Make Believe
by Leslie G.S.
LaCroix/Michael
Warning:  Explicit sex between LaCroix and a male vampire who appears to be
11 years old.
Category:  Drama


The following story is set in the universe of Forever 
Knight, created by James Parriot and Barney Cohen.  I 
promise to put back the amazing character they've created, 
Lucien LaCroix, in more or less the same condition I found 
him.

Loose Cannon wrote this in January, 1996 and can be reached 
at LoosCanN@aol.com.

WARNING: M/M pairing and kinda rough sex.


MAKE BELIEVE

Deep in the shadows, muffled externally and internally, he 
watched, as a slight, laughing figure gently pushed the man 
he was with against the brick wall that made up one side of 
the alley.  The small one tugged on the fastenings of the 
leaning man's pants, then in one smooth motion knelt, 
sliding the pants down to the ankles.  His hands began to 
skillfully work at the other's crotch.  With surprising 
speed, the man's head fell back and he moaned.  His body 
tensed and arched.  He gave a choked cry, and then, except 
for a slight, continuing quivering, became silent and still.  
The watcher could see a white glint of eyes rolled back in 
their sockets.

The small figure reached down between his knees and pulled a 
large cup from a cloth bag lying there.  A rumbling growl 
rose from his throat, and the watcher could see his body 
shaking with need.  A hand flashed up near the groin to the 
exposed thigh, the other hand brought up the cup, and a 
sudden thin stream of dark fluid jetted into the cup. The 
smell of warm blood filled the alley.

The man against the wall, trembling ever so slightly, 
remained frozen.  The kneeling figure put his thumb into his 
mouth, closing lips around it tightly to muffle a snarl.  
His body was curving inward on itself as though in pain. The 
cup quickly filled, and he took his thumb out of his mouth 
and placed it firmly on the small wound.  He lifted the cup 
eagerly to his lips and as he bent to drink, he turned 
slightly toward the watcher, who could see his eyes burning 
a pale green. He drank quickly, greedily, taking no time to 
savor his meal.

Draining the cup, he slid it back in the bag.  Then he 
gingerly lifted his thumb from the wound.  He put his thumb 
back into his mouth.  He reached into a jacket pocket, took 
out a kleenex and gently dabbed at the man's thigh, then his 
own lips.  Then he stood up, placed his hand on the man's 
chest and gave a small sigh, as though suddenly relaxing.  
With a deep groan, the man slumped forward, kept from 
falling by the other's supporting arm.  He shuddered 
violently for a moment, gasping as though he had run himself 
out.  After a minute, he had regained enough breath to moan, 
"Oh, man, oh, man.  Mikey, what you do to me."

The small one gave a boyish giggle.  "Glad you like it, 
Steve."

Then looking into the man's eyes, he said, "By the way, 
there's a small scratch on your thigh.  It's no big deal."

"It's no big deal," Steve repeated.

The watcher chose this time to move out into the open and 
begin to walk toward them.  The small one's head whipped 
round, blue eyes open wide in alarm as the tall man, hands 
deep in the pockets of his trench coat paced toward him.  
Steve followed his riveted gaze, than quickly stooped to 
pull up his pants.

"Hey, now," he blustered, fumbling with his zipper.

The tall man stopped in front of them.  "Steve," he said, 
his voice quiet, deep and somehow mortally threatening, 
"time to pay up and say good night."

Steve pulled a twenty out of his pocket with trembling 
fingers, tossed it on the bag on the ground, and weaving a 
bit on rubbery legs, scuttled out of the alley.  He cast one 
frightened glance backwards as he escaped to the street.

They looked at one another.  Then the man stretched out one 
hand to stroke the side of the boyish face.  The young 
vampire winced as though expecting a blow, and began to 
shake.

"You cleaned up very nicely, I see," said the man, tangling 
his fingers in the other's silky blond curls.  "Rasena has 
worked wonders."

"Th-thanks," he replied, trying to stop his humiliating 
trembling.

"Why didn't you come see me in Toronto, Michael?  I had to 
come all the way down to New Orleans to find you."  He 
tweaked one of Michael's curls sharply.

"Why-why bother?  I'm nothing to you."

"Nothing?  My dear boy, have you no family feeling?"  He ran 
his fingers back down the boyish vampire's jaw, then 
returned his hand to his pocket.  " I'm your grandfather."

"I-I don't know what that means.  I thought you had released 
me-"

"To Rasena, yes.  But that doesn't negate the relationship."

"Please, LaCroix, I don't know what you want.  Not to ... 
not to...."

"Kill you?"  The man was completely still, but his presence 
became so much more menacing that Michael had to work at 
keeping his knees from collapsing.  He nodded jerkily.

"What a silly child you are, Michael," said LaCroix with a 
smile that was anything but reassuring.  "I don't kill 
vampires.  Without cause.  Have you given me cause?"

"God, I hope not," whispered Michael.  "That-that man in 
Toronto...?"

"No friend of mine, I assure you.  Your killing him was a 
favor to us all.  What a little, little man."  LaCroix's 
nostrils flared in disgust.

"What then?"

"Just to talk, Michael.  To catch up on old times.  I'd like 
to hear of Rasena.  I haven't seen her since, oh, the last 
time I saw you."  He smiled again.  "Really, I must say, 
you've quite improved."

"All right," said Michael.  It wasn't like he could say no.

"Come to my hotel, have some dinner with me.  We can chat."

"Sure, let me-"  Michael stooped down to pick up his bag and 
cup, tucking the up away inside the bag.

"I must say," said LaCroix, as they began to walk down the 
alley, "you have an ... interesting way of feeding."

Michael peered into LaCroix's face.  Condescension was 
there, of course, but he didn't seem to be trying to insult 
him.  Just making an observation.

"A trick I picked up in London.  The West End, in the 1880s.  
When a simple kill started getting hard to arrange."

LaCroix sighed melodramatically.  "Ah, yes.  For the good 
old days, when hunting was a straight forward affair."

Michael smiled tentatively.  LaCroix smiled back, perhaps 
with a little more warmth than before.  As they came out on 
the street, he looked around, then flagged down an 
unoccupied taxi.  He opened the door for Michael, then slid 
in next to him.  He gave the driver the name of an expensive 
hotel in the French Quarter.  As they drove along in 
silence, the driver glanced back at them, imagining all 
sorts of rude things about their relationship, given where 
they were when he picked them up.  His suspicions and his 
disgust must have started making themselves annoyingly 
evident.  As he glanced back in the rearview mirror, he 
found both his passengers staring fixedly in the mirror at 
him, sharing a stony, one eyebrow raised expression.  He 
kept his eyes on the road after that.

When they got to the hotel LaCroix took Michael straight up 
to his suite on the top floor.  He had a sitting room, a 
bedroom and an enormous bathroom, all rather nicely done.  
He tossed his coat on a hook by the door.  Michael shrugged 
slowly out of his denim jacket, looking around the room.  He 
was more interested in escape routes than the decor, but he 
thought it was kind of pretty.  LaCroix had pulled a tall 
bottle out of a cooler by the bar.  Uncorking it, he filled 
two handblown wine glasses with a dark red liquid.  He took 
one and held out the other to Michael.  As he walked over, 
the smell hit him, and as he took it, he turned slightly 
away from LaCroix, so he wouldn't see the Hunger make his 
eyes burn.  He drank the first glass with an almost 
humiliating eagerness.  It was mixed with something sharp 
and bracing.  He had a flash of an ancient memory, of taking 
Communion.  LaCroix, who had only sipped his drink, refilled 
Michael's glass silently.

"How did you find me?" asked Michael, trying to hold his 
glass in the casual way LaCroix was.

"Dear boy, if you want to keep something from me, don't tell 
it to my children.  You wrote Nicholas that letter."

"Nick told you?"  Michael seemed completely bewildered by 
that idea.

"Oh, he'd never deliberately betray a trust.  But your 
letter made quite an impression and I picked up the 
information through our bond."

"....Bond?  Oh, oh, that parent-child thing."

"'Thing?'"

"Well, I've never really experienced it.  At least not like 
you and Nick."

"Your father was alive for at least the first five years 
after he brought you over."

"Yeah, but we were both crazy."

"That's quite true, I'm afraid."

"He used to come looking for me, you know."  Michael's eyes 
narrowed, as though peering in very dim light.  "Every so 
often he'd come into the woods, looking.  But not really for 
me, he never _called_ me, you know, or I suppose I would 
have had to come.  Just for something he'd lost.  I don't 
think he knew I existed.  And he terrified me.  He-"  
Michael broke off, quickly raising his glass to his lips.

"Yes, well," said LaCroix, taking a sip from his own glass, 
"I eventually had to kill him.  He'd gotten out of hand."

"I felt that, I think.  There was a ... a flash of pain all 
through my body.  Then," Michael touched his fingertips to 
his forehead, "then, something seemed to clear.  There was a 
sudden silence.  After that, I started being able to 
understand Lady Rasena.  Before that, there had been too 
much ... noise."

"Lady Rasena.  Tell me of her."  LaCroix had been almost 
unwilling to inquire after her.  He hadn't heard from her in 
over five centuries and he was afraid she had gone the way 
of so many of the old ones.  To his surprise, Michael smiled 
at him, a close mouth smile with heavy lidded eyes, a 
startling imitation of his favorite expression of hers.  
Something stirred at the base of his spine.

"I imagine she's fine, LaCroix.  She went east.  She had 
something to do.  I saw her once in ... 1756."

"Where?"

Michael smiled again, a bit nervously this time.

"Oh, boy," he said.  "She'll hurt me if I tell."

LaCroix smiled benignly.  "I'll hurt you if you don't."

Michael gulped down his drink and set the glass on a table.

"Okay," he said, and closed his eyes.

LaCroix blinked, then began to laugh.  Michael peeked with 
one eye.

"Michael, you're still crazy.  Defying me is not a sane 
thing to do."

"I realize that, believe me.  But it is saner than going 
against what she wants."

"What can she do to you?  She's ... east somewhere."

Michael shuddered.  "Where she is is irrelevant."

LaCroix put down his own glass, and stood up.  Michael took 
a step back.

"Let's find out if a LaCroix, here and now, can be more 
persuasive that a Rasena somewhere east."

Michael bit his lip and cast a sidelong glance at the 
window.

"Don't try it," said LaCroix, and he darted forward to grab 
Michael.  Incredibly, the younger vampire eluded him, 
flashing over to the door of the room.  LaCroix stopped 
where he was, and Michael stood there warily, with one hand 
on the doorknob.

"You're very fast," said LaCroix.  Michael looked terrified, 
eyes wide with a wild look.

"Please, LaCroix," he whispered.  "I don't want you hunting 
me.  But really, really, I'd rather die at your hands than 
go against her wishes."

"Boy, I didn't say anything about killing.  I was talking 
about hurting."

Michael began giggling hysterically.  "Oh, okay.  I can deal 
with that.  Hurting can be fun."

LaCroix stared, then began walking slowly over to him.  
Michael took his hand off the doorknob and stood there 
waiting, shaking like a leaf.  When LaCroix reached him, he 
put a heavy hand on his shoulder.  Then he began to squeeze.  
The bones creaked under his hand.  Michael sighed, shutting 
his eyes, his expression one of complete surrender.  LaCroix 
realized then, that the youngster would take whatever he did 
to him in this state of complete submission, and he wouldn't 
get a word out of him.  He released Michael's shoulder and 
patted him gently on the cheek.

"All right, boy.  Keep her secrets.  I realize you're only a 
fosterling of hers, but she's trained you well.  Loyalty 
from one's children, actual or adopted, is a trait to be 
encouraged.  Nicholas could learn something from you."

He turned away, walked to the table to get the bottle and 
refilled his glass.  He turned back to the boyish vampire, 
who still stood at the door, blinking and rubbing his 
shoulder, a look of dazed astonishment on his face.  LaCroix 
gestured with the bottle toward Michael's empty glass.  
Michael nodded.  LaCroix filled his glass for him, then 
picked it up and held it out to him.  Michael hesitated a 
moment, then walked over and took the glass.  LaCroix 
thought the youngster controlled his trembling very well.

"So, how long were you with Rasena?"  LaCroix asked, sitting 
in a chair and putting his feet up on the coffee table.  
Michael had drunk about half his glass, already, and sat on 
the couch a bit unsteadily.  LaCroix wondered if he 
shouldn't have the next bottle be straight blood.  He wanted 
Michael talkative, not unconscious.  The youngster was 
plainly unused to a mixed vintage.  Of course, he was 
accustomed to drinking almost straight from the source.

"Um, I was with her 50 years."

"Is that all?  Not much time to learn even the basics."

"She was a ... rigorous teacher."

"Mmm."  LaCroix sipped, then held up the glass, studying 
Michael though the warping effects of the handblown glass.  
"Were you lovers?"

Michael started, then searched LaCroix's face, perhaps for 
jealousy, perhaps for mockery.  Then his eyes slid down to 
stare at the dark red fluid in his glass.

"No," he said in a very low voice.  Then, he looked up at 
LaCroix through his lashes.  "No, I'm not exactly her type, 
as they say."

LaCroix smiled, knowing full well what her "type" was.  He 
allowed himself a few moments reverie on their last 
encounter.  Michael watched him silently, rolling the stem 
of his glass between his fingers.

 "So then she went ... east."

"Yes, east," Michael replied.

"Why didn't she take you with her, I wonder."

"It wouldn't have been appropriate.  A boy child, even one 
of our kind, would not have been welcome.  Nor did I want to 
go."

"Did she teach you the Old Ways?"

"Mmm, yes, as much as she thought wise, I suppose."

"So, you are a follower of her beliefs, her goddess."

"Mmm, let us say I honor Her.  I'd be a fool not to after 
seeing what I've seen."

"What was that?"

Michael tossed back the rest of his drink, and poured 
himself another from the bottle on the table.  "That's 
another 'Hurt me, hurt me' question.  And with whatever I've 
been drinking here, I don't think you can."

LaCroix laughed.  The boy amused him, he really did.  As 
frightened as he was, he had kept his sense of humor, and 
had managed to defy him by submitting completely.  A 
slippery child.

 "You'd be surprised.  The anesthetic affects are minimal."

"Please allow me to take your word for it."

"For the moment...."

Michael leaned back in the couch with a sigh, cradling the 
glass with both hands in his lap.

"Whoo," he said, "what a spin.  I haven't been this high 
since I nailed a junky."  He shut his eyes, leaning his head 
back with a small smile, clearly enjoying the sensations.  
His posture was rather provocative, and LaCroix had no doubt 
Michael was trying to assert some control over the situation 
in the manner he knew best.

"Nailed?  I was wondering if you shared Nicholas's aversion 
to killing.  Given your hunting style."

"No, I kill when it pleases me.  And when discretion is 
possible.  But given my size, I have to be very hungry to 
kill someone by draining them."

"When does it please you?"

Michael slowly rubbed one hand up and down his stomach, and 
said smiling with slitted eyes, "After someone's hurt me."

"And why the cup?"

"I believe in safe sex," said Michael grinning.  "No way I'm 
passing vampirism on by accident."

"You were an accident."

"Yep."  Michael's expression became flat.

"I've never heard the story of how that came about."

"You really don't mind poking a sore spot, do you?"

LaCroix smiled and leaned forward to pour himself a new 
drink.  "Not in the slightest."

"Well, I'm drunk enough.  I should be able to cough it all 
up.  If you're interested."

"Go on.  I'll stop you if I get bored."

"All right.  Well.  Well, I was a chorister-"

"A chorister?  Really."

"Yeah. In Brest, France.  They took me on when I was six.  
When I was eleven, the choir master, a German named Boesche, 
decided to take some of the best of us to Paris, he said to 
show us and his directing skill to the authorities there, so 
they would maybe show an interest and help us out 
financially.  He was really lousy with money.  We went 
hungry a lot.  This was the summer of 1435."

Michael sipped his drink, eyes glazing with memory.  "Well, 
he lied.  He had hooked up with ... with your son.  The one 
who...."

"The devil's disciple, yes."

"Yes.  On the road to Paris, one evening he didn't stop at 
an inn.  Told us we had no money, which we believed of 
course.  He said he'd drive on 'til he found some place safe 
to camp.  Well, he pushed on and on on this little track in 
these woods.  We all fell asleep.  I woke up when he 
stopped.  I sat up in the wagon and looked around.  There 
were a bunch of people standing around a campfire.  Boesche 
jumped out of the wagon, and went over to this man and spoke 
to him a moment.  That man motioned to some men in the 
crowd, and before I really understood what was going on they 
had come over, grabbed us and were tying us up.  There were 
five of us.  My-my friend, Gilles, he started screaming and 
Boesche slapped him hard, so hard.  We...just kind of froze.  
We all stood there in the dark.  Everyone was quiet.  Then, 
after a while, there was the sound of some kind of horn.  
All the people kind of jumped.  Some of them moaned and they 
all went down on their knees.  Boesche dragged us to ours.  
Then, gliding down over the trees, came a man, pale as 
Death, eyes burning, all wrapped in a black cape.  He landed 
on a big block of stone and stood there, not moving.

"The people shrieked, then some began a chant, really off 
key, then the man Boesche had spoken to stood up and began 
leading them in a call and response that I realized was a 
messed up version of the Mass.  They reached this screaming 
pitch then all shut up.  He hadn't moved.  Then slowly he 
spread out the cape like big wings and he was naked 
underneath, real shaggy with stone white skin.  He had a 
huge hard on.  He said, "My slaves, my children," and we 
could see these fangs.  Two of the boys fainted.  Then 
things got real wild.  He jumped down off the stone.  Lots 
of folks pushed their way up to him to kneel down and kiss 
his cock.  He would lay his hand on their heads.  Some folks 
broke out wine skins and started drinking.  They started 
losing their clothes.  We were just shaking.  It was so 
crazy.  Gilles and I were holding hands and he was crying, 
but trying not to make a sound.

"Then Boesche pushed up to the-the man and knelt down.  He 
said something, then turned and pointed to us.  The man 
turned to look at us and he-he smiled.  He bent down and 
kissed Boesche on the lips.  Then he gestured for someone to 
bring us over.  They pushed us over.  He told them to strip 
us and they tore our clothes off.  Then ... then they made 
us sing.  We didn't do too well.  Really, I was the only one 
who could make any sound.  I was really scared, but I was 
mad, too.  One of them had snatched my crucifix, one my 
mother had given me, and thrown it in the fire after 
spitting on it.  Understand, I wasn't that pious, but it was 
such an ugly gesture and it was the only thing I had from my 
mother.  So I sang my best to spite them.  The man laughed 
at me and stroked my face and chest.  His hands were icy."

Michael stopped, looking down at his hands.  He finished his 
drink.  He didn't seem tipsy any more.

"Then, one by one he took us up on the altar, raped us and 
drained us.  He took me last, Gilles just before me.  Gilles 
cried for me as he was raped.  After he was drained, dead, 
the man tossed him on the ground, on the pile of the other 
boys.  Wiping his mouth on his arm, he motioned for me.  I 
fought.  I knew I didn't have a chance, his hands were like 
iron pinchers.  His eyes burned, but he-he was cold, so 
cold.  Inside me, so cold.  I don't know why, now.  The 
blood should have warmed him by then.  But the coldness 
seemed to fill me.  He finished and flipped me over to get 
at my throat.  I caught a glimpse of Gilles, dead eyes 
staring.  Then he bit into me and I could feel the life 
leave me, slowly, so slowly.  Then there was a sudden 
crashing sound and someone screamed.  Others laughed.  
Someone had fallen into the fire.  He glanced up, putting 
his hand over my mouth, I don't know why.  An impulse to 
keep me quiet, so I couldn't call for help?  It's not like 
it was a silent gathering.  Or that anyone there could help.  
Or would.  But he put his hand over my mouth and I had 
enough strength to tilt my head back and get the web between 
his thumb and fingers in my teeth.  Then I bit him as hard 
as I could.  I was so angry.  The blood spurted into my 
mouth, he was bloated with it.  He roared in rage, and 
pulling his hand away, he hit me backhand across the face so 
hard it broke my neck.

"The next part isn't very clear.  I-I guess the bond was 
working, my thoughts were jumbled and confused.  I don't 
know.  Maybe it's confusing for everyone when they come 
across.  I can remember lying next to Gilles, my cheek 
against his.  I couldn't move.  I watched a beetle walk 
across his open eye.  It didn't mean anything.  We'd been 
buried.  Good thing, I guess, or I'd have been fried at 
dawn.  The sun went down, and my body burned with pain, with 
need.  Then there was movement above me.  I was uncovered 
and pulled out of the ground.  I didn't know what it was 
then.  I realize now it was Boesche.  Overcome by remorse, 
he had come to dig us up and weep over us.  Damned fool.  At 
the time I just perceived him only as something I wanted 
desperately.  But my spine hadn't healed.  I couldn't grab 
him like I wanted to.  But he pulled me up, cradling me, 
rocking me back and forth and weeping.  What I wanted was 
right there.  I _needed_ to hold it, to take it.  I reached 
with all my strength, with all my will, I bent his head down 
to me, putting his throat against my mouth.  I bit.  The 
blood, so hot, so alive, flowed into me.  But I couldn't 
hold Boesche with just my mind at that point.  After a 
moment of shock, he pushed me away.  I wasn't going to let 
go, though, and he ripped his own throat out.  He stood, 
dropping me, blood showering over me and the ground.  He 
staggered around, dying, wasting all his blood on the dirt.  
Then he fell down and died.  I lay there in a mindless fury.  
After a time, though, I felt something coming, something 
huge, burning with power.  I didn't really understand what I 
was in danger from, it's just that its implacable, growing 
strength frightened me, as helpless as I was.  I needed to 
hide.  But I couldn't move.  My fear grew in me and I just 
_willed_ that I get up and move.  I found myself hovering, 
body limp, toes dragging on the ground.  I made my way 
deeper into the forest.  I found a hole I could ease myself 
into.  Dawn broke and I went unconscious.  I stayed in that 
hole for some time, calling animals to me to feed on.  I 
would feel them as bright burning balls of energy and I 
would reach out with my mind and pull them to me.  My spine 
healed.  I spent the next five years as a beast in the 
forest, living mostly off animals.  I preferred humans 
though, and got anyone who wandered into the woods.  
Actually, I got quite a few of the group that held my coming 
over party, one by one.  They stopped using that site after 
a while.  Then Lady Rasena came and got me, feeling I'd been 
up to enough mischief by then.  You know the rest."

They sat silently a moment, the LaCroix said, "Quite sad, 
really.  Very traumatic for you."

Michael gave him a sardonic half smile, saying,  "Hell, 
LaCroix, Boesche is dead, _he's_ dead, thank _you_ very 
much, and I'm alive.  You really can't ask for much better 
than that."

"Truer words never spoken," replied LaCroix, raising his 
glass.  Michael raised his own and they drank.  Then Michael 
leaned back again and shut his eyes as though exhausted.  
LaCroix studied him.  One aspect of his curiosity had been 
assuaged.  Discovering that this boy had survived, he had 
been mildly curious to see how he had turned out.  The 
filthy little beast with long matted hair cowering in the 
corner of a cage had indeed polished up rather nicely.  His 
interest in Rasena and her survival had been a more pressing 
concern and LaCroix was pleased to hear that it was likely 
she was still alive.  More, even though Michael had resisted 
telling him any of her business, he knew that she was in the 
east, and that she was up to something, probably with some 
others.  Others that didn't welcome a male presence.  Given 
Rasena's dedication to her Dark Goddess cult, he wasn't 
surprised.  But he was curious.  Having Rasena brought back 
up in his thoughts had stirred up old memories and awakened 
new longings, a desire for congress with a peer.  Michael 
wasn't going to be easily intimidated with threats of 
physical pain, but that was only one way to acquire the 
information one wanted, the crudest and least interesting, 
really.  He had some time.  He'd spend a couple days here in 
New Orleans with Rasena's bright little student, and see if 
he could get a better idea of where she was and what she was 
up to.

Michael suddenly stood up.

"Dawn's coming.  I gotta get going.  That is, if-if it's 
okay with you."

LaCroix stood up as well.  "Actually, I'd rather you stayed.  
I've come all the way down from Toronto and we still have a 
bit of catching up to do."

"Well, uh...."

"You can have the couch," declared LaCroix.

"Um...."

"I insist," he said, his smile suggesting that argument was 
unwise.

"If you put it that way."  Michael sat down again, his hands 
on his thighs clenched into fists to prevent their shaking.

"Would you like to take a bath?  I know it's hard to get a 
hot bath when one is living on the streets."

Michael looked up, delighted.  "Oh, that would be great!"

"Be my guest," said LaCroix, gesturing toward the bathroom.  
Michael smiled his thanks and almost flew though the bedroom 
into the bath.  The sounds of running water and splashes 
soon became a counterpoint to Michael's contented humming.  
LaCroix wondered if he had even bothered to check the 
security barred window.  He moved to the bar to open his 
second bottle.  He was just finishing that when Michael 
popped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his 
waist.  His bath water had been so hot it had brought a pink 
tinge to his skin.  He smiled at LaCroix and darted across 
the room for his bag, then fled back into the bathroom.  He 
emerged a minute later in a clean dark blue sweat suit a 
couple sizes too large, combing his hair.

"Ah," he declared, grinning widely, "I could get used to 
that."

"I imagine appearing to be a child makes it difficult to 
settle, to acquire a reasonable amount of money."

"Yeah, I guess.  I don't think about it much.  I had a bunch 
of money in the '20s, the 1920s, but I lost that in the 
Crash.  It was fun while it lasted though."

"Most of us establish some long term investments that 
provide us with whatever we might need."

"Yeah, I just never have.  Too much trouble.  It's easy 
enough to get cash when I need it."

"Servicing humans."

Michael smiled, refusing to be insulted.  "Nick didn't 
approve either.  Though I imagine his reasons were different 
than yours."

LaCroix began moving from window to window, drawing down the 
shades and then securing the heavy curtains.

"Nicholas, though one honestly couldn't call him a prude, 
would find the sex for money issue degrading.  My ... 
distaste arises from the idea of one of us making himself in 
any way subservient to a mortal."

"Mmm. It's all part of the game."

"The game?"

"Sure."  Michael gave a snort of laughter. "It's all a game, 
right?  What sends this guy off?  What are we pretending 
here?  Is this trick gonna step over the line and get 
himself killed?  Where is that line drawn tonight anyway?  
Oh, and here's this great new one.  Is LaCroix gonna kill me 
now?  Or later?  At all?  What's _his_ game?  Let's figure 
out his rules.  Sometimes it's scary.  But it's always fun."

"Fun?  You've found this evening fun?"

"Sure.  Haven't you?"

"It's had a few...entertaining moments."

"See, you expect more out of it than I do.  You think about 
things a lot, I bet.  Like Nick, though you're thinking 
about different things.  I think about things, too, but I 
don't let it mess up the game, you know.  It's not like life 
is this real 'heavy' thing.  It just is.  There's no reason 
to tie yourself up in a knot about it."

"You have me confused with Nicholas."

"Okay.  I guess your game is more complicated than mine, is 
all.  You have a few years on me and more toys to play 
with."  Michael gave him a wicked smile.

Replying with a wicked smile of his own, LaCroix said, "Like 
you."

"Sure.  This toy just hopes you don't break him before 
you're done with him."

"Who can say.  I'm going to shower and take a nap.  The 
couch is all yours."

"Thanks."

"Sleep well," said LaCroix, walking into the bedroom.

"And you."  As LaCroix shut the door to the bedroom, Michael 
lay down on the couch and, curling into a ball, shut his 
eyes.

****

After a shower and a short nap, LaCroix sat in bed a while, 
perusing a stack of computer magazines.  He was looking to 
seriously upgrade his system, but he found the whole Windows 
95 situation irritating.  He was considering paying Mr. 
Gates a visit and clarifying for him the ramifications of 
breaking promises, even implied ones.  Around 11 he called 
room service and ordered breakfast for two.  The sound of 
his voice as he spoke on the phone apparently woke Michael, 
for the youngster was sitting up and rubbing his eyes when 
he walked into the sitting room.

"I'm having breakfast sent up," he informed Michael.

"Goodness, what an accommodating establishment."

LaCroix snorted.  "I didn't want the knock to startle you.  
When it gets here,  you're to flush it down the toilet.  
Don't clog it."

"All right."

Michael retreated to the bathroom as the waiter wheeled in 
the meal.  After the man left, he came back out, wheeled the 
cart into the bathroom and amused himself for about fifteen 
minutes disposing of oatmeal and scrambled eggs.  When he 
wheeled the cart back out again, he found LaCroix sitting in 
an armchair, reading a magazine.  He had the radio tuned to 
some hard rock station.  He looked up as Michael rattled in.

"If you need more sleep, you could take the bed."

"Okay, great.  I need a few more hours."  He pushed the cart 
out the door, then went back to bed.  He wasn't sleeping 
well.  Having LaCroix so close set him on edge.  He had a 
dream of LaCroix coming in and staring at him.  The setting 
roiled between the hotel room and the cage at Rasena's.  He 
heard himself moaning and the sense LaCroix's presence faded 
a bit.  He came fully awake at 4.  Sunset was about 5:30.  
He wondered a moment what LaCroix had planned for this 
evening, then realized speculation was useless.  He'd just 
have to float with the situation.

LaCroix was sitting, reading and drinking his dinner when 
Michael came out of the bedroom.

"Have some," he said, waving his had toward the open bottle 
on the bar.  Michael went over to serve himself.  His hunger 
pains weren't as fierce as they usually were when he woke 
up.  He'd had a lot the night before.  He was thankful that 
the blood was unmixed this time.  He'd gotten a little loopy 
with the other stuff.

"What's on for tonight?" he ventured.

"Oh, I thought we could walk about town a bit and chat."

"That's great.  I'd like some fresh air."

"What, finding my company overly tedious?"

"Rather the opposite, actually," Michael replied, his smile 
looking a little tense.

"I admit being immured in a strange hotel room for hours 
with a sleeping companion has never been one of my favorite 
experiences."

"I'm sure you'd be much more comfortable in Toronto."

LaCroix raised a sardonic eyebrow as he said,  "I'm sure you 
would be if I were."

"Oh, no question of that," admitted Michael, pouring himself 
another glass.  He studied LaCroix as he drank, and wondered 
what more he wanted of him.   He had so far let the topic of 
Rasena drop, but Michael could think of no other reason why 
LaCroix continued to show any interest him.  He wasn't going 
to flatter (or frighten) himself with the idea that he was 
an attractive companion to the older vampire.  He fervently 
hoped that LaCroix had decided not to try to physically 
force the answers from him.  He was no stranger to pain, but 
he had only been frightened and truly in danger when that 
pain had been applied by vampires.  He had no doubt that 
LaCroix could bring a great deal of subtlety and experience 
into the project of breaking him if he so chose.  Given the 
focus of his thoughts, he couldn't help startling when 
LaCroix stood.  Other than a slightly quizzical glance, 
though, LaCroix made no comment.

"I'm going to go get dressed to go out.  Why don't you 
finish up that bottle, so we don't have to stop and pick 
something up."

"I will, thanks."

Michael had finished off the bottle and had changed into 
black jeans and a black polo shirt open at the collar by the 
time LaCroix emerged from the bedroom..  He stood waiting at 
the door, jacket slung over one shoulder, a hand stuck in 
one front pocket.  His graceful, hipshot stance was one he 
had probably affected on street corners for decades.  He 
smiled in seeming pleasure at LaCroix's appearance, and 
asked, "Is your shirt silk?  I love silk."

LaCroix smiled back, as it came to him how he would acquire 
the information he sought.

"I'm fond of it myself.  Shall we go?"

They strolled down the busy streets, and LaCroix began a 
relaxed and witty monologue about the New Orleans he had 
visited in the 1950s.  He casually inquired as to Michael's 
previous experiences in the city, and Michael at first 
cautiously and then more freely spoke of his visits in the 
1920s.  His experiences seemed to center on the local music.  
A meandering discussion of jazz and various jazz and blues 
musicians they had heard followed.   This lead to 
observations of  music they had heard in other cities in 
other countries and times.

Michael apparently had a passion for music.  He dropped 
almost completely his boyish veneer and LaCroix caught a 
glimpse of the essential creature beneath.  It was easy, 
very easy to forget that Michael was not the child he 
appeared to be.  He played the part so well.  Most vampires, 
the ones that survived, did, and it became clear to LaCroix 
that Michael was still alive by no accident.  His 
perceptions were sharp, as was his intellect and his spirit.  
As he spoke, his face lost the almost simpering sweetness of 
a baroque angel.  It became suffused with a fierce joy, and 
a mortal visited by this angel would be wisely afraid.  He 
slid fluidly from tongue to tongue as his memories led him 
from one country and time to another.  His knowledge of 
music was astute, showing a conscious knowledge of how the 
subtlest variation in tone and pitch could strongly impact 
the human psyche.  His use of language itself was a song, 
his phrasing and choice of words delightful to one such as 
LaCroix, who himself had an intimate knowledge of the powers 
of speech.  LaCroix contented himself with an occasional 
leading comment or question, as Michael gave voice to his 
love.  It had been apparently centuries since Michael had 
had an opportunity to express his ideas about music to 
anyone and LaCroix was glad to listen.  It also gradually 
came to him that Michael was attempting to seduce him.

It was nothing overt, just a very subtle use of gestures, 
postures and language.  Someone without LaCroix's experience 
and observational skills, would simply have found Michael 
becoming more charming and alluring.  A mortal would have 
been putty in his hands, and certainly many had been so in 
the past.   LaCroix had no doubt Michael knew exactly what 
he was doing and that this was what he had always done in 
the past to get what he wanted.  In this case, he wanted 
LaCroix not to hurt him and this was an attempt to appease 
him.  LaCroix was quite delighted.   He was a great believer 
in allowing someone to create, bait and spring their own 
trap.

 They stopped at a newsstand, LaCroix to pick up a new 
computer magazine, while Michael scanned a local news sheet 
centered on local bands and performance information.  As 
LaCroix was paying for his magazine, he watched as a man 
walked over to stand next to Michael and attempt to start up 
a conversation with him.  Michael tried for a friendly brush 
off, but the man persisted.  Tucking his magazine in a coat 
pocket, LaCroix walked over to stand behind him.  The man 
felt his presence there and turned.  He then took a quick 
step backwards, bumping against a magazine rack.

"Hey, s-sorry," he stammered.  "Is he with you?"

"Yes, he is," replied LaCroix, his gaze cold.

"Sure, 'kay, sorry," babbled the man.  He backed a few more 
steps, then turned and walked very quickly away.  Michael 
was giggling as they continued their stroll.

"Did you know him?" LaCroix inquired in carefully flat 
tones.

Michael abruptly stopped giggling and replied hastily, "No, 
not really.  I've seen him around."

They walked a while in silence, then LaCroix stopped and 
turned to Michael.

"You speak of places, Michael, of music, never of 
companions.  Have you had no friends, no lovers in your 
lifetime?"

Michael looked searchingly into LaCroix's face, and then 
tentatively, as though stepping onto thin ice, "No.  No, not 
really.  Not as you mean."

"That sounds very lonely," said LaCroix gently, and reached 
out slowly to touch his companion's cheek.  Michael turned 
his face into the caress, then took a small, quick step 
back, blinking rapidly.

"Most-mostly it's been fun," he replied, voice a bit hoarse.  
He turned and began to walk down the street again.  LaCroix 
caught up with him and paced beside him a moment.  Then he 
reached over and placed his hand on the nape of Michael's 
neck and gave it a gentle squeeze.  Michael looked up at 
him, a bit startled, and LaCroix slid his hand to Michael's' 
shoulder and drew him to his side.  He smiled down at him, 
and Michael returned the smile tentatively.  Then LaCroix 
grinned and put his hand on Michael's head to tousle his 
hair.

"I hear a jazz band playing.  Shall we go find it?"

They found the band playing on a street corner and they sat 
on the low wall of a restaurant's garden to listen to the 
music and watch the people dance.  LaCroix gently pulled 
Michael over to lean against his shoulder. The younger 
vampire sat stiffly for a moment, then relaxed, resting 
back.  After a while they got up and wandered wordlessly 
back to the hotel.  When they entered the room, LaCroix 
turned to lock the door.  As he faced round, he found 
Michael looking at him intently.  LaCroix stood there 
silently with a small smile.  Then Michael slowly stepped up 
to him and just as slowly lifted himself up to hover in 
front of him.  Tentatively, he leaned forward, watching for 
any sign of rejection, and softly kissed LaCroix.  He stood, 
accepting the kiss passively a moment, then reached up to 
take Michael in his arms.  He slowly ran his hands up and 
down his back, allowing the kiss to linger.  Michael hugged 
him back fiercely, then let himself slide down LaCroix's 
body.  Then he looked up.

"Is this okay?  I know you're not really interested in ... 
in my type."

"I'm interested in you, Michael," said LaCroix softly.  
"Come in the bedroom and help me undress."

LaCroix lay back on the bed and let Michael's skillful hands 
and mouth play over his body.  His technique was quite good, 
his touch shifting from soft to firm, occasionally hovering 
on the brink of pain,  He never set up a pattern, the 
sensations always shifting and changing, a series of 
delightful surprises.  LaCroix allowed himself a low groan 
as Michael drew his nails along the inside of his thighs and 
he opened his eyes to watch Michael at his work.  His 
expression was quite concentrated, emotionless almost.  
There was certainly no signs of ... passion.  None in his 
face, and glancing down, he saw none from his body.  This 
would never do.  Technique was all very well and good, but 
he expected some kind of ... response from his lovers.  In 
fact, he was unaccustomed to having to do anything to elicit 
a passionate response.  And in this instance, to achieve his 
end, a passionate response was required.  Reaching out, he 
took Michael's wrist and dragged him down to lie beside him.

"What's this?" he inquired in a low voice, propping himself 
up on one elbow to lean over Michael.  He ran his hand down 
the other's stomach to cup his limp genitals.

Michael smiled up at him, lightly running his finger tips up 
LaCroix's attentive cock.  "You like it up?  Sure."  He 
seemed to focus inward a moment and then his penis rose in 
LaCroix's hand.  "Better?"

LaCroix lifted his hand to look at Michael's sudden 
erection.  "What?  You have some kind of on-off switch?" he 
demanded, flicking his forefinger up, then down.

"Kinda," said Michael lifting his hand to stroke LaCroix's 
throat and ears.  "Most of the guys seem to like to feel 
they're getting some kind of response.  I was concentrating 
on other things, though, and forgot."

LaCroix brought his hand up gently circle Michael's throat.  
"You seem to be working under some misapprehension, here."  
Smiling, he tightened his grip a bit.  "I'm not one of the 
'guys'."  He watched as Michael's pupils dilated, then 
constricted into tight points.  One of his hands came up to 
rest lightly on LaCroix's at his throat.  Otherwise he lay 
completely still.

"I don't find a 'seeming' response very amusing, Michael.  I 
don't find it very flattering, at all.  And I really don't 
like it when someone isn't honest with me."

"But I'm ... I can't.  I've never been able...." Michael 
whispered.

LaCroix looked down at the frightened boyish face a moment, 
then laughed, dark and low.  "Everything is make believe 
with you, Michael, isn't it?  All those provocative little 
moves of yours, there's nothing behind them.  Nothing.  And 
even this face," he pinched Michael's chin between his thumb 
and fingers and slowly tilted his head from side to side.  
"So sweet, so young, like a little angel.  An angel's mask 
hiding the soul of a whore.  Everything about you is a 
cheat, boy."

Michael jerked his head out of LaCroix's grasp, eyes 
glittering with anger.  "And you're not wearing a mask, 
LaCroix?  Tell me all those around you know who and what you 
are.  If I'm a cheat, so are you."

 LaCroix's hand moved back around Michael's throat, gripping 
hard, choking off any further words.  His full lips curled 
back from his teeth.  "I'm not indulging in your little game 
any longer here, Michael.  Defiance is amusing for only so 
long.  And I'm tired of playing pretend with you.  I require 
something _real_."  With a low growl, he jerked Michael up 
and around so that his face was against LaCroix's crotch.  
He pulled Michael's legs up next to his own head.

"Start things up there again, why don't you?"

Michael quickly went down on him, his fear making him 
clumsy.  LaCroix let himself get to the point of teetering 
on the brink, then roughly pulled Michael's head back by the 
hair.  Shifting a bit, he opened his legs and pressed 
Michael's mouth against the inside of his thigh.

"Bite."

Michael froze a moment, but when LaCroix growled and twisted 
his hair, he tentatively laid his teeth against the skin.

"Bite, damn you.  Drink."

Michael bit.  He hit the major artery near the groin, and 
LaCroix felt the jolt go through the other's body as the 
blood filled his mouth.  LaCroix took his hand from 
Michael's hair to push  his legs apart.  As he laid his lips 
on the soft skin on Michael's inner thigh, he moved his hand 
down to stroke himself.  As he came, he bit savagely into 
Michael's thigh, and his blood flooded into his mouth.  
LaCroix's orgasm burned through the blood link.  He could 
feel it moving though Michael, scalding along his nerves. 
Michael gave a muffled scream as the fire broke against his 
mind.  It hung there, thrumming, pounding, like a basso 
organ chord and then something gave.   Suddenly LaCroix was 
overwhelmed as, like water from a burst dam, Michael's 
orgasm crashed down on him.  He was blind and deaf a moment, 
shaken by the savage waves of pleasure rolling over him.  
After a time, too quickly, they ebbed and flowed away.  
LaCroix fell back, rubbing his hands over his eyes as his 
vision swam and blurred.  Michael lay next to him, shaken by 
occasional aftershocks.

After a long silence, Michael whispered, "What was that?"

"That?"  LaCroix ran his hands down his face.  "That was an 
orgasm."

"Oh...." He lay quiet a moment.  "Can we do it again?"

LaCroix chuckled.  "I should think so."

Michael, understandably, was a little over-eager the next 
time, but what he lost in grace he more than made up for in 
enthusiasm.  LaCroix, used to less callow lovers, was in 
fact startled as Michael's orgasm suddenly flared like a 
nova in his mind.  The force of it triggered his own, and he 
came, Michael's legs wrapped tightly around his hips, their 
teeth buried in each others' throats.

Then, just as the pleasure began to fade, Michael ... pushed 
somehow, with his mind.  Pleasure as sharp as pain sliced up 
LaCroix's spine, and he was held on a piercing point of 
ecstasy for what seemed an eternity.  Then with a shuddering 
crash he fell back into the real world, shaking and gasping.  
Michael, trembling in his arms, began to sob.

"What ... what did you do?"  LaCroix croaked.

The younger vampire shook his head, unable to stop crying.  
LaCroix rolled away from Michael, then gave him a sharp 
little slap on the cheek.

"What did you do?" he demanded.  Michael reached up to pinch 
fiercely at the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes 
closed to try to stop his tears.  He took a few deep 
shuddering breaths.

"That ... that ... I do that to the guys, to keep them out 
of it while I feed.  I wondered if-if I could do it to a 
vampire."  He laughed shakily.  "I guess I can."

"Did Rasena teach you that?"  If she had, he was going to 
take umbrage, for she had never used that little trick with 
him.

"No, no," said Michael, flinging one arm over his eyes.  "I 
told you.  She and I were never ... together.  I've never 
been with any vampire before.  I figured it out myself over 
the years.  May I go to sleep?  The sun is up and I'm 
exhausted."

"Certainly," said LaCroix, sitting up and swinging his legs 
over the side of the bed.  He definitely felt a little 
shaky.  A drink and a shower were in order.  "Rest.  You may 
use the bed."  He reached out to stroke Michael's thigh.  
"That way I can find you when I want you."

"I'm not going anywhere," replied the boy, his arm still 
over his eyes.  "I can't move."

LaCroix ate and showered.  When he came back into the 
bedroom, he found Michael curled into a ball under the 
covers.  He looked down at him a moment.  He didn't think 
he'd let his intentions slip out.  The sensations had been 
so strong, it would have been impossible for anyone, 
especially one as inexperienced as Michael to sort a real 
thought out of the jumble.  Probably, given his inexperience 
with other vampires, he didn't even know such a thing was 
possible.  His little trick seemed to work at the level of 
nerve endings, not the cerebral cortex.  The memory of that 
... push, whatever it was, sent a delightful little frisson 
of pleasure through him.  His anger had caused  things to 
get a bit out of hand the first time, and Michael's orgasm 
had surprised him the second, fortunately, as  it turned 
out.  He wasn't quite willing to carry through with his 
original intentions at this time.  Michael had just become 
quite an interesting toy.  He decided to play with him just 
a little bit longer before he broke him.

He woke Michael at noon, leaning down to nibble gently on  
his earlobe and throat.  He firmly held Michael to his own  
pace.  He seemed amazed at the intense responses of his  own 
body, and LaCroix quickly had him gasping and  shuddering 
under his hands.  As they climaxed together, Michael again 
pushed them to that sharp peak of pleasure.  LaCroix was 
dazed for about a minute afterwards, and he came to himself 
to find Michael sobbing again in reaction to the intensity 
of the sensations.  LaCroix rubbed his back until he calmed.  
Then he went and got a wet washcloth to tenderly wipe the 
tearstains from Michael's face.  Then he crawled back into 
bed, and tucked Michael up against his side.

"Michael?"  LaCroix gently stroked the youngster's silky 
hair.

"Hmmm?"

"What exactly are you doing, when you give that little ... 
push.?"

"Well, what I think I'm doing is stimulating the pleasure 
center in the brain."

"How?"

"I just slide along the nerves, I guess, following the 
energy flows."

"So, could you do it to me, now?"

Michael turned his head to prop his chin on LaCroix's chest.  
Grinning, he said, "I guess vampires _are_ made of sterner 
stuff that humans.  One little jolt usually leaves them 
twitching for about a week."  He nestled his head back on 
LaCroix's shoulder.  "But no.  I use the burst of energy 
caused by an orgasm to find the right place, intensify it 
and hold it steady."

"Ah."

"So, other vampires don't do that."  Michael ran a cool palm 
smoothly up and down LaCroix's belly.

"Not precisely.  I suspect there is some sort of direct 
stimulation of the pleasure center when a vampire bites, 
probably through the nerves in our teeth.  It is convenient 
when one's prey is pliant and willing at the moment of the 
kill."

"No one has studied this?  I often wonder at our nature and 
what makes us so.  And knowing that I have a...talent that 
others don't makes me even more curious.  How many of our 
abilities and inclinations are set by those that teach us?  
When a vampire is left alone at the beginning of his life, 
as I was, what different areas of our nature and psyches 
would open to further exploration and development?"

"Abandonment of our young and too deep a 'scientific' 
delving into our nature is viewed harshly by the community."  
He gently pinched Michael's earlobe.

"I am so aware."

"You don't approve of the community."

"It's difficult to approve of a group that has a veritable 
'stake on sight' policy towards me.  I have found most 
vampires to be static, locked in an attitude of blind, self-
serving arrogance.  Present company excluded, of course."

"Of course."

"I'm serious, LaCroix.  Your mind has remained fluid.  You 
may be self-serving and arrogant, but you haven't allowed 
yourself to fall into that fatal ennui so many others 
suffer."

"You speak from the arrogance of youth."  LaCroix traced a 
light finger over the soft curve of Michael's lips.

"Perhaps," Michael replied, after kissing LaCroix's 
fingertip.  "But I have seen others younger than myself walk 
into the sun because they found life tedious and flat.  I 
can't even conceive of such a thing.  Life is so ... 
exciting."

"Michael, you've lived a squalid, scrabbling existence on 
the fringe of both human and vampire societies.  I find your 
attitude amazing."

Michael lifted his head to stare into the older vampire's 
face.

"My God, LaCroix, how could anyone find life anything but a 
constant amazement?   It's a passion play, full of delicious 
sufferings and anguished pleasures.  To hunt, to fly, Great 
Goddess, to fly drunk with the soft light of the moon.  And 
books!  The time to read everything ever written.  To watch 
a wolf drag down its prey and to sing its triumph.  Have you 
ever watched a birth, LaCroix?  Ah, that is the primal 
passion play.  Blood.  Cries of agony and bliss.  You've 
watched people die, so I don't have to remind you of the 
fascination that holds.  And then there's music.  Ecstasy!  
Ravishment!"  Michael laughed, his blue eyes shining bright 
with an inner light.

"And now there's you, LaCroix," he went on, lowering his 
head to brush his lips against the older vampire's nipple.  
"You're showing me things I never dreamed of."

LaCroix sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, as 
Michael's hands and mouth suddenly moved on him with an 
excruciating skill.

"Mmm," he said thickly, " let's move onto the next lesson, 
shall we?"

The afternoon was a busy one, and they didn't go out that 
evening.  Michael seemed to be trying to make up for lost 
time and LaCroix willingly humored him.  But by around 2 
a.m., he was ready to take a breather.  Even his capacity 
for pleasure was reaching its limit.  Michael's little trick 
added an uncommon level of intensity and his nerves were 
beginning to feel a bit...frayed.  The glass in his hand 
trembled.  Even the silk of his robe sliding across his skin 
was almost too much stimulation.  He contemplated bringing 
all this to an end, but he decided he really wasn't up for 
the effort that it entailed.

Michael apparently felt a similar nervous exhaustion.  He 
paced back and forth from where LaCroix rested on the couch 
to the bar, working on his third bottle of blood.  His 
_hovering_ was starting to set LaCroix's teeth on edge.

"Michael, could you please stop ... fidgeting."

"Sorry, sorry," replied the boy, coming to a sudden stop.  
"I'm really hyped up."

"Maybe you should go out and take a walk."

"Um.  Alone?"

"Well, you may be 'hyped up', but I'm exhausted."  LaCroix 
forced a smile.  "Trying to keep up with you has become 
something of a challenge."

"Well ... well, that would be great.  I really need to get 
out and _do_ something."

LaCroix chuckled.  "We haven't been _doing_ something?"

"Well, yeah," he replied, grinning, "but I really think I've 
been inside too long."

"Go, go then," LaCroix said with a languid wave.  "Fly, be 
free."

Michael walked over to LaCroix and laying a hand lightly on 
his forearm said, "I'll be back soon, okay?  I will be 
back."

LaCroix's eyes tightened a bit, but he smiled and said 
gently, "Of that, I have no doubt."

Michael was dressed and out the door in less than a minute.  
LaCroix breathed a sigh of relief.

****
LaCroix had the shades and curtains secured over the 
windows.  The sun was coming up and Michael still hadn't 
returned.  He entertained the notion for a moment that the 
younger vampire had run off.  He decided not.  Even if he 
were willing to give up the pleasure he had found in 
LaCroix's company, there was always the old standby;  fear.  
He thought Michael had a very clear picture of what it meant 
to disappoint him in any way.  No doubt he had gotten overly 
involved in some little game and had had to find some other 
spot to go to earth.  However, it was rather annoying.  A 
nap, a lot to drink and a few hours of solitude had restored 
him, and he was ready for Michael to come back.  He had made 
plans for the daylight hours, plans that included Michael.  
He was getting ready to take a shower, when there was a loud 
knocking on the door.  Tossing on his robe, he went to the 
door.  The knocking came again, and he called, "Yes?"

"It's me, Michael," came the muffled reply.  "Please let me 
in."

LaCroix unbolted the door and opened it.  Michael squeezed 
in as soon as the gap was wide enough.  LaCroix curled his 
lip at the smell of scorched flesh.

"I need a bath," declared Michael, not looking at LaCroix, 
darting past him toward the bathroom.  LaCroix snagged the 
boy's wrist and hauled him back.  Michael cried out in pain 
and LaCroix dropped his arm in disgust as blistered skin 
broke and slid under his grip.  Michael stopped and looked 
up at LaCroix, cradling his hurt wrist.  There was an angry 
red, weeping burn across the left side of his face.  His eye 
oozed bloody tears.

"Cut it a little close, eh?"

"Yeah, yeah," panted Michael, "went out too far.  Please 
don't be mad.  I'm sorry I'm late."

"Too far where?"  asked LaCroix, going over to the bar to 
fetch the boy a glass of  blood.

"Out over the Gulf."

"And why were you out over the Gulf, I wonder.  Admiring the 
scenery?"

"No.  No.  Dropping the body."

LaCroix came back to Michael, and stood there with the glass 
in his hand.  Michael eyed it hungrily but didn't reach for 
it.

"The body?  Get a little careless, did we?"


"I-I couldn't stop."  Michael looked at him, eyes wide and 
stricken.  "I couldn't stop.  It was too strong."

LaCroix studied him a moment.  The burn on his face was just 
an angry pink now, though his eye was still weeping and 
bloodshot.  "Drink," he said, handing the boy the glass.  
Michael took it with a shaking hand and drained it.

"At least now I know why you guys call it blood 'lust'," he 
said with a shaky smile.  He wiped his eye on his sleeve.

"Hmm?"

"I-I was doing this guy, and he-he smelled _real_ tasty.  I 
was having a hard time keeping my teeth back, though I 
wasn't that hungry, and then he moaned and suddenly... the 
lust just surged through me.  Oh, man, I really wanted him, 
to-to _have_ him.  Before I even really knew what I was 
doing, I was at his throat, and-and," Michael's eyes closed 
in remembered ecstasy.  "It was never like that before." 

"Michael, I'm not sure ... Michael."  The last was said 
rather sharply, as he didn't have the boy's attention.  
Michael's eyes, gone a burning gold, snapped open as he 
pulled himself out of his memory.  LaCroix could have sworn 
he looked a little flushed.

"Michael, are you saying that you've never felt 
that...pleasure while feeding before?"

"No, no, not like that." the boy replied, voice sounding a 
little thick.  "I've always needed it, you know.  To stop 
the hunger pains.  But I've never _wanted_ it like that."  
He chuckled darkly.  "Believe me, dinner has just taken on a 
whole new meaning."  He licked his lips, then seemed to 
really focus on LaCroix for the first time.

"Oh, were you going to bed?"

"To take a bath."

Michael gave a sharp toothed smile, eyes still golden, and 
reached out one finger to trace across the silk on LaCroix's 
chest.  "Can I wash your back?"

"Actually, you need the bath more than I.  Smoked vampire is 
not one of my favorite scents."  He took Michael by the 
shoulder and turning him, marched him into the bathroom.

All in all, the day proved rather satisfactory.

It was before midnight that night that LaCroix decided, with 
a certain measure of reluctance, that it was really time to 
move on.   Sex with Michael was quite delightful, as the 
youngster learned to bring his considerable skills and his 
new passion together.  Add to that his dedication to 
learning exactly just what pleased LaCroix, and he found 
himself quite tempted just to let things remain as they 
were.  But he wasn't one to let impulse interfere with his 
long term plans.

He ran one hand down the graceful curves of Michael's back 
as they lay together on the bed.  He drew his nails lightly 
across the firm roundness of his buttocks, then smiled down 
at Michael's glowing face as he rolled over to press his 
body along LaCroix's. The older vampire kept their pace 
slow, savoring the growing swell of arousal.  He nipped 
along the top of the other's shoulder to his throat, the 
bright taste of Michael's blood rolling on his tongue.  He 
took a sharp breath as the gentle coolness of Michael's lips 
on his nipple shifted suddenly to the pointed pleasure of 
his teeth.  Michael moved up to kiss him and the dark, musky 
taste of his own blood mingled with that of  the younger 
vampire's in his mouth.  Michael slid his hands down to 
circle LaCroix's cock, and he groaned as Michael's fingers 
urged him on.  He quickly reached down and took the other's 
hands in his own.  He rolled Michael onto his back, trapping 
his thighs under one of his own.  He pulled Michael's arms 
over his head, pinning them there with one hand around his 
wrists.

"Let's take this slowly, shall we?"  LaCroix's voice was 
soft and dark, roughened by lust.

Michael laughed, eyes sparkling with delight.  He arched, 
flinging his head back as LaCroix bent to kiss his throat.  
LaCroix's free hand trailed down to tease the other's thighs 
and cock with nails and fingertips, until Michael gasped he 
had better stop.  Then he rolled onto his own back, pulling 
Michael on top of him.  They kissed a moment, tongues 
running across the sharpening points of each other's teeth.

Then Michael began to slide slowly down LaCroix's body, 
nipping at his throat, letting his hands and mouth linger 
across  his chest and stomach.  Pushing LaCroix's legs apart 
with his knees, he trailed light fingertips along the inside 
of his thighs and the velvety skin of his scrotum.  He bent 
to tease his cock with lips and tongue and fang tips before 
he took LaCroix deep into his mouth with a moan of pleasure.  
He ran sharp nails along his flanks, then moved his hands 
under him to lift LaCroix's hips up, eager to take him in as 
far as he could.  His nails bit into the tender skin of his 
lover's buttocks.  LaCroix ran his fingers through Michael's 
silky hair, groaning as the pleasure swelled within him.

Then he hissed sharply as Michael drew his erect fangs all 
the way up his shaft.  Michael, lips dark with blood, moved 
up quickly to straddle LaCroix's hips.  LaCroix grabbed him 
and pulled him tight against his chest.  Michael brought his 
legs together, trapping LaCroix's cock between hard muscled 
thighs.  LaCroix rolled them over, pressing down on Michael 
heavily.  He thrust hard, his cock, slick with his own 
blood, sliding on the smooth skin of Michael's inner thighs.   
Michael, his own cock pressed between their bodies, ground 
his hips against LaCroix.  Moaning, "I'm going," he reached 
up, and pulled LaCroix's throat down to his mouth.

He shuddered as Michael's teeth sank into him, his blood 
rushing eagerly into the other's mouth.  He managed, barely, 
to hold his own orgasm back.  Sighing, a bit regretful, he 
placed his lips to Michael's ear and murmured, "Rasena."

Then he bit fiercely into Michael's jugular.  As the burning 
fluid spurted into his mouth, he thrust along the blood link 
into Michael's mind, holding firmly onto clear thought as 
Michael's orgasm washed over him.  An image, triggered in 
Michael by LaCroix's whispering her name, flashed before his 
eyes.

Rasena stood before the mouth of a cave, the full moon 
shining on the towering snow covered mountains around her.  
He caught the sense that this was the center, the hub of 
some kind of activity.  And though he couldn't have pointed 
to it on a map, he knew where it was and how to get there. 

 He slid quickly out of the mental contact, as Michael's 
anguished realization of his betrayal pierced him.   He 
thrashed and groaned under LaCroix, struggling to free 
himself.  LaCroix rolled off him and sat up.  He watched as 
Michael lay gasping and shaking, then as he flung his hands 
over his face, pressing his fingers into his eyes.  He bit 
through his lip and his dark blood, mixed with LaCroix's, 
trickled from his mouth down his jawline.  He lay frozen 
like that for a moment.  Then Michael slowly rolled away 
from LaCroix, got up and walked to his bag resting on a 
chair.  Jerking out a pair of jeans, he began to get 
dressed.

"And where are you going?"

"Out.  Away."

"I don't think so."

"Why the hell not," demanded Michael, his voice trembling 
with rage and shame.  "You got what you wanted."

LaCroix stood up and walked over to him.  "Indeed I did.  
But you're coming back with me to Toronto."

"I really don't think so, LaCroix."  His anger wasn't enough 
to keep him from shrinking away from the older vampire.

"Well, you _do_ have a choice, actually," LaCroix replied, 
reaching out to rest a heavy hand on Michael's shoulder, his 
thumb pushing into the base of his throat. The youngster's 
body shuddered under LaCroix's touch.  "You come with me to 
Toronto, or you die here now."

Michael stared into his eyes, and LaCroix could see that he 
was seriously considering the second choice.

"Why?" he whispered.

"I'm afraid our little ... affair here has had certain 
ramifications.  Beyond the obvious.  You aren't able to 
control yourself when you're feeding anymore.  Are you?  
You're no better than a fledgling, faced with the blood lust 
for the first time.  Beyond the fact that you are actually 
... family, I am responsible for that change in you.  So 
it's up to me to train you," and he shook the boy by the 
shoulder, smiling benignly, "or to kill you.  And you're not 
a chore I'm all that eager to take on.  Perhaps selecting 
the second option would be more pleasant for both of us.  
I'd make it quick."

He shoved Michael back into the chair, and watched the 
younger vampire rub his hands through his hair as though to 
calm his wildly running thoughts.

"You won't ... you don't expect-"  Michael choked on his 
words, unable to speak further.

"Well, my boy, one can never say for sure, can one?"  He 
picked up his robe from where it had been tossed to the 
floor and drew it on.  "At this time, however, you can 
safely say I have gotten all I want from you.  Why don't you 
go take a shower?  It will help calm you.  I'm going to 
arrange for our flight."

*******

Somewhere to the east, an ancient priestess stood deep in 
the eternal night of her cavern, enveloped in the velvet 
darkness.  Then something ... changed.  The Pattern shifted.  
_Something_ was not right.  She paused, allowing the 
wrongness to explain itself.... 

Betrayal.

Certain plans would have to be put into effect.