up on her paperwork; the workload was light; her hair more or less behaved itself; and Nick was in a good mood. She joined him and Schanke for a coffee break. Well, she and Schanke drank coffee. Nick just held his cup. The homicide detectives had cleared a case and were in a celebratory mood. When Schanke went back to the counter for a refill, Nick leaned close to= her. "Nat?" "Yes, Nick?" "I just thought I should say... I'm sorry. For things in general. I don't appreciate you as I should, and, well, I'm trying to change that." His blue eyes shone with sincerity. Nat was genuinely touched. She smiled at him. "It's no big deal." "Right." He smiled back. Dr Lambert was whistling to herself as she headed to the grocery store. The sun had just risen, the air was cool and crisp, and life was looking pretty darn good. She tossed milk, bread-- *Coffee. Have I got coffee?* She couldn't remember. She grabbed a can, just in case. *Fruit? Yeah, why not.* A pound of nectarines found their way into the basket. *Okay, that should do= it.* During the drive home, she occupied her thoughts by searching for a decent song on the radio. *Commercial. Commercial. Commercial.* By the time she got home, she still hadn't found anything good. *Thank God for CD= players....* As she made her way upstairs, she debated dinner plans. *Maybe I should call Nick, see if he wants company. It's hard to tell with him. Or I could send out for Chinese...* Absently, she unlocked her door and entered the apartment. *That's odd. Where's Sydney? Sleeping somewhere, I guess.* "Here, kittykittykitty," she called. "Come on out. If you want dinner, that is." "Thank you so much for the offer," came the lazy reply, "but I've eaten already." "!!!!!" Natalie dropped her bags and spun, heart pounding, before catching herself. "LaCroix. Make yourself at home," she added. A towel was wrapped loosely around his hips, and he held a steaming cup of-- *My God. If he's used my microwave to nuke himself some O positive--!* "Don't be petty, Natalie," he chided her. "I was simply waiting for you to come home. I got bored." He offered her the mug. It was one of her favourites, an oversize cup with a "Phantom of the Opera" logo, a gift from Nick, and it was currently full of cinnamon tea, to her relief. The vampire lifted an elegant eyebrow. "You were expecting something a bit more... sanguinary? Really, Dr Lambert. I am a civilised man--" "You're the walking dead." "That, also. However, I give you my word that I will not feed in your presence. Unless it's from you, that is." The admission made her a little weak in the knees. He only rarely took her blood, but it added a dimension of danger to their couplings. To hide her response, she handed him a bag of groceries. "Here. Help me get this stuff put away." Amused, he did, very efficiently. *There's a vampire in my kitchen.* She snuck a glance at him. *And he's washing my nectarines. This is weird.* "Why the visit?" Nat asked, to break the silence. "No reason. Except, perhaps, boredom. Nicholas is rather tedious when he's in his reformed state. I, of course, hope to--" "Unreform him?" "Yes, quite. You know, Dr Lambert, I am capable of finishing my own= sentences." "Sorry." "Mmmm. Natalie?" "Yes?" "Do you feel uncomfortable talking about Nicholas?" She was surprised at the personal turn the conversation was taking. "No, I don't think so." "Even though he doesn't know about us-- or does he?" "God, no. And don't you go telling him, either." "Never. Janette knows, of course. But she knows everything. I don't think she minds." "Uh...." Nat couldn't think of an appropriate rejoinder. "That's nice." And then he was standing beside her. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ So, would you die for me? I'd kill for you. It's pretty close to the same thing. You crazy romantic, you. Well, technically, I'm already dead for you, my heart. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ For the second time in as many days, Natalie found herself being semi-attacked by a vampire. He caught her up in his arms, stripping her clothing off as he swept her into the living room and deposited her onto the couch. Her brassiere and panties fell to the floor, joined by his towel. He reached down into a cloth bag beside the couch and pulled something free. "What--" He gave her no time to protest, or even look, but stopped her questions with his tongue, kissing her, fondling her, raising red marks on her skin with his lips. He positioned her in the corner of the couch, legs spread wide, knelt between them. She waited for his first thrust, eyes shut in anticipation. But that first thrust wasn't what she was expecting, exactly. LaCroix was well-made, long and thick; the thing that entered her was *much* larger. She gasped, tried to pull away, but he held her in place with one hand. She looked down between her legs as he withdrew. There, halfway out of her cunt, was a dildo. Before she could say anything, LaCroix began to pump it into her mercilessly. "Wait-- hold on--" "Quiet, Natalie," he said coolly. His words were in direct opposition to his body. His cock was very much erect; obviously doing her this way stimulated him. She lay back, determined to wait him out. The dildo was at least 12 inches long, she decided, and perhaps 5 inches thick. Whatever the dimensions, it was doing a very good job of turning her on. Of course, knowing that it would soon be replaced with the real thing added to the experience. A particularly ferocious thrust made her cry out sharply. "Nicholas would not do this for you," he whispered. "He would never even imagine doing the things with you I will do, Natalie..." She screamed, then, as he pumped the dildo furiously, and came. Almost instantly, he tossed it aside and buried his own cock inside her. Enormously aroused, it only took a moment before he came, needle-cold spray inside her. He sank upon her, his weight pressing her into the cushions. It was a few moments before she realised he was watching her. His cool, unemotional blue eyes met hers without flinching. Unnerved, she looked away. He nodded, once, and withdrew from her. "I'll need to stay until sundown," he remarked casually. Startled, Natalie sat up, closing her legs. She looked at the windows; the blinds were drawn; all the same, LaCroix was keeping a safe distance from them. "Sure, fine, whatever," she said. He nodded again and wandered off to the bedroom. Natalie moved around the room, gathering up her clothes, deliberately stalling. She was tired, and wanted to sleep, but was reluctant to face him again. *Coward. He's just a guy, after all. A centuries-old, incredibly powerful, undead guy, but a guy nonetheless.* She paused to take a sip of her now-cold tea, not really convinced by her own reasoning, then picked up a pile of shredded nylon. "Great," she muttered. "Another pair of pantyhose, shot to hell." Finally, she decided she had stalled as long as she could. She tiptoed into the bedroom. LaCroix lay in the bed, soundly asleep. Carefully, she slipped into the bathroom and showered, as quickly and quietly as she could. *Of course, this is -my- home*, she reminded herself. *Why should I have to sneak around?? Because you don't want to wake him up*, she reminded herself. She spent a long time drying herself off before emerging. He still hadn't budged. Cautiously, she slipped on a t-shirt and crept beneath the sheets next to him. No movement. She turned to stretch out on her side, and fell as soundly asleep as the vampire lying next to her. Some hours later, she woke partially. LaCroix was pressed firmly against her back, one arm around her waist, his face nestled against her shoulder. *Hope you're comfortable*, she thought sleepily, and drifted off again. When she woke again, it was to the sound of her alarm, and he was gone. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ "Just the flowers?" the clerk was saying for the third time. "Yes, just the flowers." LaCroix was beginning to be irked. "I'll handle this, Ange." A woman stepped out of the back room. The young man nodded and skulked off. "What can I do for you, Mr Cross?" She paused slightly before pronouncing his name. "I need at least four dozen white roses, flowers only. No stems." She raised an eyebrow. "I see." "Norah...." "I'm not saying anything, okay? It's your unlife. Just be careful, right? I have enough trouble as it is. " "Can you fill the order?" he demanded. "Yes, sure. Good timing, by the way. I had a customer just a minute ago, a Ms Deb Rowland, who called wanting two dozen roses-- no flowers, just the thorned stems." "I need them by Friday." "You'll have them. Delivery or pick-up?" "Delivery." "Right. I'll handle it myself." She smiled, carefully showing no teeth. "Thanks for coming to Midnight Angel." "Thank *you*. And, Norah?" he said, just before he walked out. "Yes?" "I will be careful." "Whatever." "Right." LaCroix was not quite as relaxed as he pretended to be. Recently he had begun questioning the wisdom of his familiarity with Natalie Lambert. She was a remarkable woman, at once vulnerable and tough, intelligent and playful. She was a welcome change from the mindless, remote sexual relations he generally indulged in. In fact, she reminded him rather a lot of Janette. He smiled at the thought. *Perhaps I ought to invite everyone over for drinks some evening.... well, perhaps not.* Janette's temper was unpredictable, and the current status of her relationship with Nicholas uncertain. Violence would probably result-- of course, it might all be worth it to see the look on Nicholas' face. *Natalie....* What *was* he going to do about her? Norah was right, of course. Extricating himself from his current entanglement would be the safest thing to do. Not, of course, that safety had ever been one of his concerns. He might even be placing her in danger, from other members of the community, he realised. After all, he himself had not been best pleased with the coroner's acquaintance with Nicholas. *Anyone who moves against her had best be ready to explain himself to me*, he decided grimly. *If anyone's going to bring her across, it will be me.* And that, he understood suddenly, was the crux of the problem. Mortals and vampires could not manage a long-range connexion. It was simply impossible. She would not agree, he knew; her feelings for Nicholas showed otherwise. There was no way she would come across willingly; and bringing Nicholas across had shown him the error of giving the gift of eternal life to an unsuspecting-- or unwilling-- individual. What to do? What to do? Well, he was an intelligent, creative vampire. He was sure he could come up with an acceptable compromise. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ You know, you really do fascinate me. You, my heart, are something out of the ordinary. Wow. What? Pillow talk of the undead. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Natalie had a bad case of the creeps as she locked her apartment door behind her. LaCroix had not even left a note before leaving. Not that he ever had before, but it would've been nice. Ever since waking up alone in bed, however, she had had the feeling that someone was watching her. The garage was well-lit; no shadows concealed a waiting attacker. Still, the back of her neck prickled. She felt an insane desire to turn around and run, sobbing and screaming, back to the safety of her apartment, to grab the phone and demand that LaCroix get his sorry, undead ass back and protect her, to dig out the baseball bat from her closet and-- *LaCroix???* Since when was he the protective type? Nick, sure, of course; if she called, he would come and defend her, even if there wasn't anything after her. LaCroix, though-- actually, she was more likely to need to be protected *from* him, rather than getting protected *by* him. *I must be losing my mind.* As she drove off to work, it followed her. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The interior of The Raven was a study in paradox. Light blazed from more than one pint of the main room, but the club itself was dark, full of shadows. The shadows themselves seemed to have their own voluntary motion, rather than depending on the shifting of bodies and lighting. The music was loud, the bass so heavy it made glasses rattle on their tables. Liz Phair was singing And I loved my life, And I hated you, and the dance floor was full, people (living and otherwise) moving with and against each other. Janette stood at the bar, ivory cigarette holder in hand, observing the crowd with satisfaction. The Raven was one of the very few clubs in Toronto that could draw a full house even on a weekday night. *It's probably one of the only clubs in the country that can manage it*, she thought, with pardonable smugness. She was watching the door for a specific arrival, and finally saw him enter. Tall, pale, and dressed in black [*I really must take him shopping for a new wardrobe....*], he walked easily through the people. LaCroix loved the bright mortal lives inside The Raven, almost as much as he loved its proprietor, gowned tonight in cobalt silk, elegant-elegant as always. He bent his head to kiss her cheek gently. "Good evening, cherie." "Hello, LaCroix. Will you have....?" she gestured behind her, at the bar. "No, not tonight, thank you. You needed to see me?" His gentle tone kept the question from being harsh. "Yes; although I must be a little crazy to even bother saying anything." Janette returned her attention to the dancers for a moment, brushing back a strand of glossy, dark hair before leaning close into her master's side to speak. LaCroix, sensing her agitation, put his arm around her waist, settling her head on his chest. "What is it, Janette?" "Your new friend is being watched," she said finally, resting her hand on his shoulder. "You had better keep an eye on her. There are those who would not mind seeing her... out of your way." He tensed. "I see. How do you know this?" "People talk, LaCroix. Shall we just say, someone told someone, who told someone, who knew it would come to my attention." She rubbed the back of his neck comfortingly. "I don't like this." "You mean, people interfering in your personal life? How... ironic." The older vampire looked at her sharply. "Nicholas is my child. His personal life is my responsibility. What *I* choose to do is no-one's business is mine." Janette shrugged. "As you like. Just remember: You may be invulnerable; That Woman is not." "Janette?" "What?" her tone was almost belligerent. "You do know.... No-one can take your place in my affections." She didn't smile, precisely, but her expression lightened. "I've got to be on my way, cherie," LaCroix said after a moment, "but I'll come to see you soon, shall I?" "Whatever." But she was smiling now, he could see. He stooped to kiss her mouth, hard, and was gone. A new song was thundering now, a strange, strung-out woman's voice, "Blood roses, blood roses, back on the street now....", mixed with an unsettling, skittering percussion loop. Janette lingered at the bar, watching him leave, thinking about the strange turn of events. Nicholas would never understand why Janette cared what happened to That Woman. After all, Dr Natalie Lambert was a challenge to Janette's relationship with both men. But Janette was practical to a fault. If That Woman died, Nick would blame himself. *And then I would have to listen to hour after hour of laments for Saint Natalie. No, thank you.* As for jealousy-- no, not at all. She had shared a bed with both men for many years; she was confident of her place in their lives. Although it was nice to be reassured, as LaCroix himself had just done. *They can have her at the same time, for all I care. Enjoy LaCroix while you have him, Dr Lambert. You'll be dead and dust soon; and then they'll both be mine again.* Janette walked gracefully to her office, pleasantly aware of the many admiring looks in her wake. Safely inside, she stretched out on her soft, leather couch. In contrast to her languid posture, she was thinking furiously. LaCroix had not taken her warning seriously. *I can see I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands. As usual. Men!* +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Natalie poked Grace in the side. "I'm going to run out and get some dinner. You want anything? I'm going to that Chinese place." "Oooh, yes, thanks. Get me an order of crab rangoon, and, um, maybe a couple of their almond cookies. Just let me grab my purse--" "Naah, my treat; you bought last time, right? Be right back." And she was out the door. Once inside the morgue, Natalie's paranoia had lessened. She felt secure, even grounded, in her workplace. Ghoulish as it might sound to some, she truly loved her work. She was good at what she did, and was well-respected, as well as liked, by her colleagues. It was Friday night, and she had the whole weekend to relax. She started to unlock her car door, then stopped. It was a nice night, the Mandarin Orchid was only just down the street.... *I think I'll walk. It's not that far.* Natalie took deep breaths of night air into her lungs. *If this was a movie*, she thought idly, *LaCroix would swoop down right now and carry me off for a night of passionate sex.* She paused. Nothing happened, natch, and laughing at herself, she went on her way. *Then again, if this was a movie, there'd probably be a drooling maniac waiting to yank me into an alley and do away with me.* This time, something happened. A steel-strong hand grabbed her arm just above the elbow and hauled her into the alley she was passing. A filthy hand clamped over her mouth. Natalie flailed behind her with a fist, but couldn't seem to land a solid blow. She was turned around with blinding speed to face her attacker. She had never seen him before, but she knew him, nonetheless. Vampire. "Good-bye," he hissed, fangs bared and ready. Nat cupped her hands and brought them up sharply, slamming them over his ears. He howled and staggered backwards, eardrums ruptured. Natalie spun and ran-- *nonononononono* --and her foot slipped in a puddle of something and she went crashing to the ground, she flipped herself onto her back, trying to regain her footing, searching the darkness for a weapon-- --then her eyes focussed. A black-clad figure stood before her, pinning her attacker by the shoulder to the wall. One powerful white hand slashed out, opening the vampire's throat. Blood poured from the gash, and her rescuer stepped aside swiftly, avoiding the flow, letting him fall to the ground. "My hero," Natalie said, voice strangled. "Get stuffed," Janette said curtly. "Let's get out of here, before someone comes." ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Nat cleaned out the abrasions on her palms, watching Janette watch her. "I don't want you dead. It's nothing personal," the vampire said at last, "but I don't want to spend the next two hundred years putting up with Nicholas' grieving process." "Um," Nat said. "Thanks." "Don't mention it. You might want to start carrying a stake, something like that, by the way." "This isn't an isolated incident?" Janette shook her head scornfully. "Don't be stupid. Someone doesn't want you anywhere near LaCroix." She anticipated Nat's next question. "The man who attacked you was acting under orders." "Whose?" Janette shrugged. "That's your problem, not mine." "Right." Nat tossed the last piece of gauze in the trashcan and surveyed herself. Bandages on one knee, both palms. Bruised shin. *I've looked worse*, she decided. She looked at Janette, who said nothing. "Good-night," Nat said finally. "Good-bye," Janette responded, and Nat left. "This is really turning out to be one of those decades," Janette muttered to herself. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ "This is really turning out to be one of those days," Natalie muttered to herself. She had had a terrible time explaining her little adventure back at the precinct house. First, she had to answer to Grace. Then, to Schanke, who happened to be passing by. Then to Nick, who had gotten the information from Schanke. And now.... "What did he look like?" LaCroix was demanding. Janette had contacted him and explained the situation. He had been waiting for her when she left-- *Thank heaven Nick didn't see*, she thought, then: *I feel like I'm having an affair, sneaking around like this. I guess that makes LaCroix the Other Vampire.* --and now they were at his apartment, "discussing" it. Well, he was discussing. She was listening. "Oh, for God's sake. He's probably still in the alley-- why don't you go look for yourself?" she snapped, her nerves slightly overwrought. "Janette-- I'll ask her. I ought to have given her more credit for understanding the situation." "She said he had been sent by someone," she ventured. "She's right. There are many in the community who are not pleased with my excursion into the mortal world." "You weren't too thrilled about Nick and me," Nat said accusingly. "No, I wasn't." "Riiiight. Well, it doesn't matter. There's an easy solution, thank= goodness." "And that would be....?" "To not see each other any more." She held her breath. This was not what she wanted, but she couldn't see any other way out of the tangle of events. "Nonsense. I will not permit myself to be regulated," he replied curtly. *Well, what were you expecting?* she chided herself. *A pledge of undying love?* "Pardon me," she said icily, "but don't I have any say in the matter? I don't intend to end up in my own morgue," she added. He glanced over at her. "I will protect you," he said airily, "so don't concern yourself." "Oh yeah sure right whatever," Natalie was angry, now, her emotions on a roller-coaster. "Like you've done such a wonderful job so far!" She turned away, near tears. There was a deep silence behind her. "Listen, forget I said that," she managed, once she had gotten herself back under control. "I'm heading home. It's been a bad night." She had her hand on the doorknob when he stepped up behind her. "That's what's bothering you, then." "I'm *bothered* by the fact that some-- some *vampire* tried to kill me tonight!" she said. "I doubt that," he contradicted her smoothly. "You have very steady= nerves,=7F Natalie. And your association with Nicholas has no doubt made you impervious to most of life's shocks, no matter how severe. You are upset because you feel that I am not concerned with you-- only with my own status within the community." She started to deny it, but his words were too close to the reality. "I-- just let me go, LaCroix." "No." "I want to go *home*, LaCroix." "If you like. But I'm not going to let you go. You belong with me, Natalie. I don't care who likes it, or who doesn't like it." He circled her waist with his arm and leaned his cheek on the top of her head. His low voice reverberated in her head. "When Janette called me tonight to tell me what had happened, I was furious, because someone had offered you harm... and because I had not taken better care of you, my heart." "I can take care of myself," she mumbled. "Yes, I know. And, under other circumstances, I would not intervene. However, you are dealing with forces beyond your realm of experience, so I'm afraid you'll need to get used to having me stay very close to you for some time." He lifted her heavy hair up, kissing the back of her neck. "I... suppose I could put up with that." "I was planning on seeing you tonight, Natalie-- shall I show you what I have prepared for you?" "Well, since I'm here anyway...." "Wait here a moment," he instructed her. In a moment, he was back. Gently he led her into his bedroom. White roses stood in vases throughout the room. The bed was turned down, dark silk sheets spilling onto the floor. And, scattered over the bed, what looked like hundreds of stemless roses, their petals almost covering the king-sized bed, their fragrance filling the air. Mirrors, strategically placed, showed a thousand rose-strewn beds. Candles were lit on every surface not already covered with roses, lending a strange, dreamy quality to the scene. Artifice, yes; planned, yes; but the whole picture showed a wildy romantic, inventive streak in the ancient vampire's nature she had not suspected. "Do you approve?" he breathed. "Very much--" and her words were cut off by his mouth. He peeled her clothes from her body with exquisite care, avoiding the sore places where she had fallen. He stripped his own clothing off negligently, leading her to their bed. "I've pictured this a thousand times," LaCroix whispered against her skin. He stretched his pale body along hers, languid and graceful. Kisses and caresses exchanged, a brief tussle, and the vampire was on his back, Natalie on top of him. She straddled his hips, leaning down to kiss his cold mouth, her hair trailing along his skin. LaCroix pulled her down against him, stroking her cheek lightly, turning her head to the side slightly. He murmured something into her hair. "What?" she gasped. "Nothing...." His fangs grazed her collarbone, opening a thin wound in her flesh. She gasped as he licked the beads of precious blood from her skin. "Natalie...." Then, one slick movement and he was inside her, pinning her against his chest, moving with her. All thought ended when he entered her, and would not begin again until they had both had all they were capable of taking and giving. For many days, questions would be left unanswered. But now, in this rose-strong room, this was enough. END +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Full, full moon, and the same sad nature I wanna cover every inch of you Like ink on paper Like the blind parade of souls consumed by religion I can't wait until I get you In that defenceless position.... Shawn Colvin, "Set the Prairie on Fire" +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ /////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----///// "I've never known someone as desperate for tenderness as you appear." Mina, "Nosferatu"