Declaration:
  This tale is unabashedly romantic, but not too graphic.  Unless you're a vampire, in which
case  you may find yourself gnawing on anything with a pulse.  Advise locking away the
household pets.<g>

I hereby acknowledge that the characters cavorting herein are the sole property of Sony-
Tristar, Mssrs. Parriot & Slan, et al.  No profit is being made from their use.  Yadda-
yadda-yadda....

Note: this story takes place not long after "Ashes to Ashes"  For the purposes of this story,
Vachon did not die in "Ashes to Ashes".  He just felt bad for a while. <g>

"Intercourse with the Vampire"
m/m N/LC implicit
by laudon
May, 21, 1998

Nick's breathing resumed in short gasps as the credits began to roll.  He sank back into the
leather couch, fangs and veins throbbing.  He watched through a faint golden haze as on the
screen a classic red mustang crossed the bridge, Rolling Stones blaring, bleached-blonde
actor at the wheel.

He'd been right not to see this film in the theater, surrounded by mortals.  He hadn't even rented
it.  He'd waited til it came out on cable, letting it come to him.

Nick squirmed against the leathe cushios, trying to relieve the constriction in his groin.  <Yeah, a
*damn* good thing I waited> he thought ruefully.

"Indeed, mon petit."

Nicholas jumped at the sound of the voice behind him.

"I was beginning to fear you had forgotten how to breathe."  LaCroix intoned in his silkiest voice.

"LaCroix!" Nick squeaked, inwardly cursing his traitorous voice, "how did you know-"

The elder vampire let his amusement twinkle in his eyes.  "How could I not, my dear boy, with
such *interesting* vibrations in our link?"

Nick had rarely felt so uncomfortable, or at such a disadvantage. He knew he could only blame
himself fro the loss of control that had let his arousal bleed through the link to his master.  Though
for once, LaCroix didn't seem inclined to torture his favorite creation for his lapse.  He simply
seated himself in the overstuffed leather chair on Nick's right, and waited for his son to recover.

Nick cast about for something to say, *anything* to cover his discomfiture.

"You've seen the film?" he finally managed.

"Oh yes, months ago, in the theater."  LaCroix responded, neatly lobbing the ball back into
Nick's court.

Nick sighed lightly, relieved his master had not taken full advantage of his surprise visit.
Incredibly the older vampire even seemed to be taking pains not to notice Nick's obvious
arousal.  The golden head dipped slightly in acknowledgement of the courtesy.

"You weren't uncomfortable seeing it among mortals?" Nick asked, gaining more composure
by the moment.

LaCroix quirked one corner of his mouth and lifted an eyebrow.  "Quite the contrary, actually.
I found their presence lent an added -- spice."

Nick shook his head, regarding  the old general with an expression of grudging admiration.

"I couldn't have handled it." the younger man admitted, with a rueful smile.

"I know." LaCroix eyed Nicholas pointedly, his voice thick with innuendo.

Nick's hard-won composure threatened to desert him, and he hastily diverted the subject:

"It wasn't as good as the book."

Up went the eyebrow again over an ice-blue gaze.  "They never are." LaCroix smiled slightly
in agreement.

Nick began to feel his way, continuing the train of thougt.  "The actors did a good enough job,
it was just miscast."

LaCroix nodded with interest.  "Indeed, one would think the could have found an actor with the
right coloring, the right features to play the hero."

"I know!" Nicholas responded with enthusiasm "he was supposed to have black hair!"

"I said the *hero*."  LaCroix shot back, eyes glinting wickedly with amusement.

"*LaCroix*!"  Nick began, but disolved into a fond chuckle.

"At any rate," LaCroix continued, undaunted. "I much prefer the second book.  The first was so
maudlin.  The portrayal of the master was terribly biased and one dimensional."

Nick grinned.  "I rather thought you'd see it that way."

For a moment the two just sat, enjoying the unaccustomed warmth and ease.  LaCroix thought
with regret how long it had been since they had had such an exchange.  Longer still since they
had shared more intimate moments.  He decided to risk steering the conversation into riskier
territory.

"Still, even with the questionable casting, the film was not - unpleasant - to look at."

Nick quirked a grin.  "Definitely not unpleasant.  The leader of the coven in Paris looked
*nothing* like the character's description, but I can't say I objected to the actor aesthetically."

"Most definitley not." LaCroix concurred, delighted that Nick had not balked at his insinuation.
"Actually, he reminded me of someone we know."

Nick looked doubtful.  "Well maybe superficially.  Vachon is just much more..."

"Insouciant." LaCroix finished for him.

"Exactly!" Nick nodded emphaticially, then smiled, humor crinkling the corners of his eyes.

Nick's sire lost the thread of the conversation, and any sense of self possession he might have
had.  He could only drink in the sight of his most prized offspring regarding him with a warmth
and openness he hadn't seen in a hundred years.  LaCroix' own face took on an unaccustomed
softness, his lips parting slightly, pupils dialating to take in all they could of this rare gift.

Under this gaze Nicholas felt himself move, almost without will, reaching his right hand to carress
his master's cheek with the backs of his fingertips.

LaCroix breathed in sharply in surprise.  He forced himself to remain still, waiting to see how far
Nicholas' initiative would take him.  Nick's fingers trembled has he moved his hand, brushing his
mentor's lips wiht a feather-light touch.  Still motionless, LaCroix knew that an aggressive move
on his part would shatter the spell.

Nicholas paused, intrigued by his masters' passive acceptance of his attentions.  Emboldened, he
reached out with his left hand to trace the shell of LaCroix' ear, pausing at the lobe, before
sweeping down to the maddeningly sensitive neck below.

LaCroix' nostrils flared in response.  His eyelids fluttered closed as a small groan escaped his
lips.  The ancient vampire clenched his hands to maintain control, inadvertantly digging his nails
into his palms.

At the scent of his master's blood, the last of Nicholas' reserve crumbled.  He grabbed onto
LaCroix' hands and dropping his lips to the palms, began lapping the blood from the crescent
shapped wounds.

LaCroix' eyes flew open, suffused with the deep red-gold of vampiric arousal.  He watched as
Nicholas abandoned himself to the bloodlust with a ravenousness born of long self-denial.  The
golden haired demon-angel growled in frustration as the small wounds closed and the
intoxicating nectar of his master's blood was denied him.

Glowing, feral eyes looked up to LaCroix' and the ancient one gasped at the primal creature
looking out at him.  Sighing, LaCroix realized that this night could not be what he hoped.
Before he could share love again, his young one needed his strength, the vitality in the blood of
a sentient creature for which Nicholas was so starved.

Holding his precious one's burning gaze with his own, LaCroix gently pulled a hand from
Nicholas' iron grip.  He sent soothing messages through their link as he loosed the top buttons
of his shirt. Turning his head slightly, LaCroix offered his neck.

Nicholas lunged, pinning LaCroix back into the chair.  He tore into the great vein with a brutal
ferocity his master had never known in him.  LaCroix winced briefly at the pain, then was lost
in the exquisite pulling sensation as his dearest child fed from him with the urgency of that first
night so long ago.

Nick's arms spasmed around his master.  He moaned against his sire's neck as he fed.  LaCroix
shuddered as the sensation spread through him.  He drew one arm around Nicholas, the other
rising to press his beloved's head to him, fingers combing through the touseled golden hair.

Nicholas' veins sang as the heady distillation of all that LaCroix was infused him with its strength.
As his urgent need slowly retreated, Nick became aware of the totality offered him in his master's
blood.  The young one tasted his sire's iron will, the incredulous arousal, and beneath it an
enduring love, the intensity of which nearly overwhelmed him.  Nicholas hung on, and for the first
time took the love into himself and rejoiced in it.

In this new knowledge of his master, Nick became aware that LaCroix had been giving of himself
as never before.  The ancient one had allowed his beloved to drain him to the point of weakness.
With a sob, Nicholas pulled LaCroix backward with him onto the floor.  His master's weight
atop him, Nick slowed his feeding and tilted his head, exposing a sinuous neck to his sire.

LaCroix' eyes widened.  Emotion overcame him as he lowered his head, gently nuzzling his son's
neck.  Nick gasped as his master fastened to him and with infinite tenderness, pierced the
throbbing vein.  An electric current surged through master and beloved as the circuit was
completed.  Each knew the other, and themselves in the other, until there was no "other".

************

Awareness crept upon them.  Awareness of arms encircled, clothing discarded and legs entwined.
Nicholas, still half drugged with sleep, squirmed under his master's weight.  The ancient one
regarded him with wonder.  Taking care not to disengage himself from his lover, LaCroix
gently rolled over and settled his son atop him, shining head pillowed on his chest

Nicholas' eyes fluttered lazily open, then widened in surprise.  LaCroix tensed, steeling himself
for the shock, revulsion and rejection he expected when his son's eyes rose to meet his.  Lucien
LaCroix was truly humbled for the first time in his two thousand years when the eyes that met
his held not hatred, but shy affection.

Nick held LaCroix' eyes for a long moment, then glanced down at their tangled, blood-sweat
covered bodies.  He looked back at his lover with smile of wry amusement, then snuggled his
head back onto LaCroix' chest.  They lay for a while in comfortable silence.

"So, who would you have cast?"  Nick murmured with a languid yawn.

LaCroix was utterly non-plussed.  "Pardon?"

"Who would you have cast?" Nick repeated, "as the master?"

"Ahh."  LaCroix' eyes glinted with humor and not a little relief as he paused to consider.  "Julian
Sand, perhaps; he has the right coloring, the right aristocratic features-"

"The right *height*" Nick interjected.

"Precisely.  Or perhaps Ralph Fiennes, though he may be a bit too aristocratic."

"Hmmm..." Nick rumbled drowsily "I think the one character perfectly cast was the daughter.
Such an amazing performance from someone so young!"

An expression of pain flitted across LaCroix' face.  "Ah, yes, the daughter."  he said distantly

Nicholas kicked himself mentally for his thoughtlessness.  The memory of recent events flashed
like a raw wound in their link.  Nick tightened his arms around his master and dropped a tender
kiss on the broad chest. LaCroix gave a brief squeeze of reassurance.

The reminder of recent pain brought reality to the lovers, and the remembrance of daily life and
duty.  They glanced as one to the shuttered windows, and detecting not a hint of sunlight, knew
the time had come to face the night.  Nick reluctantly loosened his arms from around his master.
LaCroix released him and Nicholas rose gracefully, accepting without embarrassment the
admiring gaze of his lover.

"I've *got* to shower," Nick observed, looking down at himself with rueful grin.

"That would be best," LaCroix replied, raising himself on one elbow, "I can just imagine the
expressions on your fellow officer's faces." he finished, favoring Nick with a Mona Lisa smile.

Nick chortled, and reached out a hand to his master, pulling him up to stand beside him.
"Want to conserve water?"  Nicholas offered, lifting one coquettish eyebrow.

LaCroix looked wistful.  "I think perhaps you might need the time to...immerse yourself in your
role."

Nicholas nodded briefly and turned to head for the stairs, then swung back.  He looked for a
long moment at the man he had been struggling against for more decades than he cared to
remember, scarcely believing the change.

LaCroix acknowledge the look, then nodded toward the stairs. "You'll be late."

Nick turned a final time to the stairs, keenly aware of his master's gaze on him as he ascended.

***************************

When Nick came back downstairs, LaCroix was nowhere to be seen.  The freshly scrubbed
vampire wandered his loft aimlessly, fastening cufflinks and buttoning top buttons.  He felt a
sense of loss he scarcely let himself acknowledge.

Alone again, Nicholas' old fears returned.  <What had he let himself in for?>  He didn't know if
he was ready for the intensity of a fully resumed relationship with his master.  He began to dread
the return of the possessiveness, the relentless intrusion into his every thought and movement.
He felt a lump of fear in his chest, that LaCroix would again demand far more than he was ready
to give.

The amorphous dread followed him down the lift and into his Caddy.  He pulled out onto the
street and from sheer habit switched on the radio.

"Good evening, children,"  LaCroix' voice greeted him, "tonight we will begin with a musical
interlude."   There was the briefest of pauses and the silken voice continued:  "For my beloved."

Nicholas' eyes blurred as the rich, golden voice of Ella Fitzgerald sang his master's promise:
"This Time the Dream's on Me."

THE END

note: "This Time the Dream's on Me" by Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer
       available on the "Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Harold Arlen
       Songbook" Verve CD