Subject: JADFE: fic: Celtic Nights
Date: Thu, 17 Sep 1998 15:43:01 EDT
From: DPangel79@aol.com
To: jadfe@jbx.comHmmmm... this is my second story of this kind. One might think I'm enjoying this; and they'd be right. Someone, ;), said that Nick needed a redhead...and far be it from me to not "play" with the idea.
Permission to archive gladly granted to the JADFE website.
Nick/female (a character of my creation that may work her way into other fic)
explicit/vamp sex"Celtic Nights"
by Shana Nolan
************"So, how's the shift going, detective?"
Nick Knight jerked his head up, his reverie broken by the out of the blue question from the desk sergeant. "Not bad. But if Detective Schanke walks in here from dinner with Souvlaki breath, make him eat a mint before he gets over here... okay?"
The sergeant laughed. He was well aware of this little "arrangement" he'd made with Knight. "No problem. Still can't stand the garlic... I get it. And here I thought that cute ME of yours was trying to fix that problem."
Nick blinked. He really needed to be more careful when it came to the office gossip circles. He always thought he was careful with those kind of things, but given the chance, he knew full well that the gossip mongers would bug his flat if given the opportunity. He forced a friendly smile. "And how, pray tell, does a specialist in post-morts cure allergies?"
"I dunno, detctive, but it is awfully private there... "
Rolling his eyes, Nick tried to ignore the sergeant and act like he was actually worried about the paperwork looming in front of him. Sensing the friendly push, the sergeant smacked his arm and walked back to his own desk, chuckling all the way.
As Don Schanke came strolling in. "Geez, Knight. I know you live here, but one of these days, Stonetree's gonna figure out that the both of us earn as much overtime as we do salary."
"I was trying to get some of this backlog cleaned out." Before Schanke got to his desk, Nick had pulled a drawed open and tossed him a tin of breathmints. "Eat one or you'll make me call in sick."
"Go home. I got it, anyways."
"And this paperwork will actually make its way to Stonetree's desk... ?"
"Yeah, yeah, it will. Now leave, or I'll breathe on you."
Nick grimaced and got out of the chair. Pulling the coat on, he made his way out of the precinct and eyed the desk sergeant, who shrugged innocently as he walked out into the night air.
Cool and refreshing, he looked foreward to going back to his place; and then maybe back out for a little entertainemnt.* * *
The elevator hummed its way up. Having parked the caddy in the garage and deciding that he would find a way to enjoy his night off, Nick pulled the sliding door open.
And froze. There was a vampire in his flat. Someone was paying him an uninvited visit. Putting up his guard and walking carefully into his own domain, he noticed that the fireplace had been lit and there was a dark bottle and two glasses sitting on the dining room table.
Easily following his senses over to the black couch, he walked around to face his unknown guest.
"What... no kiss hello? It's been ages, Nicholas."
His guest was stretched out on the black leather, a black silk shift settling on the rich curves of her lithe body. Her hair, a lion's mane of thick, wavy, auburn hair, draped around her porcelain face. Nick fell silent, awed by the fact that it was *her.*
"Ages? Try six hundred years, Morgaine. I didn't think you'd be back."
Morgaine laughed quietly. She had waited for some time for this moment, planning and holding off for the right time to walk back into his life.
She stood up from the couch and approached him. Regarding him with a hungry stare, she guided him back over to the couch, pushing him into the corner and wedging her body next to his, thus trapping him down.
"After so long I thought you'd be happy to see me. Why wouldn't I come back... do you think I didn't enjoy scandalising your life in that stuffy french court?"
"No, of course not." His face softened and he ran a hand across her cheek. "I had a lover more vivacious and more lovely than the king's own mistress. But I've missed you. I thought you had left me for good...maybe for him."
"I prefer my wild haired celts, you should know that."
More specifically, he knew that she preferred him specifically over a very particular "him." Being over 70 years older than Lacroix, she had naturally crossed Nicholas' master's path first. With the roman vampire, it had taken time for her to accept him as anything but an enemy.
Until, of course, he proved his worth to her by averting a Roman legion from invading a small celtic village in Gaul and then offering her the life of the attacking general and a few of his choice soldiers. After that, it was easy to accept him as a friend, and a lover.
But once Lacroix had made the mistake of introducing his protege son to his former lover, Morgaine "changed" her focus. The young, deliciously naive crusader was a temptation from the start for her. There was no question in her mind that she had found a distant descendant of her own lost race; the thought of tasting celtic blood and feeling celtic wood inside of her again made her blood boil.
And that same thought and feeling had brought her back to him some six hundred years later.
Leaning in and smelling his skin, she ran a hand through his soft blonde hair. It was so good to be this close to him again. "Take me back."
"I shouldn't... I really shouldn't... " his voice trailed off. His current life of protien shakes and dreams of mortality dared to melt away with the very presence of her soft, cool skin.
Pulling herself onto his lap, she leaned her face into his neck and whispered into his ear, "Take me back. A thousand nights of pleasure can be yours again."
"But I have... I, uh..."
"Any mortal who you think that could ever take my place never will. There's no enjoyment in restraining yourself. Let me back in."
And with that, his will power melted. Whether it was her power and age or the remembrance of the last times, it didn't matter. She had seduced him before and she knew how to do it again.
Burying his face in her thick hair, he breathed in the sweet smelling residual of her herbal shampoo. She pulled herself closer to his chest and began kissing his neck. He sighed and wrapped his hands around her, drawing her so close that he could feel her ribcage.
Six centuries faded into days... long moments... a brief pause of separation between the times of being together. By the time she had straddled his lap and was grazing her descended fangs gently across his neck, a droplet of reality hit his brain.
"Oh, ugh... " Nick pushed her slightly off of him and smiled sheepishly. "I smell like the precinct. After so much time I should be nice enough to wash off the residue of guns, coffee, donuts and the locker room."
She laughed slightly and pushed against his hands. "It can't be any worse than that 'invisble' puddle of wet manure you tripped into."
He arched an eyebrow. "It was one of the rainiest springs of 14th century Paris. And you wouldn't even let me take off my shoes until I scrubbed down with lye and borrowed some of the queen's parfums."
"True," she ran her fingernails playfully down his chest, "but I don't mind this. It's so much better that manure."
Catching her mood, he grabbed her hand. "Then you should meet my partner."
"Does he like wearing royal parfum?"
"Actually, he prefers garlic." With that, he slid out from underneath her and jumped over the back of the couch.
Unfortunately, she had latched onto his belt and had forced him immobile two paces away from the couch. He half twisted and placed a hand on her wrist. She grinned playfully and shook her head. "You're mine."
Shaking his head and remembering how a game similar to this had nearly gotten them kicked out of court for eternity, he removed the excess belt from the buckle and escaped from her grasp, leaving her with only his belt and he still with his intact clothing.
She humphed. He had won round one. However, she mused, there were at least four or five more to go.
Until, from the bathroom, Nick made the toss of a lifetime as his discarded pants landed on the couch next to her and effectively won round two.* * *
Round three started as soon as he walked, or rather, tried to walk out of the bathroom in his red and black robe and slicked back hair.
Like a cat waiting for a mouse to emerge from its hiding place, Morgaine sat poised and ready for him to come back out into the main room of the flat.
Tucked behind the door, she waited and until he was two paces past her and leaped. Or pounced, depending on your perspective.
Wrapping her left leg around his left leg, her right leg around his waist and her arms below his shoulders, she dragged him down to the floor, laughing gleefully.
Startled, the floor flying up to meet his face, Nick rolled instinctively on his side, knowing full well that if he wedged his determined visitor between him and the floor, he would pay for it later.
Finally, lying in a heap, Morgaine released her hold on him and peered into his blue eyes. They were beautifully deep and rich with feelings she wanted so badly for him to share with her; feelings that had once been only of and for her so many hundreds of years ago.
Sitting up and playfully pushing Nick onto his back, she leaned onto his chest and fingered the belt of the robe.
Laughing, he tried to protest, but once she yanked the belt out of the loops and grabbed his hands as to bind them, he jumped into action. Scrabbling out from underneath her, he sought refuge on his black leather couch.
She humphed. "Spoilsport!"
Holding the belt in one hand, Morgaine strutted back over to him. She would have Nick if she had to drug him with laudinum.
But this time he didn't try to avoid her playful torment. He sat calmly in the same corner he had been in before and watched as she sat down on his lap, smiling like a cat who had just caught the songbird.
"Do you think you have me now?"
She ran her fingernails down his bare chest. "I'd like to think so."
A growl murmured in the back of his throat as her hands worked their way down his torso. He wrapped his hands around her trim waist and down to her hips and muscular buttocks, drawing her closer, catching the smell of her sweet shampoo again.
A laugh escaped her throat. "Ooh. The songbird wants to sing for me, eh?"
Nick's only response was to push the silk shift up over her hips, revealing the lack of undergarments and her pale, smooth flesh. Tracing her pelvic girdle with lazy fingers, he leaned foreward, kissing her.
Morgaine responded by pushing him back into the cushions and kissing him back, letting her fangs graze the interior of his lip. Pushing the robe off of him, a lustful glint touched her slate grey eyes as she felt the growing physical presence against her inner thigh.
Pulling away from the now blood filled kiss, he wrapped a hand and let his own fangs drag across and sink into her tender neck. He gasped as the blood of a truly ancient vampire coursed into his mouth like a willing flood.
The ancient celtic vampire on top of him let her mind reel as she felt his razor sharp teeth in her flesh. It had been so long. But now she wanted the rest of him. And as she ground her hips into his, she whispered, "I want the rest of you in me."
Withdrawing from her neck, his eyes a rich gold, Nick smiled as a trickle of blood ran down his chin. Morgaine immediately leaned in to suckle the combination of their blood comingled on his chin.
Lifting her up, the soft flesh of her thighs and nether region cupped in his strong hands, he let the full length of his erection stand tall, ready and ever willing for the attention of his former wild lover.
Like a lioness in heat, she came down on him, a murmuring growl in her throat. Beginning to rock back and forth in his lap, her mind swam in the estatic ardor of him buried inside of her.
Nick sighed and closed his eyes, falling into her instinctive rhythm. He could almost hear the sound of the ladies of the court laughing in their crystalline tone from the private room off the court Morgaine had had in those days as they passed the all-too-sunny day entangled in each other.
But the memories and the passionate caress of her hands and her sharp toothed mouth were interrupted as the phone rang suddenly.
Nick froze, wishing that they were back in the days before technological age.
Morgaine, intentionally oblivious of the nuisance, rocked forward as hard she she could, pushing him further inside of her and stealing back his attention.
His eyes widened as her expert movements drowned the importance of the phone out.
Three rings later, the answering machine clicked on and a voice came from the machine.
It could have been god, for all Nick cared. He never wanted this to end. Morgaine was back. That was all that mattered.
Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her small body into his, turned so the length of the couch was in front of them and laid her down across the cushions. Laying in between her legs, he rested his weight on her chest and buried his face in her neck again.
Now the recipient of insistent thrusts and fangs buried deep in her throat, Morgaine closed her eyes. High, flying on the re-found attention her beloved crusader was giving her, she lost herself in the power of their pairing.
It was the unspoken tradition between the two of them that one of them would take as much of the other's own rich vampiric ambrosia until they could take no more. The giver, and this only seemed to happen when it was her and Nicholas, would actually hit a plateau more ecstatic and fierce as they lost the larger part of their own blood than with the attentions of normal intercourse.
This plateau she could feel drawing near. Withdrawing his fangs from her pierced throat, he kissed her once more, a mouthful of her own blood still in his mouth. Bucking underneath him, she pulled out of blood from his mouth and dropped her fangs into the flesh of his tongue, the younger vitae pouring forth from the now open wound.
He tried to struggle, he tried to draw back, forgetting the fierce intensity that Morgaine wielded expertly, but she held him tight, her strength still greater than his, despite her blood and very life essence thick in his body. He shuddered, pushing harder and faster as his own climax rose.
The world blurred. The silent scream in her throat became a tympany. Fighting for her own rightful climax, she writhed and bucked under him, her vaginal walls tightening around him. Releasing his tongue but digging her fingernails even deeper into his back, she threw her head back, her auburn hair spilling around her face like a billow of silk threads.
Nick gasped. The Beast was howling in the pit of his stomach. He was so close, so close, so close...
Feeling her body release with a petit mor with the strength of an ear-shattering explosion, he felt his own body yield to the power. They were flying high on one another, lost in the simultanous, overwhelming, excruciating and deliciously delightful climax of two lovers seemingly meant for each other. None of the rest of the world mattered.* * *
An hour later, entangled on the black couch, his member still buried firmly inside of her, they slept, daring the life beyond the metal shades to intrude upon them.
"Mon ange?" she whispered.
Stirring enough to acknowledge her and take one of her hands in his own, he smiled. "Amour?"
"Are you happy?"
He nestled his head next to her cheek and sighed. "Yes. Take me back. Let me back in."
She quietly mocked his tone from earlier that evening. "But I have... I, uh... "
"I prefer my wild-haired celts, you know."
"I know, ma chevalier precieuse, I know."
Six hundreds years of being without each other was over.************************
{finis}(Note: mon ange= my angel, ma chevalier precieuse= my precious knight/crusader, petit mor=orgasm ;), and amour, of course... beloved.)
Comments and... ice cubes (cold shower not enough for me! yikes!) to DPangel79@aol.com.