Subject: Re: (Off-list) UF: List of Switchblade Challenge responses
Date: Sun, 17 Jan 1999 23:57:45 -0600
From: Marcia Tucker <darknick@flash.net>
To: Dianne Bugg <LadyLC@ibx.net>

Sure, here it is.

Thanks,
Marcia

    ---------------------------------------------------------------------
"With This Blade"
UF Switchblade Challenge Story
by Marcia Tucker
September 10, 1998

Note:  I not only am taking up the switchblade challenge, but feel that Leslie's excellent "Echoes" warrants response!  Surely Nick isn't just going to go back to his cordial but cautious relationship
with Lacroix after THAT!!  <weg>  Pardon the pages of posturing, but I so dearly love these two at the game...

Warning:  Consensual knifeplay, bloodsport, and certainly m/m sex. Graphic.

Permission to archive if the Switchblade stories are ever compiled on an archive site. <g>

Music recommendation:  Selected tracks off the Lost Highway soundtrack - Bowie, Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson, and especially Rammstein.

===========
Nick lay sprawled on his bed wearing only his black silk pajama bottoms, his face in sleep etched by a deep frown.  Sleep had come to him with difficulty, and now it had caught up his subconscious mind in a most disturbing dream.

He was back in the sixteenth century, on one of the happiest days of his life.  It was his wedding day and he wore the (admittedly) same ridiculous ruff, short coat and poofy pants as on that day but his
clothes were black, not white.  Still everything seemed to be the same. but it was not Alyssa gliding to stand next to him, but Lacroix dressed in the exact same ridiculous attire, wearing a very pleased expression.

They faced the bishop then, only the bishop was wearing, under his open robe, a leather harness and pouch.  But no one seemed to mind, Nicholas noted, smiling as everyone else was.  Then the bishop
handed him the ebony-handled switchblade that Lacroix and Nicholas had used - on each other - in the alley near the Raven last night.

He held up the knife, then snapped it open, revealing the wicked six-inch blade, which he held at eye level, point up.  In the background, the bishop had started the wedding ceremony, while Nicholas gazed at his apparent fiance past the shiny steel blade.  Lacroix's expression was. warm, even loving, his glance flicking toward the metal then back to his paramour's eyes.

Then it was Nick's turn to repeat his vows.  For some reason, the switchblade itself was to be the symbol of their union much as a ring normally was.  No ring.  Knife.  Nick spoke the vows, eyes
holding fast to Lacroix's:  "With this blade, I thee wed.  This ebony and steel, I thee give.  With my body, I shall thee worship. With all my worldly goods, I thee endow."

Never mind that the vow form was a century early.  Never mind that there were no switchblades then.  It was done.  They were married. At a nod from the bishop, Nick took Lacroix's chin in hand, tilting his head up and to the right, exposing the column of his throat. The knife blade was laid against it, edge on... then Nick was slicing deep, his mouth immediately fixing upon the wound to drink
from his wedding cup.

He awoke, sitting up abruptly, covered in bloodsweat, his senses painfully sharp.  His head jerked toward the door - his master was here!  Then he recalled the strange dream.  Marrying Lacroix!  With a switchblade in hand!  He began to laugh at the ludicrous notion until he noted that he was quite hard.  "Oh, really," Nick blew out his breath in consternation, and launched himself from the bed, heading for the shower.  Lacroix could wait.

A few minutes later, clean and somewhat restored, Nick tied his red silk robe around himself and started down the steps to the lower level.  Finding Lacroix in the loft in the middle of the day wasn't
so strange - he'd done it before, likely through the service of a light-shielded limousine.  But this was the day after their unusual - and sexual - encounter.  <If Lacroix expects any more from me,>
Nick thought hotly, then schooled his mind and expression.  He could play this game, too.  Spotting Lacroix's suit jacket draped over one of the kitchen table chairs, Nick paused to reach into a pocket.  As he'd suspected, the switchblade was there.  He brought it over to the fireplace area with him where Lacroix was placidly seated on the sofa, reading the newspaper.

Laying the paper down as his son approached, Lacroix wore an easy smile.  "Good news travels fast, as they say, Nicholas."  He patted the paper beside him and folded his hands in his lap.  "The knife was the evidence you needed and the arrest has already been made.  The streets of Toronto are marginally safer, thanks to us.  Well done, Nicholas."

Nick held up the switchblade.  "You pretended to have found this."

One eyebrow arched high.  "That is one possible assumption to make, Nicholas.  Not the only one.  As I recall, you had every bit as enjoyable a time as I did.  Or am I wrong, Nicholas?"

The detective balanced on the arm of one of the chairs flanking the sofa.  "It was fantastic," he whispered, his face impassive.  "By the way, Lacroix, are you able to direct my dreams?"

Lacroix glanced at the closed switchblade in his son's hand, then looked back up at his face.  "That would be a useful talent indeed, Nicholas, but sadly not one I possess.  Still, I seemed to have
sensed that there was yet unfinished business between us, and..."  He nodded toward the knife.  "It seems I was correct."  Again he looked into his son's eyes.  "You had a dream about our encounter,
Nicholas?"

The other's mouth twisted into a minute smirk, then smoothed back into its straight lines.  "No, actually I dreamt of our wedding.  But I was giving you this instead of a ring."  As in the dream, Nick
snapped the switchblade open, holding up the cold steel between them.  "Or rather, used it on you.  Sliced your throat open, I did."

A small dart of excitement sharply peeled up the center of Lacroix's body from his groin at the description.  "How. imaginative, Nicholas.  Our *wedding*, did you say?  Remarkable dream."  His
glance slid off toward the blade again, curious.   "And what did you do after cutting my throat?"

Still holding the blade up, Nick leaned forward in his chair, which allowed his robe to fall open, revealing an expanse of chest with a light covering of golden hairs.  "I drank from you," he answered
wryly, looking not at Lacroix, but at the knifeblade.

It was then, glancing from the knifeblade down the length of Nicholas's body, that Lacroix noticed that Nicholas was wearing his leather pants underneath the red silk robe.  "Nicholas," he breathed, his voice softer, "did you plan to drink from me again?"

"Did you?"  The sharpness in Nick's voice brought his sire's eyes back to his face.  The younger vampire's expression was challenging, with a quirk to the corner of his mouth.

"Do you?"  Lacroix shot back, drawing his brows together.

"Perhaps..."  Nick suddenly had a mental flash of being buried to the hilt in Lacroix's ass while another implement was buried to the hilt in the side of his master's neck.  A frisson of arousal
quivered through him at the thought.  He added the image of his fangs imbedded in the man's shoulder, and smiled a bit craftily.

Lacroix blinked at the unusual shiver in their link, then frowned at his son's smile.  "Perhaps... it's not the prospect of drinking that has you so stimulated, Nicholas?"  In a casual gesture, he opened the top button of his black silk shirt as he spoke.

<I see where this is going,> Nick thought to himself, letting his glance drift over toward the vampire on the sofa.  <Of course, the old man just had to come back for more, predator that he is... and
considering that it was the best sex I've had in centuries, I might just give him that.  Eventually.  The game is going to be just as much satisfying, if I have anything to do with it.>  His smile deepened as his eyes met the other's.  "And you invaded my home just to congratulate me on the case, Lacroix?"

"Perhaps... not."  Lacroix smiled as well.  "Perhaps I thought you might want... more... of what we shared last night."

Nick laughed, then leaned back in the leather chair, a booted heel up on the seat of the chair so that his robe fell open, revealing more of the leather pants.  A groin shot if there ever was one.  "You did, did you?  Really, Lacroix, what gave you that idea?"

Lacroix's eyes widened at the provocative pose for a moment before he had his features schooled again.  "Your blood," he stated flatly.

"I see."  Nick's smile faded as he regarded him thoughtfully, his glance falling to the open shirt.  "You know, of course, that I can't allow this."

Again a blink as Nick's words and demeanor were sharply at odds. Lacroix, of course, saw that his son was playing a game with him.  Clearly he was going to get his prize, but the devilish deBrabant
was going to make him pay for it in full.  "I know no such thing, Nicholas.  You... allowed... last night quite eagerly."

"I've had a chance to think about it since then," Nick replied, shifting his position in the chair so his legs were wider apart.  He felt the stab of arousal that went through his master as a result and barely prevented another smile.  "This is too much at odds with the life I've been trying to make for myself."

The other snorted derisively.  "I will not remind you what I think of that... life as you call it, Nicholas.  And it's precisely that 'oddness' that you need.  Wake up, Nicholas... and smell the bloodscent."

During this last pronouncement of Lacroix's, Nick slowly drew the knifeblade through the thickest muscle in the palm of his hand. Blood dripped onto red silk, onto black leather.  "Very well," Nick
murmured, inhaling the scent of his own blood deeply, then he drew his tongue across the wound to catch the seeping flow.

Lacroix sat rooted, stunned as the aroma of his son's blood hit him, the sight of that precious fluid stabbing him to the core.  It was all he could do to stay seated and not slide to his knees before
Nicholas's chair.  "How is it, Nicholas," he said tightly, eyes riveted to the blood, "that you can speak one thing and your entire body speaks something altogether different?"

Tongue still bathing the cut, Nick lifted his eyes to his master.  "Perhaps I have gone mad?"  Within, he considered to himself, <Perhaps I have indeed... and perhaps, just once in a while, I can allow myself to yield to it.>   To punctuate his words, he laid the flat of the bloody blade against his lips.

With a muffled snarl, Lacroix lurched to his feet to loom over Nicholas's chair.  "A deliberate madness, I am guessing," he spoke tightly, scowling down at his complicated son.

In response, Nick rose to his feet, shoving the chair behind him, to face off against his master.  He folded his right arm behind his back, still holding the knife with the open blade.  "And you
deliberately came here to continue our little involvement from last night," he threw back at him.  Though Nick was shorter by a few inches, he met the steely gaze equally.

Lacroix cast a pointed glance downward.  "You appear... prepared to do just that, Nicholas."

"I suppose I am," Nick retorted with a note of irony.  "If I dare risk it.  You know well the ceiling I deal with, Lacroix, and why I must not allow myself to go near it."  Behind his back, his fist
clenched the knife tighter.  He wasn't entirely sure himself where he was going with this.  Desire still warred with resolve within him.  To give in to desire now could be devastating to his... eventual hopes for himself.

An eyebrow lifted and to Nick's wonder, his master's expression softened even as the brows drew together in a frown again.  "Oh, Nicholas," Lacroix murmured, looking deep into the clear blue eyes
so near his, "if you could understand that only I can help you ensure that your *ceiling*, as you call it, is never breached..."

The "ceiling" was Nick's determination never to kill as a vampire again.  While he hoped for an eventual cure of his vampirism, he meanwhile resisted allowing himself to live fully as a vampire,
fearing that to do so would endanger the mortals in his chosen life.  Lacroix's unexpectedly solicitous comment shook something deep within, some inner knowledge about their relationship that he
normally ignored.

His lips parted to take in a breath before speaking, then closed.  For a long moment, Nick studied his master's eyes, but found only a careful regard tinged with perhaps a bit of honest concern.  "What
do you mean, Lacroix?"  he asked warily at last.

The frown gentled.  "In order to control the Beast, Nicholas, one must give it some outlet.  You give yours... nothing, and hence, have no real control over it.  Within you, it is ever seeking to be released.  Believe me, you are more dangerous to the mortals you surround yourself with this way.  Oh, but then you don't want to believe me, do you?"  Lacroix sighed, and laid a hand on the arm
holding the knife.  "Encounters... like last night... are but one way to achieve the control you feel you require, mon fils."

Nick snorted, shrugging off the hand, and swept past Lacroix toward the fireplace where he leaned against the mantelpiece, crossing his arms before him, the blade still in his hand and open.  "Oh, so this is all about helping me *control* my Beast?  You truly must think I'm mad if you expect me to believe that!"

Handed folded behind his back, Lacroix stepped up to him so close that Nicholas felt on his face the soft huff of his breath when his lips parted.  "Believe what you will, Nicholas," he murmured, eyes
hooded.  "I meant what I said.  Unless we are both mad?"

Nick's eyes widened as he was allowed to see a glimpse of fang from the other, though the deep-set grey-blue eyes had not changed.  He may be holding the blade, but there were other weapons available to them.  His glance lingered on the lips as they closed.  "Madness... only if what we are is an illusion.  Which it most emphatically is not."  Nick sighed, then edged away from him, moving slowly within Lacroix's personal space to stand behind his shoulder.  "So.  You are serious.  And why not?"  He looked up into his master's eyes as the other turned his head to follow him.  "You will gain what you seek."

Lacroix's demeanor was indeed solemn.  Internally he was tingling, for his incalcitrant Nicholas was far from giving in to him, which was exactly what he did not want Nicholas to do anyway.  Not "giving in", but "getting into", "accepting", indeed "embracing" what he was.  Lacroix wanted his Nicholas willing - or not at all.  "And you may gain something you seek as well, Nicholas."

Something inside Nick clicked, seemed to shout YES even as other, smaller voices gibbered indignantly at the statement.  <Shut up,> he told them, irritated.  "Perhaps I may," Nick replied, and continued around Lacroix's perimeter.  He clasped his master's joined hands with his left fist and brought up his right to draw the blade before him, flashing the steel in Lacroix's eyes before laying the flat of the blade against his throat.  "This may bear investigating further..."

The flash, the touch of steel sent a shiver through the elder.  "Do it, cut me, Nicholassss," he hissed, tensing against the iron grip on his hands.  He could break contact, of course, but that would risk the continuation of this oh, so delicious... he had a name for it... foreplay.

The plea made Nick's eyes burn gold, and he hissed back, his breath against the back of Lacroix's neck.  "Yesss... I will cut you... "  But he held the knife still.  Instead Nick edged himself closer so
that his groin came in contact with the other's ass.  He'd been somewhat semi-erect already, merely from the game, but at the touch, his member began filling wonderfully so that he really had something
substantial to press against the indentation between the taut, muscular curves.

Lacroix stilled, closing his eyes, focusing a moment on their vibrating link.  It didn't matter to him whether Nicholas cut him to shreds, or fucked him senseless.  What mattered to him was that he
was going to see his son yield to the Beast, yield to what he truly was, what he was made to be.  Lacroix was going to see, feel, experience the majestic predator his creation could be if he just
allowed it out.  There was no need for Nicholas to control his hungers with his master - he could rage all he wanted, and Lacroix would take it.  Indeed, letting the Beast loose with Lacroix was
Nicholas's safest outlet, and as Lacroix had said, that outlet would help him stiffen his controls around others.  If he just gave in to this, just allowed *this* with Lacroix...

Then Lacroix jerked minutely as he felt the edge of the blade cut him - not on the neck, but on the face, slicing a line from under the eye to his jaw.  His eyes flew open and cast a glance to the side.  Nicholas, gold eyes hooded and fey, was now moved around to his left shoulder, groin against his hip.  The knife was in Nick's left hand, cutting Lacroix on the left side of his face.  "Yesss... feel it rise within you," the master murmured as Nick brought his hand up again.  Lacroix could feel the blood oozing.  The cut was carefully, precisely shallow.  The man was a true artist.

Another slice... Lacroix drew his brows together, wondering... then, when a third slice had begun, awareness rushed through him like an electric charge dancing from his heart to his groin.  Nicholas, his Nicholas, his unruly, temperamental, unpredictable child, was carving the letter N in his cheek!

<Gods, I want him in me,>  Lacroix thought, his lip curling as his own Beast prowled restlessly within him, snarling for release.  <Oh, hush,> he told it, a note of amusement tripping through him.  <You
will have your chance.  This is far too entertaining to stop just to feed you now.>

Nick's right hand left the fists bunched at the small of his back.  Abruptly, he clasped Lacroix by the back of his head, then suddenly whirled him around and slammed his shoulders hard against the
mantle, barely missing cracking Lacroix's head on the stone mantelpiece.  Nick, his eyes nearly closed, faced him now, his groin again fit snug against the other's massive bulge.  The knife was
still in his left hand, and was already starting to work on Lacroix's right cheek, continuing to draw his initial in blood on the other side.

Lacroix caught his breath after it had been smacked out of him, and looked into his son's face so close to his.  "I will break you in half if you do not complete what you have started," he whispered
low.  "Do be thorough, Nicholas."

Nick, now that his course had begun, was settling into the delicious dark fugue that represented his Beast at play, feeling his power and the joy of control.  Unlike one time in the Raven a few years ago
when his Beast had been dangerously let loose around a mortal, Nick felt focused and in command, not at all out of control.  The difference, of course, was Lacroix, whom he sensed was subtly lending him strength.  He took it, greedily.

"Background music would have been nice," Lacroix murmured.

"Shut up, old man," Nick rasped.  He narrowed his eyes, making sure that if any of this amused Lacroix, it was not apparent.  No sign of anything except Lacroix's minute twitching at being the canvas for Nick's latest endeavor into art.  Nick growled, then reached up to the mantelpiece and picked up a remote gingerly perched on the narrow ledge there.  He pointed at his stereo multiplex across the room, activating the CD player.  Immediately the affront of Rammstein scraped against their senses. Nick tossed the remote behind him and resumed his work.

"Not my first choice," Lacroix commented, grimacing more at the tightness of his pants than the slicing of his face.  "I would have gone with Mussorgsky or perhaps..."

"You talk too much," Nick growled, lip curled, as he made the third cut.  "Take off your belt," he ordered.  Then he let up some of the weight he was pressing on his master to give him access.

Their golden eyes met as Lacroix silently removed his belt.  Nick shrugged off the robe, pooling it off to the side, then licked the blade clean, all the while holding the other's gaze.  The cuts on Lacroix's face were still oozing, and as Lacroix dropped his belt upon the puddle of red silk beside them, Nick traced the right N with his finger, then put his finger in his mouth to clean it.  "Put your hands behind your back again," Nick muttered, his eyes going hooded again at the heady taste of power in Lacroix's blood.

Lacroix complied, but he whispered to his son again, his voice dark and low.  "What do I taste of, Nicholas?  Power?  I have power to spare you, my deadly treasure.  You have but to take it..."

"Yesssss..."  Nick hissed before Lacroix stopped speaking.  With one hand he was already working open the fly of the other's pants, his left hand holding the knife in his fist, steadied against Lacroix's
chest.  Then he put the handle of the switchblade between his teeth and with both hands, worked the pants down over Lacroix's hips.  Kneeling, he finished stripping the other's lower half, and Lacroix
even helped with the removal of his shoes.  Clad only in his shirt and socks, Lacroix straightened and replaced his hands behind his back.  Nick stood and unbuttoned the black silk shirt the rest of the way, folding the front sides back to expose his chest.  More canvas.

Again the knife fisted in his left hand, Nick held Lacroix against the mantle with his fist in the center of the other's chest.  He reached down with his right hand and grabbed Lacroix by the balls, which caused a sharp intake of breath in the other.  "More investigation, Nicholas?"  Lacroix managed to gasp, then watched as Nick began another initial, this one on the left pectoral.  Except Nick did not take his time.

"Much more," snarled his son, finishing one letter and starting another on the right side.  This time, the released trails of blood were lapped up by Nicholas's tongue.  Slice, lick, slice, lick... and the cuts were deeper now, more blood released.  When the knife blade trailed through a nipple, Nick did not hesitate, though Lacroix jerked abruptly with each piercing.

Then a low growl rumbled out from Nick as he surveyed his handiwork; the letters N had all the flourish of his usual handwriting. Suddenly, he was whirling Lacroix around again, shoving him face
first hard against the stone of the fireplace.  Lacroix instinctively put his hands up to brace himself against the mantle, and found himself pinned by an iron fist in his back, the cold blade of steel against his skin.  "Time to get to the root of this," Nick snarled, and Lacroix could hear the creaking of leather as Nick unbuttoned his own fly to free himself.

<Yes, it's about damn time!> Lacroix rejoiced, feeling the dark fire of his Nicholas burning cold and deliciously in their link.  <Fuck me, you animal!>  Aloud he snarled back, not in challenge, but in
agreement, and the moment he felt the slap of a cock against his flesh, he ground his ass back against the other.  "Take it, Beast!"  Lacroix growled, and got a smack against his ass, Nick's open hand
spanking him hard.

Then he was shoved toward the side, onto his hands and knees.  Iron hands grasped his ass cheeks, pulling them apart.  Nick had the switchblade in his teeth again, needing his hands free for the
moment.  Ruthlessly he stabbed into Lacroix with his finger, working his hole to ease his entry.

The invasion, the rough treatment made the ancient vampire see stars momentarily, so thrilled to the core was he by his creation's yielding to the predator within.  "Gods, Nicholas, yes!" he shouted,
grasping at the nearby windowsill for support, but it was too far, the slivers of escaped light from the day outside far too near.

So he grabbed at the sculpted column at the corner of the fireplace, hands clasped on the head of the grotesque little figure.  Lacroix had a wild, ridiculous thought about how he was going to replace
what was surely going to get damaged, then the thought was gone forever as two fingers ground around in his asshole.  He settled for what little purchase he had on the column, then shoved back to get more of the exploring fingers within.

Snaking his head back around his side, Lacroix spied his son's face.  His visage was beautiful and dangerous, so deadly.  "I made you for this, Nicholas," he growled, steeling himself to think beyond the painful twists within him, three fingers now.  "By all the gods, I made you for this!"

Before turning his head back around, he got one glance at the other's magnificent endowments, the cock so high and proud, and massive.  A deep-chested rumble emitted from the older vampire as he
braced himself, then released an unhuman low croon as he was penetrated by that drooling member.  His hand reached down to pull at his own cock, also dripping copiously in his arousal, also hard
from his son's display of power.

Nick grabbed one hip by the hand, his fingernails digging in for traction as he began to move within the other.  The other hand held the switchblade again, curled fingers momentarily touching the other
hip to get his balance while he developed a rhythm.

As Nick slammed hard into the ass of his master, a responsive slam backwards was also received so that the one fucking was clenched hard as well, and this fierce exchange of power back and forth was translated into the ebb and flow of their mental energies. Within their link, the high, wild fire of their arousal swirled and twined like warring whirlpools, but this was no war, rather a frenzied
dance of heated currents of passion.  They became a pulse, one beating heart thrashing to the powerful, angry thrum of Rammstein.

Nick had not felt the power sing through him quite like this for a very long time, singing in harmony with his master's deft touch guiding his controls.  He felt free, immense, and in command of
himself, far from that stupidly dangerous creature glutting on human blood that one time in the Raven, too angry at his perceived betrayal to see how widely his pendulum swung the other way, heedless of his own self-destructiveness.  He'd berated the mortal world then, but hated himself more, allowing the Beast off its chain to roam unprincipled and misguided through the moray of the delicious human prey surrounding him.  It was astonishing that he hadn't actually killed.

This, though, was not about killing, but about BEING, and the Beast, while on tether, was loosened to thrash its head in wild abandon, reveling in its glory as a predator while channeled so that harm did
not fall where healing was beyond possibility.  How better to loosen this creature than with another of its own kind, one who could not be hurt by him?

The grating, snarling music even served to fuel his fire hotter as he continued to fuck.  Both vampires found themselves caught up in it, snarling in German along with it, not "Du hast mich" (You hate
me) but Nicholas screaming "Ich habe dich!" (I have you!) and Lacroix snarling back like a tiger, "Ich bin dich!"  (I *am* you).

Finally, on a terrific crashing note, the Beasts roared their triumph as they came together.  The knife, not forgotten, flashed high in the air and then descended to stab Lacroix in the neck as Nick fell forward against his back, still coming convulsively.   He pulled the knife out and sank his fangs into the same spot, catching the flow in his mouth.  Another slash and he'd opened his own wrist, which Lacroix took up greedily.

The Beasts were fed, and well.  The whirlpools coalesced into one, violent and blissful.  Veins sang in triumph.  The last convulsions shuddered through their bodies until they sagged apart, fangs slipping out of rent wounds.  They ended up in a pile on the floor together, blood-sweaty limbs slipping against leather and skin. Stray drops were licked from a bloody arm.  A tongue emerged to lick the blade clean.

Eyes met with gold still fading.  Lacroix, as expected, recovered first, shifting his position a bit to ease his bruised posterior. "How do you feel, Nicholas?"  he murmured, then reached to twist his fingers into the blond hair of the head leaning against his, as much from reluctance to be separated from his son as from a need to balance his slightly quivering body.

Nick, breathing heavily still, used the back of his hand to swipe at the bloodsweat dripping from his forehead.  "Clear," he managed to speak, his voice a bit raspy yet.  "I feel clear."  Blessedly, the
music had fallen silent.

They were sitting in a tangle in front of the fireplace, their senses and link slowly returning to normal, ripples in a lake. Nick, his arm around Lacroix's waist as he leaned against him, held up the knife and absently began again to draw his initial on the firm stomach of the other.

"Nicholas," Lacroix blew out his breath in a mixture of surprise and resurging desire.  "What do you mean you feel 'clear'?  What is 'clear', mon cher?"

More ripples, but not serious enough to disturb the new calm between them.  "Clear minded, I suppose," Nick murmured.  He finished the letter, then snapped the blade closed as he looked up again.  "Are you all right?"

Lacroix snorted.  "I am always all right, Nicholas.  I'm more concerned with your state of mind.  What of your Beast now?"

Nick drew a fingertip of blood from the shallow cut up to his mouth.  He cleaned the digit of his master's blood, closing his eyes briefly.  When he opened them again, they were still a clear blue
with no hint of gold.  "The Beast is put away.  He sleeps."

"And your 'investigation', Nicholas?"  Lacroix released the hair between his fingers, bringing his hand down to draw a letter on his son's chest.  The letter L.  "What have you discovered?"

His hand was turned, palm up, and the switchblade was laid in it.  "That I have a great deal to think about," Nick answered solemnly.  "I have everything to think about."

Lacroix smiled, relaxing against him at last.  "That is well, Nicholas.  It is perhaps all I can hope of you right now.  I just have one more question."

Nick also sagged against him, pressed against his cheek.  "What's that?" he asked, languor settling into his voice.

The ancient vampire glanced down at the switchblade in his palm, then closed his fingers over it.   <This cold steel may yet be of use again,> he mused, then took a deep breath.  "What did my blood
tell you, Nicholas?"

Nick smiled, remembering, then shifted position minutely so he was facing the other more.  There were no more than two inches between them.  "Blood doesn't lie, mon pere.  Your blood sings in me still. I did learn... this..."  Sighing, Nick's lips met the other's in a kiss that deepened in moments.

The world tilted crazily, righted itself.

Nick drew back from the kiss first, still smiling, and with elegant lupine grace, untangled himself and rose to his feet.  He pulled up his leather pants and rebuttoned his fly with minor difficulty, his erection already half begun.  Lacroix, watching him, leaned back on his side, propped up on an elbow, idly slapping the closed switchblade against his thigh as he regarded the magnificent creation that was his Nicholas.  "I really need to get some sleep," Nick murmured, running a hand through his tousled blond hair, regarding his supine companion.

"I imagine you do," Lacroix murmured, looking up the length of him, from supple black leather encasing his soldier's legs to the muscular planes of his naked chest.  His glance then wandered over
to the sofa, where he supposed he'd be spending the rest of their day.

The other caught the look.  His smile widening to a playful though tired grin, Nick extended a hand to him.  "Sleep with me?"  he said simply, meeting his gaze as it returned to his face.

Lacroix accepted the offer of a hand up.  "Why thank you, Nicholas, that would be pleasant."  Once standing, however, he clasped Nick by the elbow, pulling him closer again abruptly.  "Nicholas... feel the control within you.  Can you see it?"

A huff of air from surprise escaped Nick, then he gazed back, internally gauging his power and control.  Slowly he nodded.  "I see it."

The other released his arm as abruptly as he'd grabbed it.  "Thank on that, Nicholas, or shall we say, sleep on it?"  Lacroix laid the switchblade on the mantle and moved past his son, heading for the
stairs to the upper floor. As was his usual practice, he did not climb the steps, but flew up to the second story.

Nick watched him go, then sighed.  "Hopefully without the wedding dream this time," he murmured with a wry grin, then launched into the air to join his master.

The End (and the beginning?)
Note:  Credit goes to the TV movie of "The Scarlet Pimpernel" for
the original wedding vow formula.  <g>