After I saw "Night in Question" for the first time I went looking for a missing scene fic that would explain what happened after Nick went to Raven to meet LaCroix and during the day he spent there learning about his life. It sounded like a great premise for a N/L fic and I was surprised to find out that no one had actually taken up the challenge of writing it. So, at last, I wrote it myself. This is my first entry in the slash genre and therefore might not be as clean cut as a professional's work. Although there is a song involved, this is not a songfic. I used it because it fit the premise well and because every time I heard the song I saw a bedroom scene involving Nick and LaCroix in my head. Many, many thanks to my beta reader April for her hard work in correcting my awful viewpoint shifts and for pointing out, casually, that vampires can't have three hands, even if they can't get enough of touching each other This is dedicated to her as well as to all the great authors who write slash, specially those who write for FK. Disclaimer: Not mine, otherwise they'd be doing it on TV. Spoilers: Night in Question, Dance by the light of the moon Warning: This story contains consensual graphic sex between two male vampires, a male and a female vampire in a dream-like setting, and lots of blood sharing. If this is not your cup of tea, leave now. Sequel: Possibly, if people don't tell me to go learn wind surfing instead (believe me, I've tried, couldn't hold the sail up when the wind caught it.) Feedback: Yes, please. To sunny@lacountess.com ~~~ Come Undone By: Sunny LaCountess ----------------------------------------- Part One: Mine, immaculate dream It was the long day. He had foreseen it, and it was coming. He had hoped it would end up like this, had actually laid out a plan to make things turn in the direction that would lead to this. Not that all of it had worked out, but some of it had, and even though it was the good doctor who had finally admitted the truth to his errant son, it was to him that Nicholas was now returning--to get the answers. All of the answers. LaCroix was sitting at the bar, casually taking small impassive sips from his drink. His thoughts, however, were anything but passive. It was almost droll that a man his age could be nervous about anything, let alone this, like a teenager waiting for a date. Even if he knew the date so well that he could virtually pick him out from a crowd in the dark, and even if he had prepared himself with the best setting and tools. Why had he done all that? Because he knew this would come. Nicholas might have lost most of his memory, but he hadn't forgotten the most important aspect of his unlife: that LaCroix, no matter how strict at times, or deceitful, or even sadistic, was a safe haven for him whenever things got rough. LaCroix was the one who had created the eternal problem in the crusader's life, and hence, he was the only one who had the solution. He heard the front door open and close, heard the anxious footsteps as they approached the bar. His senses fired up with the overwhelming awareness of his favorite son. When he looked up, his stare collided with the deep dark blue eyes. So unchanged, even as confusion faintly clouded their depths. Still, he knew that the man who owned them was anything but unchanged. He didn't dare to speak first. Afraid it would give away how silently joyful he was to see it happen. But the peculiar silence was even worse, when it was already evident that he was aware of the young man, more than aware, when he was looking him straight in the eye. So he spoke, opting for the sarcastic approach, hoping it would conceal his true inner feelings. "Nicholas. So glad that you're well. What brings you in? Social call? Some urgent police matter, perhaps?" "No, just a feeling. I'm guessing you can fill in the blanks for me. Help me figure out who I am--all of who I am." "It's nearly dawn--you'll have to spend the day here with me, I'm afraid. Have you plenty of time?" "Eternity, so I'm told." "Good. Because what you are, Nicholas, is a long, long story." There was another bout of silence between the two of them before Nicholas sat down on the stool to his right, and reached out for the empty glass that was sitting on the bar next to him. As if it were a routine, LaCroix picked up the labeled bottle and silently poured the red liquid into the glass. He watched the play of emotions on his child's face, his hesitation to drink the dark, tantalizing elixir. No doubt he was thinking about the good doctor's words, about human blood and how he had resisted drinking it since about a century ago. He half expected Nicholas to reject the drink, and felt rewarded when he saw him pick up the full glass and drain the content. Nicholas was still on the other side of the wall. The high, impenetrable wall that shielded his memories. He would need a hand to climb that wall, or to break through it, and see the other side where things were clear and he was himself again. LaCroix was that hand; he was the only one who knew all the seven hundred and sixty seven years of the young man's long and arduous life, aside from Janette, who wasn't there. That's why Nicholas had come here, to ask LaCroix to help him see beyond the wall of his dark uncertainty and guide him toward the light of understanding. So that he would remember and reject him, again. LaCroix took another swig of his drink and continued looking at his child. The eternally youthful face that was slightly troubled, a lot more bemused, but still very beautiful. He didn't remember the last time he had looked at this face so intently, without anger or regret. It could have been centuries ago, the times he still sometimes dreamed about. Yet the boy was sitting so close to him now, for a second it crossed his mind to reach forward and touch him. It was so close and within his reach, and he had waited for so long. Only then, Nicholas brought down his glass from his lips and put it on the bar. When he spoke, his eyes were fixed on the rim of the glass instead of on the other man. "What is your price?" he asked, frigidly. LaCroix was startled. "Excuse me?" "Your price, LaCroix, the price of telling me who I am. There must be something in it, for you. Nothing is free." He looked up, blue eyes instantly turning dark. "Who said that, Nicholas?" "You did, once, about parenting. My memory is flawed but I remember you saying it, vaguely. And I remember part of what happened after," he fell silent, the words dying in his throat. LaCroix felt his own throat tighten as he asked, "What happened after?" he didn't want his voice to tremble, wasn't sure he succeeded. "We fought," Nicholas whispered, almost to himself, "And I paid the price." LaCroix pressed his lips together. His child remembered some of their past. Not a complete picture, but bits and pieces and he seemed to be mixing them up. Still, what he saw wasn't pretty, and if nothing else, it confused him even more. Now LaCroix felt an obligation to relieve him from his puzzlement no matter what the cost. He left his drink at the bar and stood up. Nicholas didn't move. LaCroix observed his son for a while before asking, "Nicholas, do you really want to know who you are?" Nicholas hesitated for a moment. Then he raised his head and looked at his master. "Yes, please." "Then come with me." The ancient strolled toward the corridor at the back of the club. Nick stared at him for a while before rising from his stool and following him. They walked past a couple of closed doors along the corridor until they reached one of the back rooms, part of Janette's quarters. LaCroix opened the door and stood to the side, inviting Nicholas to go in first. Nicholas took a few steps inside and then froze. He stood in the middle of the room, looking at his surroundings, his eyes taking in every detail. The furniture looked familiar, although he didn't remember from when. Unbeknownst to him, the ancient hadn't changed any of it, being short of time and rather unwilling to spoil a sweet memory lest it came back to his son. But he had taken the time to put scores of wax candles on virtually every surface. The bed was huge, and took up most of the space. LaCroix had obviously changed the linen sheets, and covered them with soft, expensive velvet. The cushions and pillow covers looked like they were silk, all in a deep burgundy color that looked even darker in the light and shadow play of the candles, Janette's colors. Nicholas felt nostalgic without knowing why. He didn't turn when LaCroix stepped into the room and walked by him. But he spoke. "Why all this?" LaCroix was putting a CD in the stereo system that stood to the side of the room. He looked up. "I thought you said we needed to talk," he quipped. "Yes, but why this?" LaCroix closed the CD changer drawer and pressed a button. It clicked as it rotated and mounted the CD. Soft music started pouring into the room, and LaCroix looked intently into Nicholas' eyes. Duran Duran's "Wedding Album", their ninth from 1993, sixth song, first word: "Mine..." Nicholas looked away. ...immaculate dream Made breath and skin I've been waiting for you Signed with a home tattoo Happy birthday to you Was created for you LaCroix came close enough to put a hand on Nicholas' shoulder. "Sit down." It was stated gently, but sounded like an order. Nicholas obeyed. They both sat on the bed, across from each other. "You must feel very tired. We sleep during the day," LaCroix declared casually. Nicholas shrugged, "I am not tired. Why do you change the subject?" LaCroix sighed, "What do you want me to say?" he asked. "I want you to start telling me about my life. Instead of putting on music in your bedroom and talking about the weather." LaCroix looked at Nicholas' face again, the curve of his jaw, the bright blue of his eyes, the slender neck. The pulse was there, slight, inviting. Before he noticed, his hand had crept up his child's upper arm, rubbing over the silk of his shirt, crawling up toward the throat that was so invitingly accessible to him. For the briefest moment Nicholas closed his eyes and parted his lips, slightly, swaying to the haunting music in the room. Then, as if suddenly realizing what he was doing, he jerked back out of LaCroix's reach and off the bed, and the spell was broken. LaCroix waited for the thunder and lightning to come, for his son to scream at him in unchecked anger. If he were lucky Nicholas would just turn his back and leave the room. He wasn't lucky. Nicholas stood with his arms folded over his chest, his forehead creased into a frown and his body lightly trembling. LaCroix looked at him, and although every cell in his son's body exuded disgust and apprehension, he didn't fail to notice the growing bulge in his pants, or the unconscious biting of his lower lip, a sign that his fangs were itching to grow. LaCroix hid his smile. So his unsolicited approach had awakened his son's innate senses at the very least. Nicholas got control over himself quickly and glared at the older man sitting on the bed. When he spoke his voice was raspy and he felt his upper teeth tingle. "I asked you about your price before we started. I never said you were free to take it without asking. Is this your way of disrespecting me?" LaCroix began losing his patience. He answered curtly, "No. Now sit down." "I won't," Nicholas shouted, "unless you tell me the meaning of this" he gestured around the room, "and that," he pointed at LaCroix's hand still resting against a pillow, the same hand that had touched him. LaCroix took a deep breath and closed his eyes, he had to take it slow or he would lose everything. He opened his eyes and looked at Nicholas, "I suggest you sit down," he said composedly, pointing at the spot Nicholas had left a moment ago, "I promise I won't bite." he thought derisively but maintained eye contact with his son. Gradually, Nicholas relaxed his guard and moved to sit on the bed. LaCroix kept his cool until he heard the boy speak, "What is it that you want, LaCroix? You need to tell me now." LaCroix looked back, aloud he said, "The question, Nicholas, is what do *you* want?" "But I told you a hundred times now, LaCroix. I want to know who I am. I want you to tell me that," he sounded frustrated. "What makes you think I have the answer to that?" "Because you said so yourself." "Aah, but did I?" Nicholas paused. LaCroix was right; the master had never actually admitted that he could help him. Only his actions had led Nicholas to believe that he did. But then again, his actions could have been aiming at an entirely different intention. Nicholas' stomach twisted all at once, and for the second time that day, he got off the bed to leave. "I'm sorry I bothered you," he said through clenched teeth and turned to walk away. A cool fist closed around his wrist and stopped him. He looked down and saw LaCroix staring back at him, an unrecognizable glint in his eyes. Without a word the ancient pulled him back to the bed. Nicholas didn't know why he obeyed, but something in his mind commanded him to do as his master asked, like the instincts of a wild animal engraved in his psyche since the day he was born. LaCroix held his wrist for a while. He noticed the other man's discomfort and knew he had to speak. He had made a decision and taken the first steps, now it was either taking the plunge or nothing at all. "Nicholas," he began, "You want me to tell you about your past." Nicholas didn't give a reply. It wasn't a question. "But you said you want to know everything about your past, didn't you?" "All of it." Nicholas replied immediately. "You do know that that is impossible." "Why?" "Because, my son, no matter how much I tell you, how well I explain the details, it can never replace the memories you have lost. My stories are words. They cannot recreate the life you have lived with your perfectly enhanced vampire senses. They cannot recreate every vision, every sound, taste, touch, every fragrant smell. They will be just words, plain and hollow." "No," Nicholas snapped," You can't do this to me; you can't bow out of it. You said you would, you led me to this. Why are you denying me now?" "Because you just demonstrated that you didn't want the alternative. The only solution there is that would give you all your memories back, including every touch, taste and smell." Nicholas' eyes widened. LaCroix let his wrist go and Nicholas looked at it as if it were a strange animal. An understanding smile crept across LaCroix's lips. The boy was perceptive. The bullet had not ruined that part of his brain. "You see, Nicholas, we are vampires. All our feelings and experiences are recorded in our blood. It is the same with mortals, only they have no way of retrieving it. *We,* on the other hand, are the only ones who can access these sources. The eldest of us are the living archives of mortal and immortal history. It is unfortunate that the accident left your mind empty of your own. But it is still preserved in your blood. As it is in mine, and in Janette's." "Janette?" He looked up, the question flickering in his eyes. LaCroix shook his head in assurance, all in good time. "So what is it you are suggesting? That I should drain my blood and run it through a computer? Or do you want to take it and perform some kind of Voodoo ritual with the setting you have created?" he snapped contemptuously, pointing at the candles around the room. "Neither. I want you to understand this. The only way you can get back everything you have lost is to taste the blood. And not just like that. You can't simply pour it into a glass and drink it. For it to work, you have to be in a certain stage of euphoria. You have to be there." "What do you mean?" LaCroix took a deep, deliberate breath, preparing himself for the answer. " You have to share blood with another of your kind." Silence. Nicholas stared at him without speaking, or blinking, for a very long time. So long he thought the boy was hypnotized. Just as he decided to wave a hand in front of his son's face the lips parted, and Nicholas spoke. "I should have known." It was only a whisper, not quite a reaction, as the only parts of his face that moved where those pale lips. LaCroix took a sharp breath, determined to deny the accusation again, that this wasn't a trick; he wasn't plotting to get at Nicholas' neck. Nicholas snapped out of his trance at that very moment and hurriedly started explaining, "I didn't mean you. What I meant was...I had dreamt about this, after I met you in the loft last time. I dreamt you were with me in my bedroom. We both had our vampire faces, and we stood inches apart. I remember you saying something and then you grabbed me by my shoulders and pulled me to yourself. Then you kissed me on the lips. I first thought it was just a peck but you didn't let go. It seemed like you wanted to ravage my mouth with your fangs and I whimpered from the fear. But then you moved on, kissing my jaw, my chin and my neck. I could feel your breath on my skin and the occasional scrap of your teeth but for some reason I was paralyzed and couldn't move. I felt like putty in your hands being twisted whichever way you wanted. You stopped at my neck and nibbled there. I think I moaned and you bit down hard. It almost seared my skin as your fangs went in and I had to stifle a cry, and then my whole body started tingling and I felt you beginning to suckle at the wound. It was very strange because it hurt and felt really good at the same time. I think I was getting off of it and couldn't stop my body from shaking as you continued drinking from me." Nicholas had to stop for a second to get his rousing emotions under control. His voice was getting rougher with the emergence of the vampire. LaCroix silently empathized with him as he, himself, was having a hard time keeping his fangs in check under the stimulus of Nicholas' detailed description of his wet dream. Nicholas gulped a few times, and then continued, "When I felt that I couldn't take it anymore I turned my head to your neck. Something in me was telling me to bite. But then you held me back, and all of a sudden Natalie came into the room. She was half naked like we were and she sat on the bed, smiling at both of us. You led me toward her and said something in my ear. I think I was so drained and so desperately on the edge that I didn't even hear what you said. All I could see was she, and the outline of her warm body. I remember I sat behind her and licked her skin. I don't know why she wasn't afraid, my sharp fangs and inhuman eyes should have scared her but I guess she was in some kind of daze. We started kissing and you slid to the back of the room and stood there watching us. I know this because I could feel you at my back, like I had felt you in the loft. She asked me to drink from her and I was about to sink my teeth into her neck when I woke up. Still, I can remember all of it as vividly as if it had really happened." He went quiet, panting. LaCroix didn't need to check in the mirror to know that his own eyes had changed and his fangs were showing. It took all his strength not to jump his beautiful, partially aroused son and make violent love to him right there. Nonetheless, it eased some of his tension to know that although his son's brain had forgotten the basic needs of the passionate creature that he was, his subconscious hadn't, nor had his body if what LaCroix saw in front of him was any indication. What would it be like to have him now? This raw, untainted, and rejuvenated soul. To teach him the essentials of savage coupling again. To claim that beloved body once more, make it his, again, breaking and tearing away everything he believed and had learned in the short time he had awakened from that fatal shot and turn him inside out. Make Nicholas undone, and rebuild him from the bottom up, the way the master wanted him to be. LaCroix could get what he wanted, what he always dreamed of having in his son, his greatest love. He could customize him the way people customized a tailored suit. Make him the perfect, flawless protégé. Or he could just make him Nicholas, the one he had been. And now that he thought about it, if he were to be honest with himself, there wasn't much difference between the two. What he'd got before was what he'd wanted. He had had his share of domestic, obedient offspring. There was a reason he had only chased this one over the span of eight centuries. And for that same reason he was going to give Nicholas all his memories back, lock, stock and barrel. Nicholas was going to be whole, if not wholly his. He reached over and lifted his son's chin, which had fallen to his chest after the torrid recalling of his dream. He was shocked to see sadness in Nicholas' face, his expressive beautiful eyes-back at blue again-shadowed by an unknown grief. He opened his mouth to speak but Nicholas beat him to it. "So it is true then. About us..." "I told you we were different. That's what vampires do, master and child in particular." "But how? Why?" Nicholas tried to turn his face away. The small repulsion he saw in those eyes before he turned them angered LaCroix for a heartbeat. He tightened his grip on his son's chin, preventing him from turning his head away. His tone was somewhat harsh when he answered the question. "Easily. Because we want to, and it is fun." he let some menace creep into his voice for the next part, "And because I say so." Nicholas started shaking. A whimper escaped his tightly clamped lips before LaCroix realized he was holding him too tightly. He let go with a shove and Nicholas fell back, rubbing his jaw in pain, it was beginning to show a light bruising. LaCroix was tempted to apologize, but then he dropped it. He was still too angry with the other man; the last thing he wished for was a homophobic Nicholas. Nicholas was looking down again. It seemed like he didn't want to speak. His hand was still rubbing the side of his face but the minor bruising had already disappeared, an advantage of the vampire metabolism. LaCroix wondered if he still wanted to continue with the deal, or whether he had scared off his favorite with his small, arrogant show of authority. But then he noticed the boy's arousal hadn't diminished at all. If nothing else, he was even more stimulated than he had been before. LaCroix's smile almost tasted good in his mouth. Nicholas even craved that part of their liaison, good to know that. He stood up, feeling both mighty and kind at the same time. Nicholas--his hand still on his jaw--didn't look up, but he flinched a little as LaCroix put a gentle hand on his shoulder and leaned down toward him, speaking into his ear. "You can quit if you want." Nicholas shook his head no. The rapid, almost childish gesture made him look even more vulnerable, and desirable. LaCroix licked his lips. "Are you sure you want this, now that you know the price?" Another shake of the blond head, this time in approval. The hand fell onto his lap. LaCroix straightened and looked down at the bowed head. The boy had given his consent; it was what he had come here for in the first place. But why was he so stiff? Why was his whole body screaming of tense reservation? Nicholas himself answered that with his next question. "What about Natalie?" Oh, really? Now *that's* interesting. The forlorn, redemption seeking, amnesiac vampire feeling devotion towards a woman he had practically met-what was it-a day ago? LaCroix fought the urge to laugh and taunt. Instead, he only shook his head and spoke wisely. "She will have to understand. Remember, right now, she knows more about you than you know about yourself. Only after you have learned everything about yourself will you be able to make a conscious decision. Only then is your devotion questionable." Nicholas seemed to accept that argument. He fell quiet again. LaCroix extended a hand toward him, asking, "Shall we?" Nicholas looked at him for another second. Then rose and stood in front of him. LaCroix observed him with a cool eye. "One more thing, I want to make sure you understand everything before we begin." He dropped the tonal quality of his voice a couple of levels, "I want you to trust me on this, mon fils. I want you to hand over control to me." He reached out and took hold of the back of Nicholas' head, "Submit your will to me. That is the only way to succeed." He looked intensely at the serene face, urging the young man to understand. When he did, LaCroix saw determination and acceptance in the sapphire eyes. "Okay." Nick said in a quiet voice. It was all the invitation LaCroix needed. Strong hands grabbed Nicholas by both shoulders and pulled the smaller man swiftly to himself, demanding a hungry, savage kiss from the pale lips. LaCroix's arms snaked behind Nicholas' back, gathering him up and pulling him even closer to himself as he deepened the kiss, pulling and sucking at that sweet, delicate mouth. He felt his son shiver against him and he broke off the kiss. Panting, he leaned his forehead against Nicholas', his hands now rubbing soothingly on his back. He could feel the stress beneath the skin. "Shhh," he whispered, "it is all right. I won't hurt you. s'il vous plait, mon amour." It occurred to him in that moment that Nicholas might not understand French anymore, but he was beyond caring. It was their habit that they usually didn't pay attention what language they spoke when they were at this stage. He wasn't ready to break the habit at this moment to allow for Nicholas' handicap, he had more important things to do. Slowly, he maneuvered Nicholas towards the bed, peeling off his coat and vest as he did so, while going back to kissing those luscious lips. Nicholas was limp in his arms, overwhelmed by LaCroix's sudden aggressiveness and his own awakened passion. He tried to catch onto something as he was gently, but firmly pushed on his back onto the mattresses. His breath caught in his throat as LaCroix continued swallowing his mouth. Then he felt them, grazing the underside of his lips. Fangs. Sharp, dangerous fangs, and he panicked. LaCroix felt his son's fear through their link and did the first thing that came to mind. He opened the link wide and invaded his son's consciousness without breaking the kiss. He went in, finding his lover in alarm. He started calming him down by issuing a mental command. In the real world, he moved his hand to the back of his progeny's head and gathered a fistful of golden locks. He clenched them tight and pulled the head back, letting go of the mouth only then, and looked deeply into the wide, clouded eyes, reinforcing the mental command he was giving. /Relax; there is nothing to be scared of. This is what we are./ Nicholas closed his eyes, his body trembling under LaCroix. It was too much for him all at once. He could feel the hand at the back of his head pulling his hair and holding him in place. He heard a voice in his head, LaCroix's voice, and suddenly, his master was there in his mind. He let out a sob. How could this be possible? The ancient had not spoken; he couldn't see LaCroix with his eyes closed. How could he see him so clearly in his mind or hear him talk? /It is our link, my son. The force that binds us together. Look for it, mon coeur, look and you will find me there./ Nicholas lay frozen for a moment. He didn't quite understand what the words meant. It was too hard to concentrate on anything when his whole world was so condensed, into a tiny space that only consisted of his master's voice, his master's breath, his master's body touching him, and his master's fist in his hair. The fist tightened warningly when his hesitation lasted too long, and he felt something familiar in his heart. He forced himself to focus and went deeper into his mind, searching for that source of power that directed him to comply. He raised his chest in a heave, breathing heavily, and took it one step at a time. A maze... he knew he had been there before. He followed the sensation, round and round in darkness. And there...he found it. Around a corner. He reached out for LaCroix, physically and mentally, his arms stretching up and holding onto the broad back and the muscular torso. Suddenly, the hold at the back of his head became even firmer, almost violent as it pulled his head back as far as it could go, exposing his throat completely, making him feel even more vulnerable. He let out another sob, almost begging, not sure what he was begging for as the nerve endings all over his neck began to tingle. LaCroix had to close his eyes to get himself under control. It wasn't easy to be careful when they were so open, if he had to look at the beautiful creature beneath him. So soft and alluring, his body trembling deliciously in his hands, his exquisite throat bared to him like a piece of the forbidden fruit, tempting him to bite, to sink his dagger teeth into that soft, sweet flesh and take the essence that was the siren call of his dreams. He had to stop, he had to take control of himself or all would be lost. This wasn't the time yet. They had to take it slow. If he didn't do it the right way now, there was great danger that he would lose Nicholas forever. His son would lose his mind in the confusion and fear such a tactless attack would create, and he would never have the real Nicholas back. No, it needed time. Nicholas was docile. Even his breathing had slowed down to a bare minimum. He was waiting, LaCroix observed. Waiting for his master to decide what came next, a behavior imprinted in him since the early days of his unlife under the tutelage of LaCroix. A fledgling always waited, never acted on his own accord when the master was reflecting, never asked any questions about what the decision would be. It was a state of complete submission and absolute trust to the greater power, which was to some extent vital for the survival of the fledgling particularly in the first years. Nicholas had not lost that either, and LaCroix marveled in the knowledge of it. He let go of the golden head and watched in fascination as Nicholas simply laid there in a tranquil semi-sleep. "Open your eyes Nicholas." He commanded, verbally this time. He had to get his son's attention now. There was that voice again, in his head. But this time, it was coming from outside. He couldn't hear it clearly. He was so fascinated with the connection he had found with that source of strength, he couldn't turn his back on it and pay attention to anything outside. He just wanted to stay there in the glow of that familiar warmth and feel safe forever. He knew it was the source of all his answers. Someone grabbed him by the shoulders and started shaking him, violently, and then a slap. His head rolled back and he opened his eyes in dazed shock. What happened? He looked up and saw the face of his master looking down at him, the icy blue eyes very close and piercing. He took a slow breath and wondered at what he saw in their calculating depths. "You wanted more, didn't you?" the growl was low and silky, almost like a purr. Suddenly he felt painfully hard, as if the words had just reminded him of his unfulfilled arousal. The frustration was growing and he let out a soft plea, "I need..." LaCroix's triumph was indescribable, and only slightly dented by the awareness of the responsibility he had in this particularly special situation. He moved his hand up again, to his son's head, and started stroking the blonde mane in genuine affection. "Soon mon petite, very soon. But you need to know first. We have to choose our path carefully, follow in our own footsteps from the past. You have come undone, my son. It is time to put you back together." He said gently as he continued to pet the soft hair.. "Together," Nicholas breathed dreamily as he blinked. "What do you want me to do." he asked. If nothing else, he was even more confused now than he had been before. Why had the ancient stopped when they where both so close? LaCroix rose off his child and sat on his hunches, letting Nicholas finally go free. He looked his protégé up and down for a minute, trying to assess his condition for the next stage. Nicholas lay relaxed, perhaps a little lewd. He still had his shirt and jeans on, a beautiful thing waiting to be uncovered. LaCroix decided finally. First do something about that and then think about the rest. "Strip." he ordered brashly. Nicholas' eyes opened wide. LaCroix picked up the remote for the stereo that he had tossed onto the bedcover before their stormy interlude and pressed 'replay.' The same song started once again. He pressed one more button, 'repeat', and threw the remote to the side of the room, turning his attention back to the man on the bed. "I told you to strip. I don't like to repeat myself." his eyes held a warning glint. Nicholas turned his head, closing his eyes like he were in pain. LaCroix grabbed his chin lightly and turned his head back, meeting the sapphire-blue eyes as they opened, "fiez-vous à moi, mon cher, trust me. I will not hurt you." The ancient stroked down the smooth jaw with the same hand, feeling Nicholas turn into the caress and close his eyes, relaxing into the hand in visible surrender. Nicholas' fingers went slowly to the front of his shirt, eyes still closed, body still prone beneath LaCroix. One by one he opened the buttons, slowly, revealing smooth flesh, aware of LaCroix's gaze upon him even through his closed eyelids. It was the link, his perception of his lover now very high because of the open connection they shared. The music flowed in the room, coaching his actions. LaCroix sucked in a deep breath. Nicholas was just as he remembered, slim, smooth and beautiful. The young vampire's movements were graceful, bewitching, as he opened the last button and let the shirttails fall off the smooth abdomen to each side, his arms coming to rest next to them. At the sight, LaCroix couldn't stop himself from gripping the two sides of his child's opened lapel and pulling down the shirt over Nick's shoulders, before letting Nicholas make any further moves, and eliciting a startled cry from the younger man. The music soared in sync with their action. Oh, it'll take a little time, might take a little crime to come undone now It wasn't easy with his son lying on the bed but at last, LaCroix managed to take the shirt off of Nicholas' body. The jeans were next. LaCroix completely forgot he had ordered his child to strip by himself, and that he himself was still fully clothed. The sight of Nicholas so pliant and willing, lying there, was too much even for his control. The boy was like a wrapped up birthday present that had been dropped onto his lap. LaCroix mused with glee, thinking about the song. He was almost going to check for the home tattoo, but instead, went on unhooking and pulling the jeans down Nicholas' shapely legs. /A dream, Nicholas, your memories hidden deep in your heart. I will take you there, mon beau fils, I will guide you through the darkness and confusion, through all the chapters of this book, all the stages of your life. Together, we will reach high, to a place were no mortal has dared to even try. You and I, like we used to be in those early days, with no care to the rest of the world./ We'll try to stay blind to the hope and fear outside Hey child, stay wilder than the wind And blow me in to cry Who do you need, who do you love When you come undone Nicholas was lost to the sensation of those strong, familiar hands fondling his body, turning him this way and that and rearranging him on the pillows. He knew he could trust those hands, this man. A master who had been his protector since the day he was born to the darkness, his teacher and guide through the difficult ways of the night. Now, that same man had asked him again to put his will in his hands so that he could help him find the way again. He knew he could do it; he only had to give his trust. He felt those hands on his body, moving and stroking his skin. They went down to his waist, and then moved into his briefs, over his swollen shaft. LaCroix caressed the soft silky skin. Nicholas couldn't contain his sudden moan and he arched into the powerful caress, offering himself to the dominant creature over him. Cool lips touched the side of his face, licking and sucking at his ear, then down the column of his neck, still moving downward until they reached his carotid artery. There, they paused, only for a moment before moving further again, toward his chest. And then he felt the pinprick of fangs, stinging pain like the bite of a snake, so small, over a nipple. And the little blood that was drawn from him. "Dieu, il blesse, si bon." French! He remembered speaking it a long time ago. It hadn't left him. Or was it coming back? Was this the beginning of his reformation? Just the simple touch of his master and already part of him was restored? Words, playing me deja vu Like a radio tune I swear I've heard before Chill, is it something real Or the magic I'm feeding off your fingers The hand that was on his groin moved down and slowly crept its way along his perineum and toward his ass. His breathing intensified as a finger reached the hidden opening of his body and pressed firmly, worming its way inside the tight channel. It felt around, searching for the secret pleasure spot. He screamed as it was found, feeling as if his whole body was electrified. And all at once his master's fangs were back in his throat, the sensitive flesh smarting against the assault. He realized he was yelling in French, pleading, cursing. The coolness of the teeth against his flesh and the finger in his ass made him shudder, and then, the sucking began. At first a bit slow, but then it became faster and more urgent. He couldn't stop moaning and writhing under LaCroix until his master's hand left his ass and he was gathered up and held secure against LaCroix's broad chest as his body continued to shudder. / Mordez moi, mon enfant. Calm down and drink my blood. Otherwise, you will pass out./ With infinite care, LaCroix turned Nicholas' head toward his neck. The command to "bite" registered in Nicholas' mind just as he felt his lips brush against the sturdy column of his master's neck. He hesitated only for a moment before opening his mouth, fangs now fully produced, and bit down over the artery. As he sank his teeth, his last coherent thought was why LaCroix was suddenly talking to him like a child. His master was holding him like he was a breakable thing. The thought disappeared just as LaCroix's blood flooded his mouth and splattered against the back of his throat. He drank deeply, taking comfort in the nourishment. It was good, sweet, and suddenly, it took him back to another time. The time when he was a knight, coming back from the crusades with a group of his cohorts. It was 1228 and he was mortal. A woman, dressed in black, stood in the shadows. /How badly do you want me?/ He didn't know her. But she was the most beautiful thing he had seen in his life. Ruby red lips, pale, porcelain skin, eyes the color of the evening sky. She was an angel standing amongst the snorting, sweating, filthy human beings surrounding her. And he was drawn to her as if by magic. /How badly do you want me?/ He watched her, then stood up and followed her into the dark. He was all over her before they even reached the bed. She was like blazing fire encased in ice, cold as her skin was to his touch. She commanded him to follow her, and like a moth drawn to a flame he did as he was told, eagerly slipping into her darkness. Nicholas felt the fangs at his neck withdraw. He was forced to release the other's throat as well, as he was pushed down onto the mattress and the lips started their languid journey down his body. Only this time, the face he saw through his mind's eye was not that of his master but the face of the nameless, captivating woman. She moved over his body like a cobra, biting and stealing kisses here and there. He wanted to ask who she was but couldn't get his vocal cords to function. /Janette. My name is Janette DuCharme, your immortal lover./ /Janette...?/ he breathed the name, just as her cool mouth closed around his shaft. He whispered a prayer as she began to move, sucking him and bringing him to a new level of euphoria. When it became too much to bear, he whispered her name one more time and all at once, he remembered her. Raven hair falling over her face, blue-purple eyes twinkling in the light, deep red velvet caressing a body that reminded him of the statue of Venus, and of hot, passionate nights. "Janette," he screamed the name as he came in an explosion of sound and bright dazzling light, his hips jerking in reaction. Soon they were kissing again, their lips touching as the last vibrations of orgasm passed through his body. "Say goodbye to the light Nicolas. Now you know it will never satisfy you." He wanted to hold her, to take her in his arms and thank her for the unbelievable experience she had given him. But as he moved his hand she moved away in one fluid motion and walked to the other side of the room. The rupture of the physical contact left him cold and surprised. He called after her. /Where are you going?/ She stood by the door, the flimsy light of a candle illuminating her face. Just then, he felt an overwhelming sensation of power rush over him as an ivory skinned male stepped into the room out of the darkness outside and looked him over with appreciative eyes made of molten gold. He shrank back at the sight of the godlike creature and his heart started pounding in his chest, somehow knowing that he was transfixed. /We are going to be friends.../ /Who are you?/ /His name is LaCroix./ /...for a long, long time./ Nicholas was still woozy from the aftermath of his recent climax when he felt LaCroix's hands on him again, though the touch was not that gentle anymore. He screamed when those hands pinned him down roughly on the bed and held him immobile. In his mind he saw the dark-clad man, who wore the face of his master, do the same thing, and he realized that the present LaCroix was re-enacting the past. He wanted to protest, say that he was too tired, too shaky to go through this again. A strong hand grabbed his head while another held his right shoulder, the fingers digging painfully into his flesh. Slowly, the hands turned his head to the side, exposing his neck once again and then he felt the searing pain of those fangs tearing into his neck as LaCroix resumed the sucking of his blood. Desperately, he tried to turn his head to, at least, return the bite and replenish his rapidly diminishing life's blood. He wasn't allowed. The hand holding his head tightened and the more he struggled, the stronger the resistance became. Soon he became aware of the futility of his fight, this was not a consensual sharing; this was taking. A vampire claiming his victim, draining him of all his blood, making him his. In the haze of his helplessness in those powerful hands, he remembered how it had been, their first encounter, when LaCroix had taken him. Both worlds, real and imaginary, started fading. With his body losing so much blood all his defense mechanisms started to kick in. His fangs stretched painfully, as if wanting to reach living flesh simply by extending that far. He didn't open his eyes but he knew his vision was going away. He became limp and suddenly, all he could think of was how easy it felt just to lay there. He surrendered like a man certain of his death, like a deer held captive by a lion taking its last breath. Only the last remnants of his desire for life, or unlife as it was, made him gather what was left of his strength and utter a soft, barely audible plea. "LaCroix..." The vampire didn't stop, wouldn't have anyway. Nicholas breathed deeply, oxygen his immortal body didn't need. But his immortal body wasn't immortal at that moment. He was the mortal Nicholas de Brabant, knight of the cross, who had come back from the perilous wastelands of Jerusalem to walk right into his death in this tranquil, Parisian tavern. The ironies of life... "Please, don't." He whispered one last time before darkness claimed him. "revenez à moi." "Non, somnolent." "Come on, little one, drink. Here." Nicholas felt the blood drip over his lips and opened his eyes. There was a wrist hovering above his face and blood was dripping from the deep gash across it. Sweet, heady blood. His way back to life. For the first couple of seconds that was all he could see as the crimson droplets trickled over his lips and slid down his throat. That and the warm, gentle voice in his ear. "Drink Nicholas. You need it to come back. Return to me." A caring hand reached behind his neck and slowly lifted his head up a little. He opened his mouth and swallowed; it tasted good. Somehow this blood was richer, sweeter and more nourishing than anything he had drank before. Could he have possibly been missing this up to now? How was it possible? He took the offered wrist with both hands, like the way he used to hold a pig's leg in all those long ago meals at the large tavern tables, and bit down. It didn't compare, God, it didn't. How could he compare drinking such sweet, pungent ambrosia to all that chomping and chugging? He kept drinking until his mind was clear and he saw himself in the past, lying in the large bed in that other room in Paris, as he looked up for the first time, through keen vampire eyes, at the face of his new master. He saw his lips curl into a grin, fang tips peeking from beneath. It had been such a pure moment. Gradually, his drinking slowed. He continued licking the skin over the wound lovingly. The blood was still oozing, but he wasn't sucking anymore. He felt warm and comfortable after the draining he had suffered; the way a child would feel after he was saved from a drowning, when he was wrapped in a blanket and given a warm drink. Safe, quiet and happy. Then the licking turned into kissing. He noticed that although he had withdrawn from the offering and was not taking any blood LaCroix hadn't moved yet. He raised his eyes and looked at his master. LaCroix's eyes were closed and his head was resting against the headboard, the look of pleasure evident in the lines of his face and Nicholas could even see hints of a smile. He grinned and continued his ministration on the arm, moving up toward the neck and pushing the fabric of the shirt aside. It was amusing how his master had stayed clothed throughout the entire experience, but that was soon to change. Nicholas' lips traveled over the chest, and he slowly opened the buttons one by one. LaCroix moaned, he was fully aware of what his progeny was doing and he was willing to give his full assent. Let the boy take what he wanted. Or rather, let him discover what he wanted for himself, what he had always wanted but had forgotten. Nicholas finally managed to open the shirt and move his mouth over a deliciously pricked nipple. He sucked at it like a baby at a breast. Then he scrapped a fang over it. That elicited a groan from LaCroix who shifted position immediately, gathering his child up into his arms and letting him drink from his fountain of eternal life. Nicholas had already recovered through the blood he had consumed from LaCroix's wrist, but he couldn't stop sucking on the minute wound until he felt that sense of immense pleasure again, it seemed to be quite addictive. His master's blood represented safety and love. Finally, when he was sated enough, he withdrew and felt LaCroix's grip tighten around him. The ancient had remained passive still. Nicholas began to marvel at his control. He rose from LaCroix's chest and kissed those strong, luscious lips. LaCroix didn't move. His only acknowledgment of the action was a wicked smile that spread across his lips accompanied by a joyful snort. But as Nicholas went to move back down his master's body the arms held him tight, and before he could make any move he was rolled onto his back by his master's strong body and savagely kisses on the mouth once again. He willingly gave himself to it, enjoying the rapture of the contact. /Welcome to the fold, mon fils,/ were the words whispered in his mind. They stayed that way for a long time, lips sucking, tongues dueling, the taste of fresh blood bursting in their mouths. LaCroix's hands were roaming all over his naked body. They stroked his muscular chest, pinched his hardened nipples, then moved down. Nicholas was too far gone to notice or care until he felt his master's hand on his cock. It felt like electricity went through him as LaCroix started stroking him. A whimper escaped his lips around the savage kisses and he had to pull back. "Please, uhh,..." LaCroix's only answer was that wicked smile again. He felt the hard fist close around the member and the force of the strokes intensify until his body began trembling again and his head reared back, baring fangs, seeing the world through eerie, amber eyes. In his mind he was a vampire now, and on the verge of another orgasm. To reach it, His beast needed blood, even if he was full beyond his need for nourishment. He was experiencing the change his body had gone through, the difference between two species. LaCroix saw the attack as it happened. It was swift and savage as his son's fangs struck deep into his jugular in the space of a split second. He closed his eyes just as he felt the organ in his hand twitch and spurt its essence over his fist. He felt the incessant sucking at his neck and turned his head to return the bite. When the circle was complete Nicholas' body slowly began to relax. This time their coupling was short; they were both too full to drink much more. LaCroix pulled away first and hugged Nicholas closer, letting him drink for a little while longer. The quick arousal and release he had given his child had worked to alleviate the side effects of their feral coupling before, when he had nearly drained the boy to replay the night of his crossing. He sighed contentedly as Nicholas' drinking finally ceased and he pulled out and tucked his head into his father's shoulder. "Thank you, LaCroix. That was great," he whispered as he snuggled into the hug. It wasn't too late before his breathing slowed and his body became lax in the older vampire's arms. LaCroix looked at the peaceful face of his beautiful son, so pretty, so innocent lying there in his arms. He placed a kiss on the golden hair, gratified that they had gone through the first part of Nicholas' restoration without any bitter incidents. His son was still in his arms, napping happily in the comfort of his embrace and the after glow of his incredible, sensual experience. LaCroix looked at the calm face covered in a light sheen of scarlet sweat. He stared at Nicholas' thick eyelashes resting against his pale cheeks and at his rosy lips. How pretty and adorable! He leant down to steal another kiss from the lips and felt his son move against him, squirming to find a more comfortable position in his arms. he thought < just like those first days, when he was still too young and needed so much sleep. He always liked using my chest as a cushion.> LaCroix smiled at the memory, then the smile turned into a frown. The next part worried him. True, they had survived this level with success, but this was nothing compared to what he had to do next. He had to take his favorite to the edge again, push him harder this time, and hope against hope that he would not fall over. Because, unlike their early beginnings, the next parts of Nicholas' life with him had not been sketched out entirely in happiness. In fact, there was more pain than joy in the next few chapters, as Nicholas began to realize his resentment of his nature, most of which, unfortunately, inflicted by LaCroix. He turned the idea over in his head, thinking whether he should do it or not. Should he really show Nicholas everything that had happened and let him be the judge? Wouldn't it be better if he glazed over some parts, showed him only the love and happiness, not the pain and hatred? He shook his head and clutched the body tighter to his chest. They both needed sleep right now. He would think about that later. Nicholas needed rest if he was to become whole again, and he had to be the one to decide what price he was willing to pay for his restoration. For now, this was all they needed, this calm, contented togetherness he had missed for so long. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on the cushion of golden curls and soon, he was drifting into sleep, like the old times in that first century. Sleeping together like mortals in love, dreaming about an eternity to come, free of care and safe from the winds outside. We'll try to stay blind to the hope and fear outside Hey child, stay wilder than the wind And blow me in to cry Who do you need, who do you love When you come undone End Part One Part Two: Lost in a snow filled sky LaCroix woke up to the sound of falling rain. The bedroom was on the first floor, in a somewhat secluded part of the building, which also comprised the club and his offices. It had been Janette's private room, the place she used to go to relax or entertain after work. It had a small garden in front of it with tall patio doors opening to it. One could hear the rain hitting the glass on those doors when it rained, and could see the moon and stars in the sky when it didn't. A sound drew his attention from the rain outside to the supple body of the young man sleeping quietly in his arms. Nicholas. He was there once again, resting in his bed. LaCroix felt his heart swell, remembering all those long ago nights, when he used to tuck his child in his embrace and sleep with him when he was too young to be left alone. Young vampires were as fragile as infant mortals. Young Nicholas used to wake up many times in the middle of the day, confused and hungry with golden eyes looking up at his master. He would pant and struggle, not knowing what the real problem was until his father would grab him gently by the back of his neck and direct him toward his exposed throat for feeding. He remembered how, sensing the familiar scent, his frightened child would suddenly calm down in his arms and grab him tightly around his torso to sink his teeth into the inviting flesh. The young vampire would suckle like a baby, nourishing his newly transformed body and chasing away the demons of his dreams. LaCroix smiled, treading his fingers through the silky blond hair and watching Nicholas murmur in his sleep as he shifted around to find a more comfortable place. The view coupled with the memories that came to his mind made him sigh in contented exasperation. Did Nicholas know what an effect he had on his reputedly stone-faced master? Did he know how severely he shook his master's semi-dead heart every time he turned those violet blue eyes on him? How unbearably aroused LaCroix had been during every single one of those sporadic, mid-day feedings? The master's hand came down to caress a cheek, listening with a half smile as the younger man continued to murmur in his sleep. No, Nicholas could not have any idea. If he did, LaCroix was sure, he would have become an entirely different challenge, much harder to control, to bend. If he ever recognized what power he held over his ancient master he would have won every fight. Power. The one treasure that had been LaCroix's for the past 2000 years. Even as a mortal he had the power to make mighty warriors tremble at his feet. Immortality had only whetted his taste for control, his drive to make every living creature around him appreciate and fear the significance of his presence, and stay away from it. Everyone, except this child. From Nicholas he didn't want just fear, he wanted everything. His mind went back to his experiences in raising the fledgling Nicholas, leafing through them like pages of an old book inscribed in his perfect vampire-memory. There was the good: the feedings, the giving of comfort and tutelage. Nicholas' amazement at the changes happening to his body and his senses, LaCroix's own confusion at the extent of emotions he was feeling for his newfound son. He loved the expression on Nicholas' beautiful face every time he showed the young vampire something new about himself, and relished in his protégé's first attempts at experiencing his new potentials. Nicholas had been an excellent student, eager to learn and so passionate about everything. His life as a mortal had been like a life in a shell compared to the life his master was walking him through after his conversion. And he had proven to be a talented pupil, in seeking and hunting prey as well as in manipulating minds and masking his true nature. But along with the good, there was also the bad. Like it has been with every one of his children one way or another. The young always had a tendency to give their parent a hard time, especially in the first weeks of their new existence. It was expected. After all, the conversion was a big change for someone who was used to living as a mortal and now, had to adapt to the life of a night-creature. A great part of LaCroix's energy in the first year was spent on protecting the fledgling from himself. Nicholas, in particular, was quite a piece of work. It wasn't too long before LaCroix discovered the fiery crusader's tendency to get himself into all sorts of trouble. From his first attempts of testing his luck with the sun, to the careless exposure of his nature to potentially dangerous mortals, to his audacity to challenge vampires much older than himself, it had been proven to LaCroix time and again that Nicholas wasn't the kind of progeny that he could set free without a tight leash. Something that had been a cause of many arguments and much resentment between the two of them. And then there was--he thought with a sigh--the ugly. It hadn't shown its face in the beginning, or perhaps he was too caught up in nurturing and protecting Nicholas to pay it any attention. But even then there was something present beneath the surface, something that dangerously tasted like regret, sadness or perhaps, self-hatred. Even as he applauded Nicholas on making a clean kill, or for a good hunt, or for seducing the most difficult of mortals into his snare and draining them dry, he could see a flicker of it in those sad, sapphire eyes. Something that the fledgling desperately tried to hide, oblivious to how transparent he was to the one who had made him. LaCroix looked down and, unconsciously, brushed his fingers against the pale, slightly stubbled cheek. For the nth time in his long life he wondered whether things would have been any different had he taken those red flags more seriously and done something about them sooner. Had he been slack with Nicholas because of his immense love for the fledgling? Was that why this particular child had become so much of a failure, so misguided that he wanted to become mortal? He planted a kiss on the damp forehead, continuing the petting of the cheek. Mentally, he refuted himself. If anything, he had been sterner to Nicholas than any of his other children, holding his leash at the shortest possible length at all times. It had become another cause for a wedge between the two of them, but he had no regrets about it what so ever. If LaCroix were to hold the highest quantity of love for this fair-haired, mercurial son of his, it had to be of the toughest quality as well. Which had meant even more ugliness, more fights, anger, frustration, separation, chasing, finding, punishing, destroying. Over and over. For eight centuries it had been the formula of their lives. No matter how many times he told Nicholas to stop testing his authority, to obey his orders--which come to think of it, had always been only for his own good--the boy turned a deaf ear on him. Nicholas always managed to find a way to defy him and do what he, himself, thought was right. He openly disobeyed his master's orders whenever he wanted, left his master whenever he decided and chased his stupid dream of mortality, something that made LaCroix mad with rage. LaCroix, on the other hand, was a man of discipline. Both as a Roman general raised in the Roman way, and as a vampire who, in order to survive the trials of the night, had to function by the rules. Mutiny had absolutely no place in his universe, and seeing Nicholas perform it so nonchalantly was enough to make him want to break the boy's neck, literally. Luckily, he had always managed to stop himself from drastic actions. Oh, he had broken lots of the brat's bones, but never anything dangerous. Or perhaps rather nothing too dangerous. There was the time he had broken a chair over Nicholas' back and driven one nasty looking sliver through his chest, perilously close to his heart, and the time when he had left him outside, broken and bleeding, while dawn was breaking over horizon. There were a few other occasions LaCroix could think of, and sometimes he wondered at how close he had come to losing Nicholas by his own hand. In all those times, LaCroix had come to rescue his most favorite creation at the last moment, and tended to his wounds, his hunger, and the punishment-induced nightmares. He had been there for his son, only to have it all thrown back in his face once Nicholas was healed enough to walk away, and kick and rebel and start the battle all over again. LaCroix took a deep breath and his hand stilled on Nicholas' head. Those memories. Even now they singed an already scarred and scabbed over spot deep inside his heart. He never wanted it to be that way with Nicholas, never wanted to be a cruel master to him. But damn the boy and his stubbornness! The more LaCroix tried, the more obnoxious he became, as if trying to push LaCroix's buttons on purpose. LaCroix wasn't prepared to deal with his rebellions. He didn't know how to handle insubordination. So he handled it in the only way that he knew, that he had seen his father do: with violence and harsh suppression. Yes, those were painful memories. He knew Nicholas always hated them, and now he was without them, happy and satisfied at sleep in LaCroix's arms, where LaCroix always thought he belonged. His son didn't know they had been mortal enemies, had even attempted to destroy each other more than once. His knowledge of the love/hate relationship that spun over seven centuries was reduced to the events of the past 24 hours plus whatever LaCroix had shown him during their last, feral coupling. Was he ready to receive the full blow of their entire history? Was it even safe to show him, in the small space of a few hours, the pain and misery he had gone through for nearly 800 years? Nicholas chose that moment to open his eyes. He looked up, staring blindly at the face above him. LaCroix watched as he blinked rapidly to get the sleep and fuzziness out of his brain and looked around to see where he was. As consciousness gradually came to the now fully awakened vampire, Nicholas finally turned his attention back to the man cradling him and smiled. LaCroix's answering smile was almost instinctive. It was the moment when LaCroix knew he couldn't deny his favorite anything, not even the truth. Nicholas rubbed at his eyes lazily but made no attempt to get up. It seemed like his master's chest was too much of a cozy cushion to abandon so soon. He yawned and said, "Oh, LaCroix! I slept so much. What time is it?" LaCroix brushed a few strands of golden hair from his favorite's forehead, staring at him affectionately. "It is just past 9:30. Why? Do you have any urgent matters to attend to?" Nick smiled, eyes half closed, clearly enjoying his master's petting like a lazy cat. "Not that I remember. But then again, my memory is flawed." He turned to his side and snuggled more into the circle of his father's arms. LaCroix thought, He chuckled. Nick turned. "What?" "Nothing." LaCroix said, but the stupid grin didn't leave his face. Nick sat up this time. Not missing the mischievous glint in his master's eyes, he asked again, "What, LaCroix? What's so funny?" Suddenly LaCroix couldn't resist the boyish, tousled look of his son sitting on the bed. He leaned forward and planted a wet kiss on the parted lips. From the flinch he felt from Nicholas as their lips met he could tell the boy was taken by surprise. And even though the naughty part of him was somewhat delighted by his son's surprise at his cheekiness, the rational part felt a pang of worry. Did Nicholas remember any of what happened yesterday? Was his short-term memory damaged too? What if it was and he could only remember part of everything that happened? Was his son destined to live with a handicapped mind for the rest of his un-life? Well, there was only one way to find out. With that thought in mind, or rather, with no thought at all, LaCroix closed the small gap between the two of them and pressed his lips firmly on his son's, his arms closing around the younger vampire and the fingers of his right arm slipping into the soft strands of golden hair. "LaCroix, w..." Nicholas tried to speak before his voice was swallowed by the kiss. Good God, what happened? One minute he and LaCroix were talking like two grown men sitting on a bed, the next minute they were kissing and groping each other like horny teenagers. was his last thought before a tidal wave of pleasure swept him away and suddenly, all he could think of was how much he wanted to taste the other vampire. Vampire. He was a vampire. He had to remind himself constantly of that fact, which still amazed him. He was different from the others, his co-workers, his captain, and Natalie. They were humans-mortals. And he, he was a vampire. The thought was yet again pushed away from his mind as LaCroix wrestled him down to the sheets and started to kiss and nip along his jawline. He lay there, happy and dazed, feeling his master's fangs draw blood from the scratches he made on his skin. This was good. Life was good. He was immortal, would live forever, never die, never get sick. He had a loving family: a strong, protective master at his side, a dazzling sister he had every intention to learn more about. His master loved him. Loved to have sex with him, and to share blood with him, which was basically the same thing for their species. And what an amazing experience it was, drinking from each other and reading each other's thoughts and feelings in the blood. Anything less just seemed pale in comparison. He seriously couldn't believe that humans-mortals-couldn't have that experience. What did they get out of their lovemaking? What made them climax if they lacked the highest, most sensational part of the act? He threw the question right out of the window a second later when he felt his master's bite over one of his nipples. He let himself go limb on top of the silky sheets, screaming in his head, over and over. //Don't be too quick in your judgments, Nicholas. There is still much to remember, plenty that you don't know.// His master's voice echoing though his head pulled him immediately out of his pleasant stupor. Nicholas sat up, leaving his master's ready fangs hanging in the air. He looked at LaCroix curiously, wondering what he had meant by the mental message. LaCroix knew he had ruined the moment and cursed himself for it. He had been so single minded in his intentions to do "the right thing" that he, unknowingly, had overdone it. Now was definitely not the time to do a full plunge into serious matters even though Nicholas was looking at him like he has just been slapped in the face. He had to go with the plan and take it one step at the time, just like he had done with the first part. That had been the easy part. The memories of Janette, the crossing into the night, their first passionate encounters, these were all pleasant memories. His task now was to move forward in their history, and to pull out those unpleasantries that had tarnied their perfect lives as Nicholas had begun recognizing his nature and what it meant to be a killer. There were too many dark nights to remember, and without revisiting them again, there was no quick explanation for Nicholas to lift his current confusion. "Go take a shower. Put your clothes on when you are done. We are going out." Nicholas still stared at LaCroix dumbfounded as the older man swung his legs over the side of the bed and started getting up. It took him a while to gather his thoughts together and realize what LaCroix had just said. "I have to go to the precinct, LaCroix." "You took the night off, remember?" Had he? He didn't know. Even if he hadn't, LaCroix would most likely make sure everyone else thought he had. LaCroix always did things his way, and made sure everyone else did too. And where had that come from? Nicholas puzzled over his last thought as he walked into the bathroom. Something was coming back to him. Something about LaCroix, linked to the words his master had communicated into his brain a few moment ago. Something that felt bad, had to do with hurt and pain, and an ugly mark on their perfect happiness. He couldn't put his finger on it so he let it go for the time being and focused on his current task of getting clean. The hot water felt good on his cold skin. He closed his eyes and let the spray hit him in the face. After all the heat and action of the previous day, not to forget all the sweating, it was a delight to feel the water on his skin. He was sailing away in his lukewarm thoughts when he felt someone stepping in the stall behind him. Before he could turn around an arm snaked around his waist and pulled him close to an equally cold and muscular body. Now, he didn't need to look. He leaned back against the strong frame, closing his eyes and letting the water hit his chest. A second arm closed around him, holding him tight against the other's chest. A mouth came down on the arc of his neck, its coolness a contrast to the heat of his skin. The mouth traveled up, to his ear, nibbled on the earlobe and then, he heard the whisper. "Je t'aime beaucoup, mon amour, mon cher fils." He hissed at the pleasure that surged through him as the hands started to move around his body, touching him everywhere, rubbing the warm water into his skin. He tried to turn but the older vampire held him in place. "No, don't move. Let me enjoy you while I can. I won't bite you, not now." Nicholas wondered at the words, but only briefly before the lips returned to his neck, to that maddening pleasure spot at the joint of his neck and shoulders, one of the most sensitive parts of a vampire's anatomy He gasped as the other vampire sucked the pouring water off his skin, and felt himself become painfully hard. His hand reached down to grasp his shaft to ease the pressure a bit when his wrist was caught in a steel grip and the breathy whisper came back to his ear. "Don't touch yourself. I didn't say you could." Nicholas went still. For a heartbeat, he wasn't sure what to do. The water, a welcome heat before, was slowly becoming an irritation on his skin. He needed release badly. Taking a big gulp of air, he choked out, "What should I do? Please." He opened his eyes when he felt himself pushed further into the spray of the water. It hit him in the face and poured down both his and his companion's body. Wordlessly, LaCroix let go of his wrist and reached forward to grab the semi-erect cock. With an expertise born of two thousand years of practice, with mortals and immortals alike, the ancient vampire's fist moved up and down his son's member, massaging him to new heights. Nicholas felt his breathing quicken. His hearth, the dead organ that only woke once every ten minutes for its single beat, jumped wildly in his chest. It was the strangest feeling of all, experiencing such intense sensations not only in his groin, but also on his skin, his heart and his whole body. Being a vampire was like being in heaven, at least when it came to sexual pleasures. He waited for his body to reach the peak and get its release as LaCroix continued to stroke his cock. LaCroix's other hand roamed over his chest, occasionally pinching a nipple or scratching his skin with his nails. LaCroix's mouth was still all over his neck, licking and nipping. But he wasn't breaking the skin, and not even a drop of blood was being drawn. It was the first time since the beginning of their sensual journey that their intimate encounter did not include the occasional drawing of blood. And the lack of that, as Nicholas soon found out, was something that made the whole experience completely different. Soon the pleasure became less and less felt as the pressure in his groin became painfully unbearable to the point of frustration. He couldn't find release, no matter how hard he rubbed himself against LaCroix and pushed into the fist. It just wasn't happening. With an aggravated groan he tried to wiggle out of the embrace and do something about his situation. The arms that held him under the spray only tightened, holding him fast once again and not allowing him any movement. Desperately, he freed a wrist and tried to bring it to his mouth, only to have it snatched away once again. He cried out, this time from pain. He could feel the skin all over his body tingle with the desire to be bitten, his neck and shoulder area the worst. He could feel his protruded fangs as clearly and painfully as children did the first sprout of their baby teeth. And just like them, he desperately needed something to bite. He tried again and this time, almost succeeded to sink his teeth into LaCroix's wrist that held his own in a clutching grip. But the superior strength of his master yet again prevented him from getting what he needed. And through it all, his master kept on his insistent stroking, pinching and nibbling. Everything but the bite. Finally a time came when Nicholas couldn't take it anymore. No matter which way he twisted and turned he couldn't get release, or free himself from his captor. He gave up with a whimper, and let his body go slack. He started panting for air his lungs didn't need, open mouthed, which caused the water to pour into his mouth. His mind began to cloud over and he tried to remember which god a painfully aroused vampire was supposed to pray to. "Beg me for it, mon fils. Beg me to let you come." "LaCroix. Why are you doing this?" He pleaded, water sputtering from his mouth. "Because I want to show you how different we are, how important the blood is to us. Not just for feeding. That is so... how should I say? Inferior. No, we need it for far more important reasons than nourishment." The buzz-cut head tilted down, taking a hard bite from the marble skin so supply presented to him. Nicholas screamed, but LaCroix knew it wasn't enough to push him over the edge. The boy desperately needed blood, and needed blood to be taken from him. He was learning this lesson well. "See Nicholas? How unlike mortals we are? They just need a little pressure, some friction, and off they go to wonderland. We, on the other hand, need much more than that. We need the touch, yes, and the closeness and the heat of skin rubbing against skin. But all that is just forplay, something to distract ourselves before we get to the point. And the point, Nicholas, is the blood. Can you feel it, my boy? Can you feel it boiling in your veins?" Nicholas cried again, desperate to get free, and get blood, "Please, LaCroix. Do it, or let me go." LaCroix licked the inside of his son's ear, smirking delightfully and enjoying the closeness. His own erection was pressing painfully against his belly. And the occasional rubbing against Nicholas' delectable buttocks was giving him wild ideas he didn't want to dwell on. He had to drive this lesson home, now. There was plenty of time for the rest later. With another joyful sneer he pulled Nicholas closer to his body and spoke into his ear. "What, Nicholas? What you want me to do." Nicholas was on the verge of a breakdown. With the last of his breath left for speaking--after wasting so much of it on useless panting--he growled, "Do whatever you want, LaCroix. Just hurry up." "No, say it. I want you to ask me in words." "I can't..." "Yes, you can. Go ahead, Nicholas. Tell me what you want." "Ok, fuck me. Take my blood. Just do it." The shock of Nicholas' words went right through LaCroix's head like a short-circuit on a high voltage power line. Without a thought or consideration he shoved the other vampire away from himself and backed off. He had not expected this, was not prepared for it, either. Drinking blood from his son was one thing. It was all they've been doing in the past twenty-four hours, aside from sleeping. But having Nicholas ask him to actually... LaCroix shook his head rapidly. It was tempting, oh so tempting after all these years. But it also meant something else: that the boy was still missing parts of his memory. Taking him right now was like having intercourse with a clueless virgin, or worse, a handicapped person. He just couldn't do it. He looked at Nicholas who was now crouched against the shower wall, shaking, looking at him with terrified eyes. He could see how his eyes were a glowing red, his fangs painfully pushing into his lower lip. He needed the bite so badly. But LaCroix's thoughts were so turbulent and chaotic, he wasn't even sure about sharing blood with his son. He didn't know that he, himself, had handled this lesson. Maybe it was a mistake to push Nicholas so hard so soon? All of a sudden, all he could think of was how much he needed fresh air. With a glance toward his still in shock protégé, he stepped out of the shower stall and proceeded to dry himself up. He could hear Nicholas breathing hard in the hot air, too shocked to even move. Nicholas was stunned by the rejection. LaCroix put his hand on the young vampire's shoulder and spoke in a soothing, yet authoritative voice. "Take your own blood, mon fils. Get your release. I give you my permission. After you're finished, get dressed and come back to the bedroom. We need to go out and get some fresh air." With that, he turned around and walked out of the steaming bathroom to find a place and deal with his own emotions, alone, leaving Nicholas to deal with his. Nicholas finished his shower quickly and came back to the bedroom to find LaCroix already dressed. He didn't look at his master. Instead, he went straight to get his clothes that were piled near the bed. He was putting his shirt on when he felt his master at his back, his hand reaching to touch a shoulder. "Don't." the warning in his voice was clear. His master's behavior in the shower had perplexed and angered him. Of course it begged an explanation. But for some reason, he didn't care for one right now. LaCroix's hand fell to his side. Any words he had intended to say died at Nicholas' cold rejection. Not that he blamed him. LaCroix's behavior in the shower was inexcusable. Bringing Nicholas to the brink of an orgasm, teasing him with provocative words and actions, making him beg for release...and then leaving him to fare for himself had been a definite cruelty. I would have torn to pieces anyone who had done that to me, LaCroix thought. But then again, how could he tell Nicholas the true reason for his rejection without worsening the case? How could he tell him, in the short time they had together, the sum of the tragic events that had happened between them in the past? Events that had led their relationship to the dark point they both had faced when he first showed up in Toronto. He couldn't. Nicholas had to see, and learn through reliving it. It was the part LaCroix dreaded the most, and knew he couldn't avoid like the bitter taste of a healing drug. So he went outside to take care of the last arrangements for his plan. Nicholas was dressed and ready when he came back to the bedroom. The man still wasn't looking him, but he seemed less jumpy than before when LaCroix approached him. LaCroix took him by the arm and led him outside through the patio doors. The rain had stopped and a very bright full moon was shining in the sky. They stood in front of the doors in the small, private garden. If they could ignore the sound of the cars in the nearby street, it was indeed a very romantic setting. LaCroix turned to Nicholas. Stroking Nicholas' right arm he said, "I'd have to ask for your trust one more time, Nicholas. I know that what happened in the shower set us back a few steps, damaged some of the trust we'd managed to build between us yesterday. But there are things that I can't explain. Not so soon, and not just with words. I can only hope that our experience yesterday has proven to you that words aren't enough." Nicholas nodded, looking at the tiled floor. "Nicholas, please look at me." LaCroix asked, searching his son's eyes. Nicholas looked up, his dark blue eyes unreadable. "Can you fly?" LaCroix tried again. Nicholas just gave a shrug, and LaCroix's face fell. But then he heard him speak in a quiet voice. "I think they took away my license when I lost my memory. You'd have to take the driver's seat for now." LaCroix accepted the humor as a peace offering with a smile. "Sure. I'd be thrilled." He then took to the air, waiting for Nicholas to catch up with him. He knew Nicholas' comment had been intended to brighten up the mood, but like every experienced parent LaCroix could easily tell when the boy needed care. Just like when he was learning to fly for the first time, Nicholas was full of bravado now. Still, LaCroix slowed his speed fractionally, sensing below the surface how the experience nonetheless felt overwhelming to Nicholas' rebooted mind. They landed in an open area near a park. LaCroix managed to catch Nicholas in time before the young vampire crash-landed into the ground. The inevitable hug that accompanied the action had a startling effect on both of them. They lingered for a while after they separated, looking at each other until LaCroix finally stepped out of the moment and started walking on the steep, lawn-covered slope towards the park. Nicholas followed. As they walked, LaCroix began talking. "Do you remember those nights, Nicholas? When the air was fresh, not yet polluted with the fumes and toxics of this modern age? When we roamed freely over the streets as we searched for our prey in dark alleyways and moonlit courtyards? Remember how the clear moonlight seemed to give us strength? How it represented our only share of the sun? " From the corner of his eye LaCroix saw the young man lift his head toward the celestial body and take a deep breath. He knew that the current atmosphere had helped his mere words to affect the former crusader's mind. "Do you remember the thrill of the hunt, mon fils? Do you remember how exciting it was to find our victims, those who were full of warm blood? To close in on them, to hear their heartbeats and smell their fear? Do you remember how delicious it was when we cornered them? When they succumbed to the power of our spell and gave in, willingly, to the kiss of our fangs?" The hill ended right then, and as if by magic, the dense grove of the park appeared. Large threes looked almost black against the indigo sky and the twinkling stars. When Nicholas reached the top of the rise he stopped, a little out of breath from the steep walk, but then he had to run after LaCroix since the master vampire didn't seem to care about giving him any breathing time. He was heading for the darkest part of the park and Nicholas had no choice but to follow him. They finally reached a secluded part of the park where, if it where not for their enhanced vampire vision, they wouldn't have been able to see anything. Nicholas stopped when he saw LaCroix peeking through a big mass of tall bushes. He walked closer, peering over his master's shoulder to see what was beyond. There was a young woman sitting on a bench, wearing an ordinary dress and high heels. She was looking at the ground, not doing anything as the wind blew in her shoulder length hair every once in a while. Nicholas didn't understand why his master was looking at her with such a fascination, just as he couldn't understand what a lonely woman-a housewife, as far as her looks went-was doing in the darkest part of the park this hour of the night. Before he could come up with an answer to either question, LaCroix took his hand and stepped through a gap between the bushes and into the area where the bench and the woman were. The motion took Nicholas by surprise, but the woman's only reaction to their sudden appearance was to lift her head. They stayed frozen like that for a minute. Then LaCroix stepped forward, approaching the woman. She swiftly stood up. When LaCroix came closer she turned and began to run in the direction of a nearby path. LaCroix stopped, looking over to Nicholas. "Get her," he said. Like a spring trapdoor, something in Nicholas' mind responded to the spoken words. With a remarkable speed, he lifted himself off the ground and began chasing after the fleeing woman. He didn't have to search too far as he soon found her running along the dark path among the trees. His vampire sensed that she was trying to get to a more illuminated area and became determined to prevent that. Before the woman could reach the next bend in the path Nicholas swooped down and landed in front of her. She shrieked at the sight of his gleaming eyes and spun around to run in the other direction but was stopped, once again, when he used his inhuman speed to block her way. She gave up then, simply standing there until he came forward and took her in his arms in the victim's embrace. He was all beast, roaring blood-lust as he bared his fangs and bent over her throat. Until, he heard her speak. "No, Nicholas, do not do it. You are trying to go back." The words were spoken in a monotone voice, as if the speaker had rehearsed them. But they did penetrate Nicholas' consciousness. The vampire paused and stared at his victim with a mad gleam in his eyes. Something wasn't right here; something about him that he knew he had to remember but somehow wasn't able to. "Good, you caught her. Now, finish her off." LaCroix's voice came from some place in the dark. He looked up, but had to adjust his night vision to be able to see him. His master came close and looked at him with molten-gold eyes. "Finish Her." He heard his master growl again and the timber of his voice dispelled all his hesitations. The blood filled his mouth the moment he bit into the skin, its taste pounding into his senses with each pulse. It was strange drinking from a living victim. Everything was exciting about it, even better than drinking from LaCroix, much better than drinking from a bottle. The blood was hot and pulsing, the body soft, warm and so good to hold onto. It wasn't just the taste. The experience fed all his senses with an intensity that bordered on madness. He could see the droplets of sweat and the rich detail of the skin's texture. He could hear the heartbeat and tell how much life was left in the body by the frequency of the pulses. He could feel the body tense in his arms, shudder, arc up toward him and then, relax. He could smell the fear. But there was still something in the voice that bothered him, and that he had to remember... The heart stopped, bringing death and spoiling the taste of blood. He dropped the body and looked up at LaCroix. "I was trying to become mortal again!" He told LaCroix in a choked voice, the revelation sounding unbelievable to his own ears. LaCroix walked forward leisurely, hands on his back. "Congratulations," he said in a polished tone, "you just finished your first hunt, successfully. I would say, my boy, you are quite a skillful hunter." Nicholas was looking at him with incredulous eyes. His first hunt! His first kill! But it was wrong. He did remember his first kill. It hadn't been like that. Back then, he had no qualms about hunting, or killing. It had been fun, a game the two of them played. Now, he hated that game, hated himself for playing it, and hated LaCroix... "You knew, didn't you? You set this up." LaCroix was now standing right in front of him, peering down at him with his cold, daunting eyes. "I am your master, Nicholas. It is my responsibility to teach you how to live as a vampire." Nicholas shrunk back, more memories flooding back to him. "But I never wanted to be a vampire. And when I found out, I tried to go back. But you never let me." LaCroix's hand shot out to grab him by the front of his coat, pulling him forward and growling, "Of course I wouldn't. What do you take me for? A supportive mortal father? Do you expect me to clap and cheer you in your race towards your own destruction? " He came closer to hiss the next words right into Nicholas' face. "I am your sire, Nicholas. I love you in all the ways a master loves his child. I'll teach to the ways of the night whether you like them or not. I'll feed you and keep you safe at my side if I have to chain you there. And I have the right to use your body and take your blood whenever and wherever I like. It is part of my privilege as your master, and part of your duty as my child. Your quest for mortality has no place in that." Nicholas struggled against his master's grip and LaCroix let him go. The young vampire stumbled back, his eyes wide with realization. Bits and pieces of recollection coming back to him as images from his past began forming in his mind. He shook his head frantically in denial, turning and running down the path and into the dark cluster of trees. LaCroix remained unmoving over the body of the dead woman. He was staring at where Nicholas had disappeared in the dark, and holding his emotions in check. A figure emerged out of the shadows behind him. It came forward and looked at the body on the ground, then stopped. "I hope everything was the way you expected," the newcomer said. LaCroix didn't reply, didn't even turn to acknowledge the other's presence. "Sir?" the other man stepped forward and peeked to see the ancient's face. LaCroix snapped out of his contemplation. "Yes, Emil. Thank you." He looked away again. Emil stood where he was, looking down at the woman's body. "May I?" he asked, pointing at the body. LaCroix, as if noticing the half-dead corpse for the first time, stepped aside. "Of course. Go ahead." Emil leaned down and, putting one arm around the woman's torso, the other under her knees, slowly lifted her up. He cradled her body as if she were a child and started walking away. LaCroix had already dismissed him from his mind when he heard him speak again. "Uh, sir. She will be my child, won't she?" LaCroix looked at him, surprised at his question. Emil saw the surprise on LaCroix's face and added, "I didn't do the initial draining, but if I feed her my blood now, she will be my child, right?" LaCroix, finally understanding his concern, waved his hand dismissively and said, "Yes, she will. It's the blood that matters in a crossing, not the killing. Trust me, I've done it many times." Emil's face lit up and he held the woman tighter to his chest, saying, "Thank you, Sir, for letting us to do this in your territory. The last place we were, the Elder didn't allow vampires younger than a century to sire a child. It was hard for us to move, but I see it was worth it." LaCroix, growing bored with the young vampire, turned back, but he still addressed him with an indifferent tone, "You better hurry up. She still has life in her but it won't be long. You don't want to end up with a cold corpse." Hearing that, the other quickly adjusted his grip on his bundle and rushed to leave. LaCroix, too, started heading toward his goal. He heard Emil's voice once again. "Sir?" He stopped but didn't turn. "Good luck with your son, sir." He started walking. Under his breath he whispered, "Yes, luck. We both need much of that, don't we? You and I and all vampires who are unfortunate enough to be in love with their offspring." Nicholas couldn't stop his racing thoughts or his running feet until he reached the darkest part of the park. There, he finally slowed down to catch his breath. He tried to think about what had just happened. He had killed a human being, right in the middle of a public place. And LaCroix had watched. Worst, he had egged him on. And when he had finally surfaced from his blood crazed drunkenness, and expressed his shock and revulsion, the elder vampire had scolded him and reminded him of his place. And it all had happened so fast. He wasn't even sure it had been real. A human being, a woman. He didn't even know who she was. It shouldn't have really concerned him. He was a vampire after all; killing was his nature. So why did it? The woman's last words rang in his head. He knew they were the key. Natalie had told him that he was a vampire different from the others, that he didn't want to be a vampire and that he wanted to atone for his sins. At the time, her words hadn't meant much to him. He hadn't recognized the significance of them, or the difficult life style they suggested. So he wouldn't kill any humans or drink human blood, what was the big deal? He had survived on cow for a century. He could go on doing it. Why should the thought bother him right now? Why should he worry about that instead of what he had just done? And then it dawned on him. LaCroix. Nicholas was the one who had killed the woman, but it was LaCroix who had influenced him when his doubts had started to surface. He was almost certain that LaCroix had intended it to happen. His master was too sure about the situation and what was happening to not have expected it. He even believed that LaCroix had set the whole scene up, dragging him into it and waiting for the trap to fall. Question was, why. Was he trying to bring up another lost memory? That of Nicholas' first kill? But they had reviewed all those early memories yesterday, along with his other first lessons and even their first lovemaking? Was there something missing in all that knowledge of his relationship with his father? Was that what this whole deadly demonstration had been about, the missing parts that he had to remember? "I see you decided to run away. Did you think I wouldn't find you?" Surprised, Nicholas turned around to find LaCroix leaning against a tree, his eyes fixed on him. Nicholas took a step back, not sure why but for some reason he was shocked and intimidated that LaCroix had found him so fast. "Did you not enjoy tonight's hunt, my son?" LaCroix continued speaking as he pushed away from the tree and started walking toward Nicholas. The initial shock of LaCroix's appearance gone, Nicholas decided to keep his ground. "I'm not sure why you think I should enjoy killing an innocent human being," Nicholas said as calm as he could manage. Something about LaCroix seemed wrong. He didn't look like the loving father from last night. LaCroix was very close now, standing right in front of him. He bore down on him, looking deeply in his eye. Nicholas felt nervous under the intense gaze. "Why are you trying to ruin our fun?" LaCroix said, "Why can't we have the same enjoyment like we used to in the past? These new feelings of yours are very disconcerting." He leaned down and licked Nicholas' earlobe before whispering the next words into his ear. "Lets do it like we used to. Lets hunt and feed until we're both too full to move, then make love until dawn breaks." He kissed under the younger's ear. Nicholas jolted back, all of a sudden appalled by his master's lewd show of affection. LaCroix was right, they did hunt in the fields and forests until they fed themselves full and they did have blood-intoxicated sex afterwards until the sun came up, when they took the rest of the action inside. Those were the glorious nights of pack hunt, done together or sometimes in the company of the third member of the family, the beautiful Janette. He could almost see the three of them, naked, under the clear light of the moon, mating and sharing like wild animals. LaCroix's eyes gleaming red, his voice growling in his ear, his fangs buried in the flesh on his neck, his cock... "No!" With a massive effort Nicholas shoved his master away from him. The older vampire, already bent over his child's neck savoring the smell, was taken aback by the sudden reaction. Surprise registered on his face and quickly changed into something close to irritation. "I don't want this anymore, LaCroix." Nicholas shouted, "Don't you see? I'm changed. I don't want to hunt and kill anymore, and I don't want to act like an uncivilized creature." LaCroix rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. He was speaking calmly, but his voice was more serious than before. "Are we back to that nonsense again? I thought you were over with that fancy of yours, about being virtuous and trying to bring back God. How long is this madness supposed to go on, Nicholas? When will you tire of it and come back to the way nature has intended for you?" Nicholas closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation. The same argument again. When would LaCroix understand? "It is not a fancy LaCroix. It is not an illness I can recover from. It is my decision, what I want to be. I am tired of this life, of the way we live like this. I don't want to kill innocent mortals anymore. I don't want to drink their blood and destroy their lives. And I don't want to have sex with you with our hands stained with their blood. It's inhuman, LaCroix, it's disgusting." He finished out of breath. That certainly got LaCroix's attention. In an eyeblink the older vampire covered the distance Nicholas had managed to put between them and appeared in front f his protégé, backing the other into a wall of tree trunks. Nicholas budged, but refused to be intimidated. He looked up, stubbornly, into the unforgiving eyes of his master, which were beginning to show hints of a smoldering anger. He knew this; it wasn't the first time. Or maybe it was. Yes, that's how it had happened. Not the first time they went out for a hunt. Not the first time they had sex. But the first time both those things had happened after Nicholas had decided to change. Really decided. At first he had thought he could explain things to LaCroix. He had tried, telling him how his life had been miserable as a beast. How he had pretended to be happy and enjoy the killings, but that there was something inside him that always hurt when he did it. And now he thought he had found the answer. If he tried hard, if he stopped doing those things that were hurting his conscience, maybe he would be able to find some happiness, or even redemption, and perhaps he would be able to go back to the light again. He had hoped his father would understand. After all, every parent wanted what was best for their child, right? He was past the time he needed LaCroix's guidance; it was time he went on his own way. And redemption was the way he chose. Only, LaCroix didn't want to listen. He seemed to think of it as a funny joke. Something Nicholas had picked up along the way, from the blood of one of his kills, perhaps. He kept reminding Nicholas that he was a vampire, and that vampires and redemption were mutually exclusive. For a while, he used to laugh at his son every time Nicholas brought the subject up. But when Nicholas started to pass up things that LaCroix thought were part of his nature, and his duty as a fledgling, the fun was over. It was the first hunting night after his decision that all had fallen apart. It had exactly happened the way it was happening now. With him killing a woman in the woods under LaCroix's influence and then running away in shame and anger. LaCroix had followed him that night, and found him just like he had now. Even the conversation was close to what it was. This was a reenactment. But, why this particular memory? What was so important about it that LaCroix had to play it so exact? Unfortunately, he wasn't able to tell, since he couldn't remember. All those thoughts rushed through his head as LaCroix glared down at him from close proximity. His master's body was effectively trapping him against the bulk of the tree and the anger radiating off the old vampire made it clear that it wasn't a good position to be in. "Are you telling me that you actually believe in this fantasy of yours? You think you can ruin the life I have made for you, the perfect specimen I made out of you? To follow a stupid dream? You think I will let you?" He put his hands on either side of Nicholas' head, increasing the feeling of entrapment. Nicholas fought the fear rising inside him and said, "It's not up to you whether I follow my dream or not. I'm old enough to know what is best for me, and I'm sick of you ordering me around." "You ARE NOT on your own," LaCroix shouted as he smacked his hand close to Nicholas' head into the tree trunk, "You will cease this childish inanity and stop trying my patience. Your little nostalgic adventure into the world of virtue and morality did amuse me for a while, but now, you have taken the joke too far. Stop ruining your life and mine with your sulking and get on with being who you are." He spat the last words into Nicholas' face, his own face a tight mask of anger. They stood opposite each other for a few minutes like that, until LaCroix's expression slowly changed from anger into smug amusement. He leaned over Nicholas' shoulder, licking around his son's delicate ear and moving down to the column of his neck. He nipped those soft, sensual spots he knew never failed to arouse the younger one. "Come on Nicholas'. Lets forget about this useless argument and get on with what we always did after a successful hunt." His fangs scraped over his beloved's vein. Nicholas jerked away, angry that LaCroix seemed to not care at all about what he had said. However, the thick trees at his back were blocking his escape route and LaCroix hadn't left him any space to maneuver on the sides. The only possible avenue was taking to the sky. But as soon as that thought passed through his mind his master grabbed him by the collar and, twisting the fabric, pulled him forward. Once again LaCroix's face was inches away from his, and this time, he could hear the menacing growl behind the words. "You think you can reject me? Have you forgotten your place, boy? You are mine. You will do as I say or suffer the consequences." LaCroix's other hand grabbed him by the back of the neck, holding him in place. Nicholas went completely still. His body reacted in response to the all too familiar touch, yet, only now he realized how ingrained it was. How for so many times it had been no more than a reflex, possibly incited by LaCroix's powerful hold over his mind, that had made him feel stimulated by the touch. He was shocked at his own malleability, and at the realization of how much control his master had over him. Feeding on the revulsion and the anger the thought had brought him, he pulled both his fists back and in a swift motion, jammed them hard into LaCroix's stomach. The master vampire let go of his shirt immediately and fell back with a sound of "Oof!" Nicholas, taking advantage of his momentary freedom, immediately took to the air. He realized his mistake a moment later when several thick branched hindered his flight, and with anxiety coursing through him, he almost immediately lost his balance and had to land a few feet away. The landing was as disastrous as the flight, and before he could regain enough equilibrium to try flying again, he felt more than heard the rushing wind of his master's arrival. He knew he had to get away, stumbled forward on teetering feet, and was knocked down by an unexpected, hard blow. It was really hard to concentrate on anything after that; still, he quickly rolled onto his back and looked up for possible escape routs. LaCroix's blurry shape obscured his vision, a devil looming over his victim, and his large cloak took up all of his peripheral sight like a dark cloud. He breathed hard. He knew he had to resist his master; he couldn't let this happen to him. He couldn't. Using his arms as leverage he tried to pull himself up to his feet but he was shoved back, roughly, to the ground by more powerful hands. The same hands grabbed him by the shoulders brutally, heedless of his struggles, and flipped him onto his stomach. He then felt them on his body, grabbing his clothes and tearing at them. A breath at the side of his neck, whispering words that made absolutely no sense to him in his fear-filled frenzy. "I'll show you how you like it. Will teach you a lesson you won't forget. You dare to defy me? To hit me? You think you can escape me? Fool. You're a slut, Nicholas, a dirty, desperate slut. I know you are doing this because you like it rough but really, my boy, all you had to do was ask." With that LaCroix shoved him harder unto the ground, deflecting yet another abortive attempt to get up. A fist locked into golden curls, pulling Nicholas' head aside to clear his throat. Sharp fangs pierced flesh and the world went dark red. The bite was fierce and painful, no trace of gentleness or passion in it, its lesson patently clear: that LaCroix would never endure being denied anything. That if he wasn't freely offered what he wanted he would simply take it. Nicholas squeezed his eyes shut and took the pain silently as there seemed to be no other choice. In his darkness, he felt the world change around him. The ground's texture became rougher, grainy dirt full of roots and gravel. And the tame sounds of the park turned into frightful cries of a dark forest. He could still feel his master's canines in his vein, and the pull that was the removal of his blood. "No, please, stop." Above him, LaCroix let go of his neck and sat up to straddle his torso, then, he slid down to his thighs. He could hear his own hitching breath when he felt his master's hands grab his pants and pull them down in a savage motion, tearing the material as he did. With a determination born of fear, he gathered up all the strength he could muster and tried to get away one more time. "Yes, I can, Nicholas. You are nothing but a child to me and I have every power, every right over you as your master, to do with you as I wish. This is your life, Nicholas. Accept it. It is going to be this way for the rest of eternity." "Get off of me, you monster." Nicholas tried to growl but it came out more like a sob. His heart skipped its beat when, horror-stricken, he felt LaCroix part his legs with his knees and lean over him. A whimper escaped his lips from between gritting teeth. His hands lashed onto the ground, fisting dirt and weed to pull him away from the looming threat. He kept telling himself over and over but nothing stopped LaCroix from catching his thighs and holding him down easily, spreading his legs even wider. And soon, he felt the coldness of his master's member at the secret opening to his body. He pulled himself forward, harder, squeezing his eyes shut. He had to get away. "Still trying to get away, Nicholas? What are you so afraid of? You have been through this before. You always used to love it so much when I took you. Has your newfound morality changed your perception of pleasure as well? Why can't you just relax and enjoy the experience." "Please, LaCroix." "Please, what? Please do it or please don't." "Please...please, don't. I don't want it." A steel fist grabbed his hair, pulling his head back again. That nightmarish, silky voice back in his ear, "You don't want it? Why, you used to love it before. I will not have you telling me I took you by force." LaCroix pulled harder on his hair, pulling him further back. An involuntary sob broke out of his lips. "Should I break your neck then, instead? Or do you want me to beat you bloody for your disobedience? You like to choose?" Instantly, Nicholas was reminded of the last beating he had received at his master's hand, the pain lasting for hours. His master had broken so many bones he hadn't been able to move to get fresh blood. And the fact that LaCroix had drained him dry after the blows was what made his regeneration even more painful. In the end, it was LaCroix who had come back and fed him, finally releasing him from the excruciating agony that was driving him mad. He didn't want to go through that again. "Make your choice, Nicholas. Pain, or pleasure?" "Pleasure?" Nicholas choked out, "how can there be pleasure in rape?" blood tears were starting to roll down his face. "Rape! Oh, what an ugly word. This isn't rape, Nicholas. It won't be if you ask me to do it. And believe me, you will." As soon as the voice left his ear he felt a searing pain in his neck. Once again, LaCroix was sucking his blood, whatever limited supply he had left. A new pain started to form in the pit of his stomach; so intense it masked everything else that he was feeling. He struggled again, shocked by how sluggish his movements had become. What was happening to him? Was LaCroix really draining him dry? With a last, painful effort he raised his head off the ground and forced his eyes to open. He blinked a few times before he finally realized he wasn't seeing anything. Everything was covered in a dark red haze. It was useless to try, but he knew he had to, somehow. He had no strength left to speak. "Then say the words, ask me for what you deserve." LaCroix licked his blood soaked lips, truly satisfied with the lesson he was teaching. The younger vampire opened his mouth, but all that came out was a strangled moan. He was completely powerless now, lying there on the ground at his master's mercy. //I can't take it anymore, LaCroix. You were right; you are the master. Do what you like, just get it over with. // Nicholas thought desperately before his mind became muddled and pain took over his senses. Suddenly, all he wanted was to just lie there and die. The fist was back in his hair, pulling his head once again and making him grit his teeth to stop the scream boiling inside his throat. "I know I can do whatever I want to, that is not the point. What I gave you, however, was a choice. What do you choose, Nicholas? Being beaten to a pulp, fed on and then be taken by me. Or being taken right away, while I am in the mood? You have to give me an answer, mon fils, now." //Please don't do this, LaCroix. Please...// "Then tell me what to do." Nicholas shivered on the cold ground, hating himself for his weakness. How could he have been so careless? How could he have not seen it? LaCroix always won these little, sick games. Why did he let it get so far? He tried to free himself one last time. LaCroix held him down easily and communicated his next thought through their link, //There is no use fighting me, child. I am a millennium older and much more powerful than you are. Just accept the lesson and learn not to repeat it again.// "What is your choice, Nicholas?" LaCroix said out loud once again. His hands were now grabbing his son's upper arms in a bruising grip, gradually crushing the bones. Soon, LaCroix would start breaking bones in Nicholas' body just to get what he wanted. He had no choice left; he had to accept defeat. LaCroix was the stronger one, and he would never be able to escape him, never. The reality that this was to be his life forever was what ultimately crushed his spirit. With a little strength he snatched up from some place inside his soul, he lifted his head off the ground and whispered his defeat, "All right. Fuck me. Please, fuck me." He laid his head back down and closed eyes, readying his heart and mind to endure the ordeal. It was a blur. It was happening and not happening at the same time. LaCroix ripping the last shreds of his clothes, the hardness of his erection pressing into soft, sensitive flash. Bracing himself for the pain. Fire consuming his whole body as the barrier was breached and the pounding agony began. Feeling it all in a helpless paralysis that even denied him the bliss of unconsciousness. It was a nightmare like no other he had ever experienced before. Soon, even the mind numbing pain was gone, replaced by a legion of more terrifying sensations. Fear, anger, hunger and suffocation so intense, he felt like a dying fish on the ground. And then the images began. Monsters and ghouls coming out of the forest, corpses rising from their graves, the trees closing in on him, wanting to grab him, to trap him among their gnarled branches and hold him prisoner. And through it all there was LaCroix's weight on top of him, holding him down and pounding into him. He struggled, reached out for something on the hellishly morphing ground that was now in the process of swallowing him. His hands dipped into the blood pouring out of every chasm in the surrounding soil. LaCroix, now a hundred feet tall, hovered over him, laughing at his struggles. The sound of his laughter reverberated like thunder among the clouds. "You can never escape, Nicholas, NEVER." The blood was flowing in rivers, drowning him as the ground kept shifting and pulling him in. The monsters, demons and trees were all around him. There was no hope for escape. The screamed tore from his lips. And he opened his eyes. Everything was calm. A cool, nightly breeze blew over his skin. He could feel his body shivering, and a weight was still on top of him. He took several deep breaths; wanting to open his mouth and gulp in as much air as he could. That was when he noticed the wrist in his mouth. Reality set in. He was on the ground, trapped under LaCroix. The ancient was holding him down with one arm. His other arm was curved around his son's head and Nick found his teeth buried in the flesh of the wrist. He also felt the slight sting in his neck, the blood dripping onto his shirt. His shirt! He still had his clothes on. Consciously, he felt around his body with his hands to see if it were true. Had it all been a flashback? LaCroix had recreated history again, a flashback from his own memory, something that had happened a long time ago. To make Nicholas remember it as vividly as possible, he had made him go through the whole thing, the pain and the hurt and the humiliation. Yesterday he had thought they were closer than anything, closer than the most avid lovers in the world. He had loved his master, made love to him on that beautiful, rose-colored bed. Now, all he could find in his heart for the ancient vampire was hate. He let go of the wrist in his mouth and pushed himself up, surprised at his own strength. LaCroix still held him close. His grip, unlike the one in his dream, more supporting than restricting. But he let him sit up, and held him to his chest as Nicholas was unable to stop the tremors of his body. For a moment, the younger vampire leaned his head against his master's shoulder. They were both breathing hard, LaCroix holding onto him like he was preventing him from falling off a cliff. It took Nicholas a while to realize that LaCroix's body was shaking too, that perhaps he was holding him to get support as much as to give it. It made him angry. With barely disguised revulsion he freed himself from his master's embrace and stood up. It was strange to feel so whole and sans pain after what he had gone through. All LaCroix's fault, he kept telling himself. LaCroix was a vicious sadist who had enjoyed hurting him in the past and again, had had the thrill of forcing him through it again. He never wanted to have anything to do with the bastard anymore. He felt LaCroix stand up behind him. The older vampire was silent for a long while as his child stood with his back to him. Then, he stepped forward and reached out to put a hand on Nicholas' shoulder. Nicholas moved away. LaCroix let his hand fall to his side. Not that he had not expected such a reaction from his son, but feeling the reality of it was what hurt the most. Nicholas turned and looked at him then, and he was taken aback by the hatred he saw in the sea blue eyes. "I don't want you to touch me, or come close to me ever again. You understand that?' LaCroix fought to keep his features stoic. Telling himself that after what he had done, the only sensible thing was to respect Nicholas' wish to be left alone. But it seemed impossible. He knew he couldn't let it go. Not after the passionate, love-filled moments they had shared together less than 24 hours ago. "Nicholas, I..."he started. "Don't say anything, LaCroix. I can't stand hearing your voice right now." He turned around once again. His next words seemed strangled. "Thank you. For showing me the truth. There was never any love, was there? Only possession. I was never anything more than your slave. I'm glad I know that now." He took to the air after that and disappeared swiftly. LaCroix stood there for a long time, too numb to do anything. Damn Nicholas. Damn his own heart for loving him so badly he had to show him the truth. And what was the truth, really? That Nicholas and he had never been lovers? That the relationship had always been that of a master and his possession instead of two vampires in love? Was that true? Did he really love his son because he wanted to possess him? He felt a slight sensation of discomfort on his skin, accompanied by the usual anxiety that his centuries old brain recognized immediately. The sun was coming up, he soon had to go and find shelter for the day. But he found himself unwilling to move. The feeling of discomfort turned into little prickles on his skin. He could hear his mind yelling at him to get away as fast as he could. Nicholas might never love him anymore. But there still was a lot left for his son to remember. He would never be complete without those memories and LaCroix owed him that knowledge. Then, he would have the rest of eternity to heal the wounds, or at least reach a common ground with his son whom, he now knew, would never become what he had tried to make him. It couldn't be all over though. Maybe if he let a few days pass... He found himself smirking at his own thoughts. So unlike him, in his age, to be so naively optimistic. How could he turn away from the truth when it was shown to him only seconds ago? Nicholas had said. Nicholas was gone, and the only thing left was to accept it. That, and getting out of the sun. With a loud whoosh of displaced air, the old vampire leaped off the ground and was gone just as the sun began peeking over the tallest trees of the park. The best way to enter the loft without being noticed was the skylight, but he didn't use it. He wholly expected Nicholas not to let him in when he rang the buzzer like a normal person. It was strange, acting for once like he didn't own the place. Was it out of guilt? Nicholas deserved respect. That was what he told himself when he swooped down in the alley, instead of on the roof, and walked to the door. After what he had put Nicholas through last night, it was only fair. And the most basic way of showing that respect was to regard his privacy. If he decided not to open the door, then LaCroix would simply leave, and they won't see each other for another century. It had happened in the past. It was always that way after LaCroix injured his son so badly he couldn't stand being with him anymore. Nicholas always took off and disappeared, going to a place far and isolated, to lick his wounds and wallow in his misery. LaCroix, for his part, would leave him alone, at least for a while. Perhaps out of anger, or even a slight bit of guilt. Yes, although he would never admit it, LaCroix did sometimes feel guilty about the things he did to his son. Things he would do in the flurry of anger, when the boy simply wouldn't give up, wouldn't obey, kept pushing him to his limits. Until LaCroix would snap and attack and do such damage, it tore their whole relationship apart. There was guilt afterwards. When he had to rescue Nicholas from bleeding too much, and from the ensuing coma, or whatever happened to vampires when they were injured too badly. He would cradle his broken body and nourish him with his own blood, sometimes swearing at himself for loosing control. But he would never admit it to the fledgling. He would heal the wounds as best as he could and then leave. Nicholas would wake up, gather his belongings, and go. They would be separated for as long as it took for both of them to put the incident behind, and then LaCroix would come searching for Nicholas and Nicholas would run until LaCroix finally caught up with him. Then, they would live together and continue to get at each other until the whole thing repeated. It was that time again, LaCroix thought as he pressed the buzzer and stood in front of the camera. It was the last stage. This time, however, it wouldn't be Nicholas who would be leaving. If his son didn't accept him tonight, he was more than willing to leave this city behind and go to a new place, to take some time off. Even abusers needed some time alone, didn't they? It wasn't anything new; he had been without his Nicholas before. But he was having conflicting emotions inside and he didn't know why. Maybe it was because in that long, unforgettable day he and Nicholas had shared their love for the first time after centuries, he had hoped, if only for a moment, that things could change between them. That perhaps he could just gloss over all the pain and disdain that came afterwards, when Nicholas started regretting his choice, and only remember the love. It would have been possible if he had chosen not to show his son those memories. Just leaving the painful parts in the limbo and going on with the half-truths. It might have given both of them a chance to recover their relationship. But he had chosen not to do it that way. Nicholas was back where he had been before the accident, maybe a few steps more down, and all that was left was to say the last words and leave him to bear his wounds alone. That is, if he got permission to go in. He was surprised when the buzzer was answered and the door opened. Before he entered the loft he felt a tremor in his heart. It made him frown. Why was he acting like this? This behavior was more in the sphere of Nicholas' manners. Not at all typical for LaCroix, being nervous to face someone he had mastered for so many years. Nicholas was at the piano, playing a moody tune. He didn't look up as LaCroix took a few steps into the loft. Instead, he went on playing the light music, touching the keys softly with his fingers as if caressing them, the tenderness a stark contrast to the violence of the night before. He came closer but froze when the music abruptly stopped. Nicholas was still not looking at him, but he could feel the tenseness of his body. His profile, bent over the keyboard, was like a mask. Nicholas was a sad statue of all that LaCroix felt sorry about. LaCroix decided to leave him alone. He placed the bottle he was carrying with him on the dining table and retreated; taking the same strides he had taken backwards. At the door, however, he hesitated. He looked back at Nicholas who was still seated at the piano ramrod straight, and spoke. "You have to drink it fresh," he nodded at the bottle resting on the table though his gesture was lost to his son. "It is all there, everything that I know about your life and that you still don't know. I took the care to fill it myself, with my own blood. But in order for the memories to clearly project to your mind, you have to drink it tonight. Don't let it go stale, you will lose what you deserve to know." He turned around to leave, staring for a second at the scorched façade of the elevator door. It made him stop, or perhaps, it was Nicholas' next words that caused him to falter. "I killed you, didn't I?" He was almost shocked by the unexpected comment. When he looked back, Nicholas had risen from the bench and turned toward him, but he was still leaning to the side with his fingers gliding along the keys of the instrument. LaCroix realized his own speechlessness only when the golden head rose and Nicholas looked at him with blank eyes. He continued, "Right there, where you are standing right now," his fingers still stroking the keys, "I thought you were dead, gone, out of my life forever. But it wasn't a completely pleasant feeling, not having you in my life after having you always in my life for such a long time. I had read somewhere that some people get attached to their ugly scars, the ones they had since childhood, to a point that they wouldn't remove them even if they were given the chance. Guess that is what our relationship looks like." LaCroix was about to comment on his son comparing him to an old, ugly scar when Nicholas suddenly appeared in front of him. They stood still, facing each other for a while, until Nicholas reached up and slowly opened the first few buttons of his own shirt. With slow, deliberate movements, his eyes never leaving LaCroix's, he opened the collar and revealed his throat to the stunned eyes of his father. LaCroix found himself transfixed by the sight, and felt a stirring in his groin that was not entirely welcome under the circumstances. Nicholas didn't react to his master's obvious arousal, his eyes still sustaining the detached, empty look they had before. His hands trailed down along his shirt collar before he let his arms fall at his sides. Then, he simply close his eyes and craned his neck back, exposing his white, venerable throat. LaCroix took a step back and stumbled in his shock. Nicholas was offering himself to him. To the man who was guilty of hurting him badly, his crime revisited last night. He was surrendering to him. "Why, Nicholas? What are you trying to do?" Nicholas, sensing LaCroix's shock and retreat, opened his eyes and looked at the other vampire, "Nothing. I want you to know you can have me anytime you want. You don't have to fight me to get it. We don't have to fight anymore. I now know what my past had been like, and I don't want to relive it again. I want to break the cycle. " He closed his eyes again. LaCroix looked at him and felt a lump rise in his throat. His hands formed into fists, fighting to control his emotions. He was thinking of what to say when Nicholas continued, completely oblivious to him. "It is all a game, isn't it? We love each other, but do our best to destroy it. I do something you don't like, you get angry with me, you hurt me, I run away, I get lost and miss your blood, miss you, but I say I don't want you because I want to be free of you. You don't come after me until I start forgetting about you, forgetting that I ever missed you, then you show up, claiming that you are only there to take back what is yours. I act like I hate the sight of you, and we go back to where we started. We keep acting like this, thinking all we feel for each other is hate while the only thing that is true is what you showed me the first day." He raised his head and looked the other in the eyes, his eyes full of perception. LaCroix felt his heart lift in his chest. Nicolas wasn't speaking of hate. Nicholas wasn't rejecting him. He had found the root of the problem. He was thinking in a new way. Perhaps it was time that he, LaCroix, too, started to think new. The solution had been so very simple, and they had wasted centuries over it. Instantly he reached forward and pulled Nicholas into his arms, his heart breaking as he felt the graceful body stiffen in his arms. Maybe Nicholas thought he would hurt him? Just like countless other time when the boy had spoken his mind and LaCroix had dismissed it with his legendary smugness, or worse, punished the young vampire for trying to change things. What he did was to simply hold Nicholas. Not because it was part of his plan to correct a messed up situation, or because he had figured the answer out. It was because he just didn't know what else to do. For the first time in two thousand years, the ancient was left without a plan. He didn't know how to show his son that he understood, that he, too, was tired of the bitterness. He tightened his arms around the smaller man and felt the rigid body gradually relax. Neither of them made any sound and Nicholas' only reaction was to raise his hands and hug LaCroix's waist. His face was buried in his master's shoulder. From that angle, all LaCroix could see was the top of his head. But he could feel how stress was slowly leaving his son's body to be replaced by a curious ease. He let them stay like that for a bit longer, until he felt Nicholas's fist grab onto his shirt and he recognized the gesture. Nicholas had finally trusted him. He had proven to his son that he understood his plea and that he was willing to try. Slowly LaCroix separated their bodies and with a gentleness reminiscence of their early days, lifted his child into his arms and flew to the bedroom on the second floor. He carefully laid Nicholas on the bed, climbing in next to him. Nicholas was quiet, his eyes closed and his body relaxed. He had said what he had on his mind, showed LaCroix that he trusted him, and was now waiting for LaCroix's call. Once again, LaCroix reached over and pulled him into a hug. This time, Nicholas let go of his defenses much sooner. He snuggled against LaCroix and slid his arms around his master's neck. He put his face on LaCroix's chest and was motionless again. //LaCroix...// The pleading call reached his senses as smoothly as his own thoughts. His son was calling to him. It was a vulnerability Nicholas only showed his father, and only when they were this close. //Lets not go back to the past ever again. I had forgotten it. Seeing it again, it was like looking at my life from the outside. // LaCroix tightened his grip on the other man. Still, Nicholas raised his head and looked at him, intent on giving his message. //Why did we hurt each other like that, LaCroix? Why couldn't we simply live with each other in peace? Why did you hurt me that night when I told you I wanted to be different? Why did I kill you when all I had to do was to take a step back and think, like I did tonight? // There was no answer to those questions. And if there was, he didn't know it. But there was something else he could say. And he was aware that taking it one step at a time seemed to be the right decision. // Lets forgive and start over. Will you forgive me for what I did to you, my son?// Nicholas moved his face toward LaCroix's and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. //Make love to me first.// For several moments LaCroix simply stared at him, then a slow smile curled his lips. He bent down and captured Nicholas' lavish mouth and began kissing him deeply. The thoughts of apprehension and doubt all seemed to disappear after that kiss and they began to undress each other and explore each other's bodies as they went along. Nicholas was lithe and responsive this time. Unlike his pain filled denial last night, or his distrustful bewilderment the day before, he seemed contended and in control. He kissed LaCroix's eyelids and cheeks and looped his arms around the ancient's neck. LaCroix grabbed his torso and gently rolled him onto his back. He trailed his lips along the younger's jawline and trembled with delight as Nicholas' back arced in pleasure. He leaned down, kissing the white throat before sinking his fangs into the flesh. He was holding Nicholas' head with one hand while with the other, he guided his son's head to his own neck. Soon the circle was complete. They drank from each other for a while, to gain the strength they needed for the next stage. LaCroix was the first to part, letting Nicholas drink for a while more. When his son's fangs finally retreated from his neck, he reached with both hands and held the beautiful face in his palms. The ocean blue eyes were stormy, clouded with so many contrasting emotions. He looked deep into those eyes and asked in a hushed voice, "Do you want this, mon fils?" There wasn't any response at first, just the storms in those eyes. Then, the young man nodded, and a small, hidden smile appeared on his lips. But LaCroix still wasn't sure. Nicholas seemed to sense his distress and in a confident gesture opened his legs as a sign of invitation. LaCroix's heart beat twice in his chest. For a second or two, it felt like his senses were on overload. That combined with Nicholas' young, sweet blood coursing through his veins wiped away all thought from his mind and he placed his stiff cock at the entrance of Nicholas' body. He then brought his wrist to his mouth and bit down, drawing blood that pooled in his palm. Wetting his fingers, he reached down and lubricated his shaft and Nicholas' channel. Nicholas closed his eyes, for the first time enjoying the experience truly. LaCroix's smile was genuinely from the heart. How sweet it was to give this to his child. For once give, not take. He pushed forward in one smooth motion. Nicholas hissed and raised his hips. LaCroix started with a slow pace, thrusting a little at a time. Nicholas moaned and his hands came up to grab onto his master's body for support. LaCroix knew the slowness of his movement was driving the young vampire crazy, but he wanted to cherish this moment as much as possible. Finally, with one last trust, he was buried deep inside his son. He held still for a moment, listening to his and Nicholas' panting. Nicholas's hands moved on his back and his son let out a desperate whimper. LaCroix started moving again, sliding his shaft in and out of Nicholas' passage while grinding the young vampire's cock between their bodies. The sensation between them rose like a magnetic field, their bodies shaking to it as if caught by electricity. Soon they were moving in unison, slapping flesh against flesh. LaCroix felt Nicholas trash underneath him and grabbed him by his upper arms to calm him down. Nicholas opened his eyes, deep, golden orbs rimmed with fire, greeting LaCroix in a frenzy of lust. He opened his mouth to reveal two rows of pearl white teeth with sharp canines adorning the top. Then he snapped up, trying to catch some part of LaCroix's flesh with his fangs, his body still moving back and forth to LaCroix' now more forceful thrusts. LaCroix easily evaded the attack and continued to hold his son down, his own eyes now burning gold, and his plunges became more urgent and demanding than before. He growled his pleasure, not believing this was really granted to him. Nicholas looked so adoring, so sexy underneath him. As the haste of their movement reached its absolute height, and their fangs began to ache with the pain of craving the bite, LaCroix finally let go of Nicholas' arms and braced himself for the attack that came swiftly. Nicholas lashed out toward his sire's throat and bit deep into the offered flesh. Lightning flashed in front of LaCroix's eyes, and for a second he felt paralyzed by the pleasant sensations that flooded his body. Soon, the need for blood overpowered him and he opened his own mouth to bite into Nicholas' neck. The first taste of Nicholas' sweet, sensational blood, now rich with his arousal and the passion that was running through it, was enough to push him over the edge. He came like never before, continuing to drink from his son while riding through his orgasm and tasting the other's release in the blood he was greedily sucking from his vein. It was an extraordinary experience of mutual pleasure and making peace, of remembering and choosing to forget. At last the waves of ecstasy passed over them and their feeding slowed into gentle sucking. LaCroix rolled them both to their sides and withdrew his fangs from his son's neck. He started stroking the golden hair on the bent head as Nicholas continued drinking sluggishly. Finally the younger vampire stopped, long enough to raise his head and look into his father's eyes. When his eyes were raised all LaCroix could see in them was silent adoration, a type of kind, selfless love only Nicholas could give. LaCroix was touched by the affection. He stroked the side of the lovely face, pleased as Nicholas turned into the touch. Pleased that at last, they both had experienced what true, passionate lovemaking meant. "So I guess, I won't need that bottle downstairs anymore." Nicholas said. "Keep it as a keepsake, something to remember this day by." LaCroix replied. "And for how long do you think this day will remain in our minds?" LaCroix rested Nicholas' head on his chest and closed his eyes, whispering, "Doesn't matter how long, mon cher. The best thing to do is to not think about the future, lest we come up with another game. Just remember to come back to me if you ever happen to lose your memories again." "Je le ferai, mon deu pere. Je promets." Fin Sunny LaCountess--January 2003