During the 9th Forever Knight Fiction Wars, there were moments of PG-Rated induced
frustration which we got ourselves through by promising ourselves heaps and heaps of
slash when the War was over.  Fenris, of the ever lucid and shining imagination, made
the comment of, "And we all know what *really* happened in the bathroom. <wg>"
This is in reference to a scene in "And Then All Heck Broke Loose (5/5)" where Nick
and Lacroix visit the Unnamed Faction headquarters, in search of UF hides and a
certain poem on a certain piece of parchment, and after a slight mishap with some
honey sticks, need to retire to the bathroom to clean up.  There they find me (Leslie),
hiding out in said bathroom, whereupon I manage to psyche them out and run like a
bunny to save my skin.  Then... well, we all know what *really* happened.  Or at least,
we all will once you all read...

...a War post, which never made the FKFIC-List, in the tradition of all our hypothesized
"off-screen moments" between Our Guys...

Warning:  explicit m/m sex.
(This story is archived to JADFE with the permission of the authors.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WAR: UF: The UnExpurgated "And Then All Heck Broke Loose (5/5)"
By: Fenris and Leslie GS
Time: Late Monday night to the wee hours of Tuesday morning (May
4th and 5th, 1998)
Location: Downstairs bathroom, The Hive, Toronto

Nick pinned Leslie with his best interrogating detective stare.  "You wouldn't happen to know
anything about a piece of parchment?"  Nick formed a rectangular shape with his forefingers
and thumbs.  "About yea big.  Latin, front and back?"  Both he and Lacroix took a step
forward.

Surprisingly, Leslie did not step back. Instead, with a grimace of distaste, she pointed at the
pinkish stains on their shirts.  The odor of cinnamon and her acquaintance with honey in all its
possible states and permutations led her to know exactly what was seeping into their shirts.

"Ooooh, you both look so *sticky*.  Don't you just *loathe* being sticky?  When your fingers
adhere together and your skin feels all tacky?  Like in your armpits and the creases of your
elbows?  And your clothes feel all clammy and clingy across the front of you?  And in your
chest hair?  Don't you just *need* to jump into a hot bath?  Or at least find the closest sink..?"

Holding their hands before them, fingers spread wide, mouths twisted in identical expressions
of disgust, the two vampires moved to the sink, forgetting Leslie momentarily, allowing her to
slip around them and out the door.  Learning to motivate one's children gives one ample tools
to use against vampires with a high degree of tactile, sensual awareness.

Both vampires presented an identical picture of irritable fastidiousness as they dabbed the
sticky pinkish goo off of their hands and shirt fronts.  They looked rather like a pair of cats
who have had something sticky dropped on them and were frantically grooming it out of their
fur.  Fuming, Nick looked up and met Lacroix's gaze in the mirror.  For a moment, he had an
impulse to laugh, then he remembered why they were here, and his expression hardened as he
watched the old vampire start wiping at a sticky spot on his sleeve.

"Let's get this settled, Lacroix.  I have someplace to be."

Lacroix was frowning down at his shirtfront, which, despite all his cleaning efforts, was still
sticking to his chest. At Nicholas' terse statement, he glanced over at his son, who was now
trying to scrape off a scrap of shredded kleenex that seemed to be glued to his shirt. Lacroix
raised an eyebrow at Nick, looking faintly amused.

"And I don't? By all means, Nicholas, if you must.  But I, for one, am going to finish making
myself presentable."  The old vampire let out an exasperated huff of breath, looking down at
himself and noting the tiny shreds of paper adhering to his own shirt.  This was ridiculous.
Lacroix growled softly, undid his cufflinks, then began unbuttoning his shirt.

At Nick's curious frown, he snapped, "I don't know about you, Nicholas, but I would like to
actually be clean before I leave here." He peeled the front of his shirt away from his chest, and
shrugged out of it, tossing it into the deep sink.  "I am feeling very... sticky.  And I-"

"Loathe being sticky.  Yes.  I know."  The tone of Nick's voice was much softer this time.
Lacroix heard it and glanced back at his son from where he stood at the sink, preparing to run
some more hot water.  Nicholas was staring at him, his expression unreadable.  Then his lips
quirked up slightly at the corners.  "I remember."

"Do you?" Lacroix replied lightly, his gaze shifting to his own hands, as he watched them turn
on the hot water.  He could feel Nicholas's eyes upon him, almost as a light touch, on his throat,
down the line of his spine and back up to the column of his neck.  He suddenly wondered if
some of the... tension he perceived in his son was generated by more than the rather revealing
ode being broadcast to all of Toronto.

"Of course I do," Nick responded, his tone, still soft, now tinged with amusement.  "Some things
are rather hard to forget."

Lacroix grunted rather noncommittally, and reached out to turn the faucet off, first wetting his
hand underneath the stream of water.  Almost absent-mindedly, he wiped his hand over his
broad upper chest, leaving droplets of water behind on the pale skin, flawless as fine white jade.
Nick became riveted on the languid motion of his maker's hand until it paused over an area still
coated with some of the sweet pinkish honey.  He looked up then, into his sire's face, which held
an expression of equal amusement and arousal.

The white hand began to move again, long fingers curling in slightly this time.  A hint of sly
mischief lurked behind the solemn pale gaze as Lacroix slowly drew his fingertips across his
chest just over the sticky skin, scoring shallow parallel cuts.  Nick stared intently as the dark
furrows left behind the sharp nails' passage bled thin scarlet threads that crept slowly down over
his sire's chest.  His paling eyes flicked up to Lacroix' and a slow, ferocious smile began to
spread across his handsome face as he watched his sire.

Eyes never leaving his son's, Lacroix slowly brought his hand back across his chest, then around
again, smearing the runnels of blood across his skin in slow, deliberate circles.  He closed his
eyes in pleasure as he massaged the slick fluid over the sticky sweetness on his skin.  The scent
of his own blood, mingled with honey and warm cinnamon filled his nostrils.  As he inhaled
sharply, he heard Nicholas make an almost identical sound.  Smiling in satisfaction, he took
another slow, deep breath of the intoxicating perfume.

An iron grip closed around his wrist and pulled his hand forward, and his eyes flew open as his
fingertips were flicked by something cool, wet, darting...

Nicholas's gaze locked with his as his lips closed over Lacroix's first two fingers, sucking them
slowly deeper, his tongue writhing between them, curling around them.  Lacroix's breath seized
in his throat.  Then Nicholas's eyes squeezed shut and he shuddered as the ancient blood,
burning, alive, flared in his mouth.  Lacroix watched, transfixed, as Nicholas slid his fingers from
between his lips, and slowly, oh, so slowly, eyes firmly closed, leaned in, tongue tip emerging to
glide over the healing wounds on his chest.

Some small part of  him had been hoping that something like this might happen, but he'd really
only expected to goad Nicholas into fleeing the house rather than chance caving in to temptation.
To have it actually occur... the ancient vampire looked down in amazement at his infuriating,
frustrating, endlessly fascinating and beautiful son.  Pale gold glimmered in the gaze Nicholas
turned up to him and Lacroix's breath restarted with a low gasp as, head still tilted to look up at
him, Nicholas suckled gently at a flat, pale nipple.

Then suddenly Nick was springing back, shoving Lacroix away from him.  The elder vampire's
thigh hit the sink hard enough to crack the fixture from the wall.  The squeal of the stressed pipes
sounded amazingly like a startled cry.

"I can't..." Nick looked away from the other man, the strain of suppressing the vampire
roughening his voice into a harsh rasp.

Taking a long breath, unclenching his fist as he reined back his flaring temper, Lacroix glared at
the rigid lines of Nicholas's back, the hunched shoulder turned toward him.  Even through his
anger, he could hear that the stress in his son's words spoke far more of regret than aversion.  He
inhaled again, deeply, and he could see, even in profile, Nicholas's eyes narrow in preparation
for what he'd next say.

"We might consider, Nicholas," Lacroix said, his voice striking in its utter lack of expression, "a...
what is the current vernacular..?  A time out."

Nick's head turned slightly, his brows lowering as he studied Lacroix from the corner of his eye.
"A... time out..." he repeated warily.

"Consider it an outlet, Nicholas."  Lacroix bent his mouth into an insouciant smile.  "A safety
valve.  We can pick up where we left off when we leave this room, but until then, a brief truce,
hm?"

Nicholas's intense scrutiny continued another long moment, long enough for Lacroix to suspect he
had lost this toss of the dice and along with it, his pride.

Then Nicholas's face broke into its characteristic slanting grin, a mercurial flash, lighting the entire
room.

"A... truce," he said slowly, as though savoring the sound.

"A brief one," Lacroix replied, smiling slightly.  "Just long enough to... take a breath."  His ribs
flared as he inhaled, slowly, deeply, the tip of his tongue edging out to touch lightly his curving
upper lip.

Nicholas's gaze fell to his mouth, then darted back up to his eyes.  "Truce, then," he agreed, the
huskiness of his voice sending the ghost of a tremor up Lacroix's spine.

"Truce."  And Lacroix flowed forward, reaching up to rest his fingers lightly on his son's shoulders
before trailing them over his collarbones to the top button of his shirt.  There he stopped,
watching Nicholas's face, waiting for his sudden tension to slacken.  After a moment, Nick let out
a long breath, and his posture eased as his chin lifted ever so slightly.

Lacroix began unbuttoning Nick's shirt with carefully controlled neatness, pausing every few
buttons or so to lean in and taste the skin of Nick's chest, then his belly, interspersing these
attentions with light biting, never breaking the flawless skin.

As he made his way down, Nick's breathing became more and more labored, and the glow in his
eyes deepened to warm ochre.  Finished with the buttons, Lacroix pulled the shirt off Nick and
tossed it into the sink, where it joined his in its warm bath.  Then he looked at Nick's reddish eyes
and laughed.

"You seem to be rather... anxious, Nicholas.  It must be such a *severe* temptation at times,
having all of those willing, devoted mortals living in your home, doting on you every second..."  He
moved in and slid his arms around his son, bringing him in close against him.  The sensation of
Nicholas's naked skin against his chest, even honeyed, tightened his nipples into tiny knots of
tingling heat.

Nick groaned, and leaned into his sire's embrace, unaware of the level of sheer frustration
expressed in the sound.

"Ohhhh. You don't *know,* Lacroix."  The old vampire couldn't help chuckling slightly at the
heartfelt tone in his son's voice.  He made a sympathetic noise and leaned in to nuzzle the side of
Nicholas's neck, breathing in the intoxicating scent of his hair and skin.

Nick sighed and brought up a hand to fondle the back of his sire's neck, continuing, "They are so
sweet and so trusting, and they have no fear at all... it's wonderful, but I'm so afraid that I'll hurt
one of them someday.  Do you know what they do sometimes?  They *all* jump on me at once
and just tackle me to the floor and lie on top of me... they call it a "puppy pile."  I'm just
smothered in all that warmth and life, they're all over me and they smell so wonderful... sometimes
it's all I can do to keep from sinking my teeth into one of them... ah."

He broke off with a slight gasp as Lacroix turned his head and licked the side of his neck, just
under his right ear.  Nick wound his arms around the other vampire's waist and pulled the tall, lean
body tight against him, moving restlessly.  In response, Lacroix began breathing a little harder and
trailed the sharp tips of his fangs along the tender skin.

"Mon pauvre Nicholas, faced with such... hardship."  He nipped at the younger vampire's shoulder,
then more delicately at his earlobe, eliciting a soft moan each time.  "My followers are equally loyal,
but they have a *much* greater appreciation of the dangers involved in being... overly familiar.  I
can count on them to be far more sensible.  None of them would dream of placing as much as a
finger on me uninvit-"  The rest of his observation was lost as Nick suddenly grabbed him with both
hands on either side of his head and pulled him into a ravenous kiss.

Lacroix grunted softly as his tongue was sucked deep into Nick's mouth, the points of his son's
fangs pricking across its surface.  Then Nicholas's tongue was plunging into *his* mouth, flicking
across his as yet mortally blunt canines and he grunted again, more gutturally, at the sudden sweet
surge of energy in his groin.  Nick pushed his pelvis forward, jamming the stiffening length of his
erection against Lacroix's hip.  His gasping breath gusted into his maker's mouth, as he rolled his
hips, the barrier of cloth between their swelling shafts maddening.

"Sticky," Lacroix muttered thickly, pulling his mouth away from Nick's, to set hungry kisses along
his jaw, down his throat.

"Wh-what..?" the younger vampire stammered, his eyes near closing as his chin lifted.  "Ah, ah," he
panted, his hands gripping Lacroix's ass painfully in response to the other's tongue laving over his
jugular.

"Sticky," Lacroix repeated.  "Behind my knees... my inner thighs... honey, it gets everywhere... you
remember."

Nick snickered, quickly twisting his head around to grip the other's earlobe between his front teeth,
to exhale heavily into his ear.  But... he had to admit... maybe it was only the power of suggestion...
the skin on his own legs and buttocks took on a cloying tackiness, and the fabric of his pants
seemed to cling, to drag...

"Shower," the two vampires declared in unison.  They turned to the stall, noticing for the first time
how large, how expansive, how inviting it really was.

Getting into the stall was the first order of business, however.

Moving in concert, each reached out and undid the other's belt, unbuckling and sliding the two slim
leather straps free and letting them drop to the floor unnoticed.  They moved back into an embrace,
bellies and groins pressed hard against each other.  Nick groaned and bit lightly at his sire's shoulder
as the large, skillful hands moved over his back, one of them traveling down and slipping under the
loosened waistband of his pants to cup his left buttock in a firm grip, fingers sinking into the taut
muscle.  Panting, the younger vampire rubbed himself hard against the other's long thigh, which had
insinuated itself between his legs.  He grinned as his sire moved his hips slightly, rolling his own still-
clothed erection against his son's hip and upper thigh and moaning into Nick's hair as he nuzzled
behind his ear.

Lacroix tilted his head back, closing his eyes and purring as Nick sank into a crouch in front of him,
slowly letting his hands run down the firm silky skin of taller man's sides, catching briefly and tugging
playfully at his belt loops, over his hips, to stop and rest on the backs of his thighs, squeezing them.

Nick leaned forward and simply pressed the side of his face against the hardness in his sire's pants.
Above him he heard a hiss, and felt the rigid organ inside the tailored black cloth twitch under his
cheek.  Inhaling the scent of the other vampire's flesh and arousal, he savored it as it sent a wash of
sheer arousal through him.  Smiling as he felt a slight dampness seeping through the cloth under his
cheek, Nick lifted his head and carefully, teasingly dragged his fangs over the straining bulge, sharp
tips creasing the black cloth.  Lacroix's hips bucked slightly and he snarled, looking down at his
son's beatific expression.

"*Nicholas!*  This year, please!"

Nick laughed, unzipped his master's pants, and pulled them down over the long legs, his own
urgent need making him sympathize with Lacroix's impatience.  He'd just been about to lose it and
pull the old vampire down to the floor, anyway.  With one swift motion, he skimmed the black silk
boxers over the straining erection and down to the floor.

He straightened up and steadied Lacroix, arms around his waist, as the old vampire stepped out of
the crumpled clothing.  For a moment the tall, lean form moved close and pressed its silky, naked
length along Nick's body and they indulged in a long, deep-tonguing kiss.  Then Lacroix stepped
back and bent his attention to getting his son out of the rest of his own clothes.

Sinking down gracefully to his haunches, Lacroix undid Nick's pants with nimble, slightly shaking
fingers.  He removed them with very little ceremony and much speed, pausing only to bite gently at
the younger vampire's upper thighs until Nick cried out in frustration and dragged him up, eyes
burning.

"I'd say you're ready to take a shower, Nicholas," Lacroix drawled.  Nick stepped quickly into the
stall, growling back over his shoulder, "Get in here, old man."  His sire laughed and followed
him in.

The water was hot, and thankfully had plenty of pressure behind it.  They moved under the
pounding spray, gratefully letting the water sluice over their skin, sending a little frisson of pleasure
through both of the sensual bodies.  The warm water splashed across their faces, their lips, tasting
faintly of the old copper pipes it ran through, poured over their shoulders and bodies, a hot liquid
counterpoint to the cooler feel of their mutual caresses.

Lacroix reached out and grasped a cake of soap from the tiled ledge, bringing it up to his nose for
a second.  He noted with approval that the creamy white bar was not heavily perfumed, and began
rubbing it briskly with both hands to work up a lather.  Nicholas watched him intently, eyes golden,
as he did.  Lacroix reached out and began smoothing the lather over his son's chest, his eyes taking
in every nuance of sensation that flickered across his marvelous protégé's expressive features.

Nick stepped closer, his eyes drugged with pleasure, and scooped some of the suds from his own
skin to bring over to his partner.  His slick hands skimmed across Lacroix's belly, massaging and
exploring downward.  Without warning, he dropped one hand down and took hold of his sire's
straining cock, squeezing, then letting it slide through his firm grip.

The soap squirted out of Lacroix's spasming fingers and they both watched it ricochet off the glass
door, then hit the floor to coast across the tiles to bounce off the wall and stop.  They looked at
it a moment, then up into each other's eyes.  There was a long silence.

"*You* dropped it," Nick declared.  *He* wasn't going to bend over to pick it up.

"So I did," Lacroix conceded.  Not that *he* was going to bend over either.  He crouched down
carefully, groping for the soap, his attention suddenly caught by the sight of the rather graceful arc
Nicholas's phallus made as it strained upward.  His fingers closed blindly on the bar of soap and he
absently handed it up to Nick.  Nick took it just as absently, having become intensely aware of
Lacroix's face, his lushly curving mouth, inches from his aching cock.

"We neglected to bring washcloths into the shower with us, Nicholas," Lacroix remarked.  "Ah
well, we'll just have to make do."  He leaned in the few inches it took, his mouth opening wide
as his tongue dragged up from the base of Nicholas's testicles, over the heavy scrotum, up the
underside of the rigid shaft, before his lips closed over the swollen head.

Nick's groan reverberated in the enclosed space and there was a loud "Bang!" as the soap shot
from his clenched fist, smacking into the door.  Eyes closing, he continued to moan as he fell back
against the wall behind him, the wet skin on his back hitting the tiles with a slap.  His knees gave
out as Lacroix's lips and tongue stripped back his foreskin completely, exposing the glans, before
they worked their way down his shaft, devouring him.  Only the strength of his maker's hands on
his thighs prevented his swift fall, holding him to a slow slide.  As it was, his feet skidded out
from under him and he plummeted that last foot, his ass smacking down with a tooth-rattling jar.
He clutched Lacroix's head, still tenaciously bobbing over his lap.

Vision blurred with the intensity of his arousal, Nick stared along Lacroix's back as he crouched
between his legs, the water streaming down the powerful curve of his spine, the lean muscles of
his buttocks.  His hands moved restlessly over Lacroix's shoulders, his hips rising helplessly as he
thrust himself into the convulsively swallowing throat.  The pleasure knotting at the root of his cock
grew to a burning, sweet agony, and he suddenly lunged forward and to his right.  His palms hit
Lacroix's hip, knocking him onto his side, and with a slithering twist Nick pushed them both across
the shower floor. The slick, wet porcelain tiles, warmed by the pounding water, slid under them as
Nick repositioned himself along his sire's long body.  His hand found Lacroix's cock, his fist
curling around the familiar bulk of it.

"Gods!" Lacroix exclaimed, as Nick dragged his palm rather ruthlessly up the length of it.  His
second cry was wordless as Nick's fingers clamped around the very root of his cock, under the
heavy scrotum, while he engulfed the shaft with a ravenous mouth.  Lacroix bucked once, ramming
himself deep into Nick's throat, before he regained his control.  Nicholas's own shout was muffled
by his mouthful as Lacroix gripped his balls, pulling on them firmly but carefully, his tongue twisting
maddeningly around the end of Nick's cock, the tip darting deep into the slit in the head.  Hips
pumping forward in instinctive response, the younger vampire shoved himself hard past the teasing
tongue into the tight constriction behind it.  He growled fiercely at the exquisite burn Lacroix's teeth
scored along his rigid shaft.  His maker's fingers closed bruisingly hard upon his upper buttock,
pulling him in closer, and Nick responded with even more forceful thrusts.

The cascading water drummed on the back of Lacroix's head, his neck, down his back, across the
energy building at the base of his spine.  The energy curled, grew and became white-hot as Nick
worked his cock mercilessly, busy tongue dancing over its straining length.  His son's hunger, the
urgency of his drive toward release, pounded at him through their link, and he found himself surging
with alarming speed toward explosive climax.  Groaning around Nicholas's plunging cock, he held
himself stiffly in check until that moment just before the pressure in his son's groin, in his mind,
reached the breaking point.

Nick moaned as he soared into that instant when bliss became inevitable, then Lacroix convulsed
against him, crying out.  Cool liquid flooded his mouth, and Nick took the spasming organ deeper
into his throat, eliciting a strangled yell from his master and another spurt against the back of his
palate.  His own orgasm seized him then, a eruption that began at the base of his cock and
seemed to blow up his spine, where it met, with a shattering impact, Lacroix's incandescent
pleasure flaring through their bond.

Blood and semen flooded their senses, the mingled essences a flame in their bellies.  The sexual
energies burning through them ignited that deeper hunger, for blood and life.  Their lusts spiked
again, near to pain in their intensity, demanding release in pure blood.  They twisted apart, then,
roaring, grabbed each other's shoulders and struck, each plunging his aching fangs deep into the
other's straining throat.  Like men reprieved from slow death by thirst and starvation, they pulled
greedily at first, gulping down draughts of each other's fiery blood, stunned by the half-forgotten
intensity of pleasure in it.  After the first few frenzied minutes, their pace slowed and they fed more
quietly, the warm cascading water still drumming along their bodies, washing a few thin scarlet
remnants away to thread spiraling down the drain.  Their bond reasserted itself, the bond that
linked them beyond any undoing, that could be ignored for a while, but never dismissed, and
never, ever, sundered.

They might have remained there, lost in that blissful no-place, if the building's plumbing, displaying
an erratic behavior never seen before, hadn't begun spraying them with wildly fluctuating bursts
of icy, then scalding water.  This, accompanied by the frantic banging and lunatic groaning of the
pipes, pulled first the ever wary Lacroix from his bloody entanglement with his son.  Nicholas
snarled a soft protest as he sensed Lacroix slipping from him, but then the alarming noises and the
abuse to his skin sank into his awareness, and both vampires slid apart to escape from the
seemingly demon-possessed shower.

They stared at it a moment, the hum of their conjoined power still running mingled in their veins,
before Lacroix reached in and shut off the water.  With a final screech, silence descended.  A
hollowness filled their ears, and they stood there a moment, dripping water and a few last tendrils
of blood before the wounds in their throats healed.  Lacroix savored the last traces of Nick's
essence on his lips and in his mouth, then turned to face him.  Nick, swallowing hard, turned his
head enough to look at his maker over his shoulder.

"Nicholas-" Lacroix began, just as Nick said, "Lacroix-"  Mutually interrupted, they both stopped.
Then Nick grinned.

"Never mind," he murmured, and ran languid fingers down his chest and over his belly.  Lacroix let
his eyes follow the lingering hand, then mouth curving up at the corners, he lifted his gaze to his
son's eyes.

"We'd best wring out our shirts," he said softly.

"Shirts..?"  Nick's eyes darted to the sink where those garments floated, and with an annoyed huff,
he stepped over to the sagging washbasin, hauled out his shirt and carefully squeezed as much
water as he could.  Chuckling, Lacroix tossed him a towel, which he used to press it even drier.
As Nick flapped his shirt to shake as many wrinkles out as he could, Lacroix repeated the wringing
and pressing with his own shirt.  He tossed it over the door of the now quiescent shower and turned
the towel on himself.  A brisk rub and his short hair was virtually dry, just a hint of spikiness
betraying where he'd been.

Nick took the towel, now quite damp, back from him and began attempting to bring own his hair to
some semblance of dryness.  Lacroix watched him for a moment, looked around, then moved
gracefully to open the cabinet under the slightly canted sink.  Finding what he was looking for, he
reached in and brought out a dry towel, chuckling as he observed the crowd of various shampoos,
conditioners, bath oils…  /Hmm,/ he thought, picking up a bottle of Crabtree and Evelyn
sandalwood bath oil.  /Pity we didn't think of looking in here earlier.../ and other grooming
appurtenances.

Nick was stooped over, toweling his wet hair.  Suddenly the damp terrycloth was pulled away and
replaced with dry.  Guided by a pair of very strong hands, the fresh towel enveloped his head and
Nick found his hair being roughly and efficiently dried, the motions of the hands strong enough to
pull him a little off balance.  Staggering, Nick heard the other vampire chuckle as he squirmed to
get out from under the other's rough ministrations.

"Lacroix!"  He grabbed at his sire's wrist, laughing.  Nick straightened up quickly, his eyes sparkling
under a comically tousled snarl of dark gold hair as they found his master's gazing back at him.
Glimmers of amusement surfaced in the solemn pale eyes, rising briefly to the surface like bright fish
in a pool, then were submerged and gone again.  Then the humor was back, lighter and more
obvious as the full lips quirked into a smile.  Lacroix reached out and flicked a light touch across the
younger vampire's wild hair.

"I do hope you brought a comb with you, Nicholas."

Nick turned away to look in the mirror, running his fingertips through the hair over his temples and
ears.  "Hmm?  Oh, no.  I lost that sometime in the middle of third season.  Haven't gotten around
to getting a new one yet."  He turned back to Lacroix.  "How's this?"

"Marvelous, of course," Lacroix stated soberly, studying his son's half-tamed locks.  Nick smiled,
reached for the towel in Lacroix's hands, which, when given over, he lifted to dab gently over the
stray drops left on Lacroix's shoulders and chest.

"All dry," he announced.  They exchanged another look, then glanced back at their brief haven of
privacy.  Without a word, they turned to the business of getting dressed.  Their shirts were damp,
but no longer sticky-  and silk dried quickly.  Neither one spoke as they redonned their pants and
boots, but it was not an uncomfortable silence.

Nick straightened up and looked at himself in the mirror.  He shook his head at his own dazed,
slightly foolish expression, and muttered, half to himself,  "I can't believe we just did that."

Lacroix paused halfway through rebuttoning his damp shirt and gave him a droll look.  "Look at it
this way, Nicholas. You know at least one of them is going to write about something like this,
anyway.  We might as well have actually had the fun involved."

Smiling, Nick nodded in silent agreement.  He then turned, picked up his damp shirt and shrugged
into it gracefully, unaware of how much easier and more fluid his movements were now compared
to when he'd first stalked into the bathroom.

Still smiling, Lacroix straightened his cufflinks, watching Nick.  His son took a deep breath,
straightened his shoulders and faced his sire, schooling his features into severity.

"This never happened, Lacroix."

"I beg your pardon, Nicholas, *what* never happened?"

The two vampires exchanged bland looks, then adopted the proper infuriated expressions.
Wheeling as one, they strode from the room, both of them absently reaching up to pluck at their
damp shirts where they clung to their chests.  The bathroom door slammed shut behind them.

The damaged sink sagged even further from the wall, with a groan rather like that which would
accompany someone's knees giving out after a great release of tension.

The End (of the Missing Bathroom Scene)

Leslie GS (LoosCanN@m4.sprynet.com) and Fenris (fenris@ma.ultranet.com)
May 1998