Date: Sat, 17 May 1997 04:47:33 -0400 (EDT)

Wants, Desires, Needs...Fears.

By Illinois Jules

Mildly Erotic, Implicit LC/NK (m/m) interaction.

Drama

Disclaimers: Legally, I do not, nor ever will, hold ownership to any 
of these characters. I play with them, they play with each other,
I write it down. They have yet to complain.

Until then - This story is mine: Illinois Jules (aka Julie Swendsen).
Copyright 5-12-97. If you want it, just ask me. 
I'm sure I'll oblige <g>.

As with most of my JADFE pieces, this is for my Unnamed friends...past,
present, pending. I adore you all!

             Enjoy, as ever,

                    Illinois Jules <ILCzJules1@aol.com>

*****************************************************
This is a JADFEized story, from a "A More Permanent Hell" Missing Scene I
wrote months ago. It is written in 'present tense' intentionally. If you
don't like the format - tough! <bg>
____________________________

    Wants, Desires, Needs...Fears.


    LaCroix has been waiting in Nick's apartment. Drinking his *favorite's* -

'wine'. Behaving slightly 'off' of his, usually, confident self. His sarcasm
is a bit more revealing, his conversation a little more abstract.

    (Taken directly from the episode, for pace:)

<<LC: "Which do you suppose is worse, Nicholas...to die?" [pause]
"Or to be left in a living hell?" [LaCroix is standing behind the open
staircase]

    Nick descends the steps. He then moves around to the right, 
at the continuation of his mentor's speech.

LC: "A form of life who's only purpose is survival and nothing more. To
exsist for the sake of exsisting." [NK comes to rest, facing his master, 
with his right hand on the side of the stairs] "Such bitter irony, the
mortals 
sustain us. Their art, their laughter, their society, their - blood...   Our
eternal lives aren't worth much without them, are they?"
[LC sips from his glass of bovine] 

N: [looks up and away] "So who is the more powerful in the end?"
[glancing at LaCroix] "The hunter or the hunted?"

LC: "I don't know." [in flat monotone. Nick looks back at him] "Perhaps
there is a power that is greater than both." 

    Nick pulls away from the side of the steps, to walk around LaCroix. He
turns to face his companion's back, beyond the other's right shoulder.

N: [haughtily] "And the possibility frightens you doesn't it?"

    LaCroix lifts his chin and head, eyes gaze upward.

LC: [almost hissing his reply] "What kind of god is it that can create 
such perversity, that can make such torture?" 
[LaCroix finishes with another sip of blood]

    From behind his maker, Nick looks astonished, at the unexpected remark.>>
____________________

    Recovering from the comment, Nick sharply retorts, "The eternal torture
is of your own choosing, LaCroix." Malice ices the cut of his voice. 
The last thing he needs right now is his master lurking about his loft,
spouting gibberish. <Why *this*? Now?>, Nick angrily wonders.
He is more preoccupied with the present pending disaster, whan his
maker's brooding presence. 

    "Is it, Nicholas? What choice were any of *us* given...really? 
At having to elect our future...given the circumstances, at the time." 

    LaCroix' attention briefly fades away as he recalls, to himself, 
his final days as a mortal:
    Being abruptly awakened from a drunken slumber by his daughter Divia.
    She rambling on, something about "living forever".
    His haze of intoxication. Not comprehending her ambiguous statement.
    The rumbling, quaking doom of Vesuvius. 
    Divia's voice coming once more from behind him, "...live or die. What is
your decision?" 
    Him smiling ironically at the ridiculousness of the question. Responding,
"To *live*. Divia...   To live!" 

    He never truly expected the full fate of those five, short, words.

    "What do you mean?" Knight senses something, unfamiliar, 
in the older man.

    "Nothing...nothing at all. Except that given the current state of
affairs,
wasn't the original option chosen, with the most selfish of intentions?"
LaCroix raises the glass of cow blood to his lips once more.
    It's a most horrendous assault to his palette. He thinks, 
<What one must do, to survive...>.

    "So, you believe all this? The meteor?"

    "If it is to be..." LaCroix shifts his gaze away and gently places the
goblet of burgundy liquid on the step behind him. "If it is to be...I will
mourn you, Nicholas, the most." Turning around, back, the ancient 
vampire moves slightly forward, towards his child, and slowly extends his
hand. 
His cool fingers brush cautiously up the sleeve of Nick's arm. 

    The tightly muscled limb beneath the cloth stiffens minutely at
the unexpected caress. It pulls back a breath, though not out of reach.

    Nick is quite confounded at the words and actions of the,
what he thought, perpetually controlled LaCroix. "Remorse is something
I never thought you capable of feeling?" The youthful man's bravado
temporarily returns.

    "I, my dear son, as you most surely recall, have been in existence
long before I found and created, you. I *am*...capable...of a great
many emotions. I just choose to call upon and exhibit, the more
amusing ones." LaCroix' face shows a small hint of a sad smile. 

    He now reaches his other hand up to softly clasp the younger's 
shoulder. Idle fingers restart up the sleeved arm. They now stretch 
gently across the eternally toned chest. To neck, jaw. "None...none 
but you, my dear lad, have stirred me to such depths of want and desire."

    Nick is finally aware of a look of despair playing minutely along his
master's masked features. 
    <He *is* frightened!> The shock of that revelation stuns him.
He has never before seen LaCroix - 'afraid'.

    Attempting to stay composed, "That was a long time ago." 
Nick replies softly.

    "For you, perhaps, Nicholas." Cool digits continue, to spread along the
stubble of Nick's chin. LaCroix' thumb casually traces the edges of 
the other man's lower lip.

    Knight drops his gaze and subconsciously leans into the 
intimate touch. A subtle sigh issues through his parted mouth.

     It is so difficult to repulse his master's caress. That, coupled with
the flow of newly resurfaced sensations and emotions he is gleaning
from his mentor. The extent of the power emanating from the tall,
usually remote, form is a potent force. One he has been trying so hard,
for centuries, to escape and forget.

    "I will miss your company. Your...will, your...passion. You are my
greatest creation, my most worthy adversary...my deepest pleasure.
Surely *you* know my love of the chase, the hunt, the conquest.   
Mortals are so...disposable. You, my Nicholas, on the other hand..." 
    LaCroix shifts, "Your scent and taste is like no other."
 
    Strong fingers now flutter down towards the ivory smooth curve of his
protege's collar.

    Snapping out of the intoxicating trance he has fallen into, 
Nick steps back. Full away from his master. This offered openness of 
LaCroix' vulnerability is...disconcerting - to say the least, and 
beginning to become uncomfortable. 

    Warily, "I have no intentions of submitting to you, as I have before.
I live with enough past regrets. This present crisis will not alter
my convictions!" Knight's words are given with more bite and venom then
he has intended.

    LaCroix remains uncharacteristically calm. Mentally brushing off the
outburst of his son. "But, my Nicolas...'submit'...is *such* a harsh word."
Using a name that hasn't passed his lips in centuries. "Even, you, purport
as to the intensity of the situation presented to us this day. There may be
no tomorrow. What of regrets then?"

    With a determined stride LaCroix closes the the safe distance between
them. The sudden movement backs the detective to within inches 
of the wall behind him.

    Nick, still upset and overwhelmed at this odd confrontation, spits
out, "What is wrong with you, LaCroix? You promised not to force your
will on me again!"

    The usually sultry voice returns in a hollowed tone, barely above a
whisper, "Desperate times. Even...for me." 

    A look of fear once more passes in an instant through the normally
composed demeanor of the venerable man. Just as quickly, the wall of
impartial emotion arises.

    This crack into the soul of LaCroix is obvious to Nick now. He is fully
hit with the knowledge that his creator is truly frightened by the
possibility of being alone, forever.

    Nicholas' next reaction comes more from centuries of deeply
imbedded instinct, than conscience thought.
    His father, mentor...other, is in deparate need of him. And he
knows how to at least *temper* the ancient's fears.

    Nick deliberately steps into the waiting arms of LaCroix. 
Molding himself to the physique yet so familiar, even after all these
lifetimes. He sinks into the other's overwhelming vampiric vitality and
strength,
pressing along the cold curves so like his own. 

    <LaCroix *is* correct, there may be no tomorrow...>.
He trails off in thought. 

    Wrapping one hand about the taller's waist, the other around the
back of the neck, Nick tugs the elder's head down to his own, 
placing a strong kiss on the full waiting lips. 
    He pulls back slightly, just enough to expose the inviting 
column of his neck. He now anxiously awaits his master's eager
feeding, the heady sting of fangs. The all-consuming, blinding,
sensation of want, desire...need.

     He is not disappointed in his anticipation.
                                              


                                         FIN
*******************************

            Thank you,

                    Illinois Jules

    All questions, concerns, confusions, complaints gleefully accepted or
ignored at:

    <ILCzJules1@aol.com>