Station Break

Station Break by Fenris M/M Nick/LC, explicit References (I don't think we can call them spoilers anymore, do you?) to Killer Instinct and Last Knight) DISCLAIMERS & WARNINGS: I don't own these characters, they belong to Tristar and James Parriott. Not one cent is being made off of this, now or ever. Adult content. Not responsible for personal property. No running in pool area. Not for internal use. Protected by Lo-Jack. Our delicious coffee is served extremely hot. Moose Crossing. Bridge freezes before road... Oh, and MANY thanks and assorted honey stix to April, beta babe supreme! Prologue Moonlight spilled through a window and silvered the loft. Nick stood at the window and rested his forehead against the cool glass. He frowned down into the empty street below. Restless, he felt so restless. Turning away from the tempting moonlight outside, he walked across the room, turned the radio on and flung himself down on the couch. He drummed his fingers against the smooth dark leather, frowning. Lacroix' voice flowed over him like a light velvet coverlet, a familiar note in a life that seemed to be changing too rapidly around him. Nick could scarcely remember a time when he had not known that sound. His mortal mother and father's voices had long ago faded into obscurity, but he knew that a thousand years could pass and he'd still be able to recall the precise tones and timbre of Lacroix' voice. He would know it anywhere, always. It was time to feed. Nick walked into his kitchen and reluctantly picked up the glass blender container resting on the counter. He took off the lid and stared in at the frothy pink and red mess inside. The smell of blood, tissue and chalky protein powder hit his nose. He shuddered and turned his face to one side, eyes slit in disgust, then quickly put the lid back on. His stomach hitched, and he walked swiftly away from the kitchen counter into the living room. For a moment, he thought that he was actually going to be sick and he paused, ready to fly upstairs to the bathroom--then the spasm subsided. He dropped onto the piano bench, breathing hard. "I'm sorry, Nat, I can't do this tonight. I really can't." He got up and went back into the kitchen, holding his breath. Moving quickly back to the sink, he turned on the faucet and poured the disgusting lumpy soup down the drain, his head turned away. Then he sat down at the kitchen table and rested his head in his hands, feeling horrendously depressed. "Maybe I can't do this at all, anymore. Oh, Nat. I'm sorry." he muttered into his hands. The sense of blank frustration and guilt that he was starting to feel whenever he thought about Natalie or talked to her washed over him, threatening to bring tears to his eyes. Had it only been eight months since he'd made the fatal mistake of believing too hard in the lie that he'd been telling himself for too long? Nat had trusted him with her life, and she had paid the price for his loss of self control. One more person he had failed. If Lacroix hadn't left Nick pinned to the floor, unconscious, and then flown Nat straight to the hospital, she'd be dead now. Saving her life was one thing he would always be grateful to Lacroix for, he thought, no matter how insufferable the old bastard became. To say that Nick's relationship with Nat had been strained since then was a gross understatement. She needed time to deal with what had happened, and frankly, so did he. So they were back to square one, dealing with each other almost exclusively through Nick's treatments. And now, Nick had to admit to himself that all the past three years of sun lamps, cow's blood and protein shakes had really done for him was give him a bit of color and slightly increase his tolerance for being out in the sun. The sun tolerance was a side effect that came with age for most vampires, anyway. And he was physically and mentally miserable most of the time. Nick got up and shut off the radio, then paced back to the window. He pulled up the window sash to let the cool night air blow in. He took a deep breath, smelling the mortals passing in the street below, the exhaust from passing trucks, the faint smell of water from the lake near by...and realized just how unhappy he was. "I need to get away from here for a few days. Maybe a week or two. I need to think. Alone." Decision made, he walked to his desk and pulled out his workbook, paging through to his time records. Yes, he had more than enough vacation time accrued. Reese was going to be pissed off about the short notice, but the man had been telling him for weeks that Nick was off his peak performance and needed a vacation...he would have to let Nat know...well, maybe he could just leave her a message. It was silly and cowardly of him, he knew, but he wasn't sure that he would be able to answer any of her questions about what was going on. Lacroix. Hmm. He supposed that it would be a courteous gesture to tell Lacroix that he was going to be unreachable for a few weeks. As long as he could assure his suspicious-natured master that he was not haring off to look into some new cure for his condition--and that he was indeed coming back--it was probably a good idea. Otherwise, it would be just like Lacroix to jump the gun, assume that Nick was making one of his celebrated "run-for-its" and charge right off after him to try and lever him into coming back. Maybe he could get away with leaving a message on Lacroix' answering machine as well... **************** Two weeks later The aqua-colored Caddy pulled up in front of the bleak converted warehouse. Nick jumped out and jogged up the steps to the loft, his springy gait very different from that of the man who had driven into the wilds of the Laurentide region two weeks before. He ran up the stairs to his front door two at a time, and fumbled in his pocket for keys. After a few minutes of increasingly irritated searching, he had to admit that he had lost them. Nick groaned, then chuckled, shaking his head. "Welcome back, Detective. Toronto missed you." After a reflexive look around to make sure that no one was watching, he rose up into the air until he hovered in front of a crack in the concrete wall about twelve feet off the ground. He reached into the crevice and retrieved his spare set of keys. Keeping them there assured that the only people who had easy access to them would be himself and burglars carrying ladders. And Lacroix. Not that Lacroix ever bothered with the door. Generally he just opened up one of the skylights and literally dropped in when it pleased him to. The loft seemed cold and strange to him when he walked in. He unshouldered his backpack and flopped down on the comfortable leather couch. The message light on his answering machine was blinking rapidly. A look at the display confirmed that the tape was full and he had forty two messages waiting. "You could just hit rewind, de Brabant," he told himself in a reasonable voice. "I told everyone I'd want to talk to that I was going to be gone..." It was a short-lived moral struggle, however. Nick sighed and reached out to tap the Play button. Twenty-five minutes and thirty telemarketing messages later, Nick got up off the couch, stretched, and strolled into his kitchen. He felt relaxed and peaceful. Nick had done some very intense thinking during his self-imposed hermitage in the northern woods, and had come to some difficult conclusions. He was not looking forward to his next talk with Nat, but Nick had reached several hard decisions, and he needed to tell her about them. Putting off telling her would just hurt things more in the long run. He desperately hoped she was going to take his decisions well---at least well enough for them to remain friends. He opened the fridge and reluctantly took out a cold bottle of cow blood, vintage 1997. Uncorking it, he lifted it to his lips and shuddered as the smell hit him. Ugh. Drinking fresh hot blood for two weeks--deer blood, yes, but still pulsing with life--had spoiled his tolerance for this cold, sour stuff. Well, it was preferable to starving. There was nothing in this city he was willing to hunt. He sat at the kitchen table, looked at the empty wineglass he'd left on it two weeks ago, then shrugged and drank straight from the bottle, forcing the chilled, flat liquid down. Nick wondered if he could ever consider asking Nat to check into how difficult it would be to get hold of dated blood from one of the local hospitals, then shook his head. No, very bad idea, and in very poor taste, to even think of asking her to help him obtain a steady supply of human blood--even from a source that harmed no one. If he wanted to go that route, the only one he could reasonably ask for help was Lacroix--the only vampire he knew who had a vast stock of bottled human blood, even if much of it was laced with wine. Lacroix. Nick sighed, and propped his chin on one hand, his other hand toying with the empty wine glass. The fact that Nick was intending to come back into the fold to the extent of drinking human blood (albeit bottled) again would please Lacroix no end. He frowned as he thought about how smug Lacroix was going to be. Nick knew it was going to push all of his buttons when that happened, and more than likely he would end up arguing with his ancient sire again and storming out the door, wishing he were a thousand miles away. It was time he reached a real accord, some kind of genuine understanding with his master. They had to talk--seriously talk, and soon. <Easier said than done>, he thought. <Both of us have such quick tempers with each other. I try to explain myself. Lacroix doesn't want to hear it and starts getting pissy with me. I think about every cruel and unfair thing he's done over the years and get angry. Lacroix thinks I'm challenging him and gets furious. We end up destroying whatever room we're in.> He smiled thoughtfully. <No wonder poor Janette never opened her mouth when we fought---and kept leaving us for months at a time.> Nick drummed his fingers, thinking. <What I need before I can talk to him rationally is to feel that I'm on more equal ground. I am so tired of being the one at a disadvantage with him. He's older, he's stronger, he's...it's not fair. When Lacroix feels like he wants to teach me a lesson, he has so many different ways to get to me and make me feel like a fool. I'd love to be able to turn the tables on him, just once, so he could know what that was like.> He crossed his arms on the table and rested his chin on them, staring at the empty wineglass now sitting inches from his nose. With a heavy sigh, he straightened back up, picking up the empty glass as he did. He peered into it intently, as if the answer might be hiding at the bottom somewhere. <The problem is, there isn't anything I can do to him that he can't instantly counter. I can't stage getting him in trouble with the law, Lacroix would simply kill any mortals I involved. I certainly can't beat him in a serious fight. I don't want to do anything that would harm him permanently, but, damn it! I wish there was some way I could make him feel as foolish, as helpless and angry as I have in the past.> Nick rolled the stem of the wineglass between his hands, frowning. <When he framed me for murder after he came back-when I first saw him, I was so relieved that I hadn't killed him. Then I wanted to kill him all over again, every time I thought about him just blithely deciding to force me out of this life. I just can't even begin to imagine what I could do that would come close to--> An idea occurred to him. Nick snorted, and immediately dismissed it as suicidal. And, maybe a bit too cruel for him to do, even to Lacroix. He got up and went upstairs, unpacked and took a long, hot shower. The idea came back to him as he descended the stairs again, toweling off his dripping hair. Maybe it wasn't such a stupid---- "Nahh," he said. Nick tossed the damp towel over his shoulder and hopped over the back of the couch. He bounced once on the soft cushions, then lay back and stared at the ceiling, hands laced behind his head. He tapped his foot against the arm of the couch, frowning. Then he shook his head decisively. "No!" He sat up and grabbed the phone. The phone at the other end rang several times, then Natalie's answering machine kicked in. Nick growled, impatient with himself. What was he thinking about? Nat was on duty tonight, of course. "Hi there, it's uh, it's me. Just wanted to let you know I was back. Uh, I'll call you tomorrow, OK? We can get together and talk soon. Hope you've been doing well. Umm--goodbye." Nick grimaced as he hung up. He'd left more articulate messages in his life. The idea surfaced again as soon as the receiver hit the cradle, and this time, Nick thought about it. A parade of expressions crossed his face during the next few minutes, reflecting the parade of misgivings simultaneously crossing his mind. <He very well might kill me for it. But---it would show him that if I want to, I'm quite capable of making his life difficult for him...Oh, but revenge is petty, it doesn't solve anything. Well, but---what about revenge that also teaches someone a lesson? Educational revenge...yes, that sounds right...> A truly evil grin spread across the handsome face and wicked golden sparks danced in the cobalt blue eyes. Two weeks later The CERK studio Lacroix paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, considering which tack he should take with his current caller; a older-sounding man who, if Lacroix was any judge of character,(and of course, he was an *excellent* judge of character) was quite a disturbed gentleman. If their conversation continued along the lines it was currently heading toward, this caller might turn out to be one of those gifts of a truly interesting mortal to watch, to possibly even become involved with in some way... He felt a familiar mental signature, and looked up from his steepled fingers, eyes flickering gold for a moment. With a small smile, he raised an eyebrow at the figure in the doorway and nodded toward a seat to his right. His caller's voice, strident now, came through the call box demanding to know whether or not he had dropped dead on him. Lacroix smirked and shrugged. Ah, well, it was not to be. Some other time, perhaps. Nicholas obviously wanted to talk about something. "My apologies, dear Edward. I find I must leave you now. I trust that our discussion will keep for a while. Do call back again soon, my friend." Over Edward's indignant protests, he dumped the call and switched transmission to music. Lacroix then turned to face his son. "Well, Nicholas, three times in one week, and three the week before. I am overwhelmed by your attentions." Nicholas shrugged, studying the sideboard for a moment before flicking his gaze to Lacroix' face, then away again. "I wanted to see you. If this is a bad time to visit, I can go." It was said with elaborate casualness, and the elder vampire could easily read in his stance that he wanted very much to stay. Oh, Lacroix knew this game. Nicholas wanted to ask him for something, wanted some favor from him or help of some kind. He had been building up to it for almost two weeks now, ever since he had come back from his little vacation in the woods, dropping by the station simply to talk, feigning interest in Lacroix' work. Years ago, this game had been one of his favorites, partly because he enjoyed watching Nicholas try to work out the best way to approach him about something; partly because it was just so amusing to see Nicholas dumfounded every time when he finally realized Lacroix had long ago guessed what was on his mind and was simply waiting to see how long it would take his willful favorite to make the request. They hadn't played this particular game of Nicholas' for many years now. Nowadays, if his estranged son wanted information or help he would grudgingly demand it, as if accepting Lacroix' assistance was the last thing he wanted to do. As if Lacroix should somehow be flattered that Nicholas was still willing to accept the occasional bit of help from him. Lacroix would never have revealed it to Nicholas in a thousand years, but this cut him, deeply. Providing for his children, Nicholas in particular, and seeing them happy and *appreciative* of that care, had always been one of his greater joys. It was one of the few things that Lacroix wasn't sure he could ever really forgive him for. The old vampire suddenly found himself uninterested in whatever game Nicholas might be playing, and gave his son a weary look. "Of course you are welcome to stay, Nicholas. If you have nothing pressing to talk about, you'll forgive me if I continue the show?" Nicholas smiled and nodded. "Of course." He settled back, laced his fingers together across his stomach, and regarded Lacroix benignly. Lacroix fixed him with a baleful look, then reached out and switched back to on-air. He turned, lowered his face to the microphone and began to talk, very aware of Nicholas' gaze upon his back. "Don't we all decide what our boundaries are? Not the boundaries of the outside world, where we must kowtow to the laws and conventions of whatever society we happen to be inflicting upon ourselves at the time, but the boundaries you see behind your eyes when you look into a mirror." Nicholas rose from his chair and moved behind Lacroix, walking quietly. Lacroix' voice hesitated for the briefest of moments when he felt gentle hands come to rest on his shoulders. He turned his head and looked sidelong up into Nicholas' face, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Nicholas regarded him steadily, a faint smile on his face, his eyes tranquil and telling Lacroix nothing. The elder vampire looked into his son's blue eyes, now shaded some indeterminate dark color by the dim lighting. Slowly, he turned back to the microphone and resumed his speech. "What have you never told anyone? Not your brother, your sister, your dearest friend, your spouse? And do you wonder sometimes what it is that *they* have failed to tell you?" The hands moved up and began to massage his neck, strong thumbs describing small circles at the base of his skull. Lacroix closed his eyes for a moment, losing track of where he was in his monologue. He drew in a deep breath and continued, as Nicholas rubbed his neck and shoulders. "You can know much about another person. But, there is always the thing you didn't know, that thing great or small that remains secret to the world, locked within your heart. That dark and secret thing that we sometimes take out and glance at furtively, all alone--and then shove back under lock and key before we ourselves must acknowledge its existence. What is your secret? And why do you keep it a secret? Tell me." The massaging strokes lightened and became caresses, hands gliding gently over his neck and throat, brushing across his forehead, fingertips feather-light at his temples. Lacroix' voice faltered, then stopped. For a few moments there was only the hiss of dead air over the microphone and the tiny sounds, like hands brushing over silk, of Nicholas' fingers combing through his short-cropped hair. Lacroix reached out and switched back to music, then swiveled his heavy chair halfway around. He looked up at Nicholas, who stood regarding him, an impassive expression on his face. One hand still rested on his shoulder and Lacroix grasped it firmly, removing it from his shoulder but not releasing it. "Nicholas. What do you want?" His voice came out sharper than he had intended, but at this point he just wanted Nicholas to come out with it, so he could discover what was compelling his son to spend this much time and effort on putting him in a good mood. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he waited for the younger vampire to say something. Nicholas' touch had sparked a disproportionately strong response in him, and it disturbed Lacroix profoundly that a few mere caresses of this sort from his son could affect him so. It had been much too long. Nicholas leaned in, so close his breath tickled the side of Lacroix' face. He murmured in a low, throaty voice. "I want to please you, Lacroix. I want to make you feel very, very good. If you'll allow it, that is. We can talk about why later. I just want to do this right now. Don't ask me any questions, just let me do this for you, please..." Lacroix said nothing, not quite daring to trust his hearing--Nicholas could not possibly have just said what the old vampire thought he had... Nicholas pulled back and regarded Lacroix, his face scant inches away from his sire's. Lacroix looked back at him, ice blue eyes wary. Slowly, as if taking hold of a skittish horse's halter, Nicholas slid his hands up to frame Lacroix' face and pulled him gently forward into a light, almost chaste kiss. The kiss quickly deepened to something more, something painfully erotic for the older vampire. He relaxed enough to allow Nicholas' tongue to slip into his mouth, then placed his own hand behind his son's head, holding him there and drawing the kiss out. Lacroix' resolution to stop this and force his son to tell him what this was all about, why he was acting so atypically, crumbled under the intense reaction Nicholas' kiss instantly pulled from his body. Oh, it had been so, so long since they had done anything like this. The feel of Nicholas' lips, his clever tongue, the scent of his hair, his body, all combined to trigger the same reactions they always had in the old Roman. He responded, his tongue sliding along Nicholas', exploring, tasting his son for the first time in decades. He half-rose from his chair, then settled back into it, not entirely trusting himself to stand without stumbling. Nicholas following him, leaning down, his mouth still fastened to Lacroix', his hands clutching the armrests. Lacroix felt a shudder travel along the other vampire's body as he ran his cool hands down the other's sides, them up again to weave his fingers into the thick blonde hair. Lacroix prolonged the embrace as much as he could, afraid that when it stopped Nicholas would return to his senses and this would all come to an abrupt end. The kiss finally ended, and instead of pulling away, Nicholas began to cover his face and throat with light, feathery kisses and tongue touches. Lacroix shivered, and put his hands on Nicholas' chest, over his shirt. He felt hard muscles shift beneath skin and silk, and drew a slow breath. Gently, he pushed his son back a bit, far enough for him to look into those eerily unreadable eyes. "Nicholas, I don't understand. Why are you-" His words were cut off as Nicholas laid a quick hand over his mouth, then replaced it with his lips. Then he moved to whisper into Lacroix' ear, voice pitched so low a man standing six inches away could not have heard. "Shh. No, Lacroix. Let me do this for you, please. I want to. No words, we can talk later. All I want to hear from you now are moans. Maybe a scream. We'll see." He punctuated his statement with the tip of his tongue, running it lightly around Lacroix' ear, then swirling it by degrees down the sensitive throat. Lacroix did moan then, and finally reached up to take hold of his son's head, pulling that tantalizing mouth back to his own. He felt Nicholas' body tense as he ran his tongue along the strong jawline, then down to flicker in the hollow at the base of his throat. Nicholas drew in a deep breath and made a soft noise in the back of his throat as Lacroix ran his fingernails across his chest, teasing the tiny, hard nipples through the thin black silk concealing them. The smell of his son's arousal reached him and he inhaled deeply, savoring that delicious scent. Lacroix knew that there still had to be some kind of string attached to this, that Nicholas must want something very important from him--but at this moment he didn't care. Lacroix wanted *this*, badly. If he didn't want to grant whatever favor Nicholas asked for later, then Nicholas would just find out that he couldn't trade too heavily on his charms, even now. Lacroix' attention was wrenched back to the present as Nicholas grabbed his head and pulled him into a deep, probing kiss. His vehemence startled Lacroix for an instant, then he returned his son's kiss with equal ardor. The roughness of Nicholas' sudden attack notched his excitement up another level, and Lacroix hissed softly, his eyes gleaming gold. His fangs clashed against Nicholas' as the two vampires alternated between thoroughly exploring each other's mouths and nipping lightly at each other's lips, pinching, but not quite breaking, the skin. The ache in Lacroix' groin intensified and he slid forward in his chair, pulling the other man closer, striving to bring his lower body into contact with Nicholas' own, just inches away. He growled in frustration when Nicholas refused to be pulled into his lap, and grabbed at one of his son's hands, dragging it down toward his crotch. Nicholas broke away and stumbled back, reaching behind him to catch himself on the console, almost falling back across it. Lacroix simply stared at him as the younger vampire grinned back, breathing hard. Then he lunged forward and captured his master's mouth again in another rough kiss, climbing up onto the chair and straddling Lacroix, his knees on either side of his master's hips. Lacroix felt Nicholas' body hard against his, their groins finally pressed deliciously together. His son's knees were tightly wedged on either side of his hips by the swivel chair's metal arms, effectively trapping them both in the chair. He ran his hands down his son's muscular back, kneading the firm buttocks and pulling the writhing body tighter against his. Nicholas shifted his hips, moving his hard groin against the echoing rigidity inside his master's clothing. The friction of their erections rubbing together, separated only by a few thin layers of cloth made Lacroix' eyes lose their focus, and he uttered a cry of pleasure. The sensation was so exquisite Lacroix thought he might lose consciousness for a moment--it had been so long, and this was all happening so quickly... Nicholas dragged the needle points of his eyeteeth down the side of his sire's ivory neck from jaw to collarbone, leaving two weeping crimson lines behind. "Oh, yesss," Lacroix groaned as his beautiful son covered the deep scratches with his mouth and sucked greedily at the tiny runnels of blood that welled up in the scant moments before the marks began to close. The massive swivel chair, though sturdy and well made, had not been designed to contain two powerfully built, horny vampires. The chair overbalanced and they went to the floor with a terrific crash, chair on top of them. "Oops." Nick said mildly, and started licking his sire's neck. Lacroix gasped and squirmed, struggling to extricate them both from under the heavy office chair without breaking contact with Nicholas. Finally he succeeded, and kicked the offending mass of leather and chrome away. It slid along the floor and fetched up against the cabinet under the station's awards display case with a crash. Several plaques and awards fell off the shelves and clattered to the floor. Lacroix growled and turned back to his golden-eyed son. For a while the only noise in the studio was the sound of harsh panting and low throaty cries of pleasure as the two vampires rolled around on the floor, kissing and groping each other. Lacroix couldn't remember being this desperately aroused in, well, it was over a hundred years, anyway... Nicholas grabbed the front of Lacroix' shirt and tore it open. Then his fingers darted down to the other's belt and deftly undid the heavy buckle. He slid his hands under the loosened waistband, ran them lightly down until rough curling hair tickled his fingertips, then brought them trailing back up to grasp the waistband firmly. With a small grunt of effort, he tore open the front of Lacroix' expensively tailored black pants, ripping one trouser leg almost down to the other vampire's knee. Dark blue silk boxers quickly followed, torn completely off. He caught Lacroix' eye, smiled and shrugged. In an oddly deep, throaty tone, he said, "Sorry. I couldn't wait." A slow feral smile crossed his sire's face, and he looked into his son's eyes and crooned, "That's all right, amant. Don't give it a second thought" Then he ripped Nicholas' shirt almost entirely in two. His grinning son rose to his knees, hastily shook his arms out of the remnants, and tossed the halved garment away. Then he eagerly allowed Lacroix to pull him back down, and they resumed their play. Lacroix was drunk on the taste and scent of his son, on the feel of his hands and mouth, his cool skin. They were both becoming loudly vocal, and Lacroix found a stray moment of coherence to be thankful that there was no one else in the station at this particular time of night. Nicholas slid down the long lines of his master's body, nipping and kissing as he went, Lacroix' long fingers tangled in his hair. As he reached the spot where the thin line of hair starting below the other's navel thickened and spread into a dense mass of light brown curls, Nicholas stopped and looked up. He smiled sweetly at his sire, then dipped his head down and gripped a thick tuft of pubic hair in his teeth. With a quick twist of his head, he yanked the clump of hair out and Lacroix yelped in surprised pain. "Ow! Stop that, you little---ahhh..." his voice trailed off as Nicholas inclined his head and licked softly at the faint traces of blood that spotted the marble skin, tongue swirling and soothing. Then he moved down and wrapped his fingers around Lacroix' erection, closing his eyes and simply moving the silk of his closed lips over the taut, flushed satin skin. Lacroix propped himself up on his elbows and looked down, eyes incandescent as he watched Nicholas press his lips to the hard, slick tip of his rigid organ, tasting the reddish pearls of moisture that seeped out as he did. Lacroix sank back down, unable to hold himself up as Nicholas began to seriously play with him. The younger vampire caressed the long thick shaft, slowly running his tongue up and down its length, reacquainting himself with the texture and feel of his master, remembering perfectly where and how to touch, stroke, squeeze and lick. The old vampire closed his eyes and moaned, uttering obscenities in Nicholas' antique Belgian dialect as his son grasped his hips in iron-hard hands, hauled his body up off the floor and took Lacroix into his mouth. He felt Nicholas' mouth slide down him until his lips were pressed hard into coarse, wiry hair. Then his exquisite son began to apply gentle suction and a rhythm with his tongue and mouth. Lacroix' vision dimmed for a moment. Nicholas had never done this with such eagerness and intensity before, and Lacroix was rapidly being overwhelmed by the sensations and approaching his peak much more quickly than he wanted to. Nicholas brought him back down to the floor, still holding him firmly by the hips. He straddled Lacroix' right leg and moved his own hips, rubbing himself against his sire as he continued to mouth him, mercilessly working him toward a fierce culmination. Lacroix' orgasm began to build, fiery energy pulling at the base of his spine and sending waves of heat through his limbs, robbing him of all control. Nicholas grunted and pulled up slightly as his sire's hands tightened their grip on his head and sharp nails bit into his scalp. Lacroix felt his son flinch as he curled his fingers in, cutting him. Gasping, he forced himself to take his hands away from Nicholas' head and clawed at the floor instead, tearing up strips of carpet as he yelled and writhed under his most precious creation's iron grip. Nicholas growled as he took Lacroix' entire length in his mouth again, and the vibrations pushed him over. He screamed and came in long shuddering pulses, flooding Nicholas' mouth with bloody fluid, which the younger vampire swallowed eagerly, groaning, his eyes shut tight. He was dimly aware that Nicholas was coming too, driving his hips hard against his leg, wetness seeping through the front of his black jeans and dampening what was left of that portion of Lacroix' ruined trousers. Lacroix shuddered, his eyes blazing ochre. He sat up and reached down to drag Nicholas up into a feeding embrace. Nicholas caught at his hands, pulled one forward and bit savagely into Lacroix' forearm. He began to drink, bringing a ecstatic cry from the older vampire. After a few mere swallows, however, he brought his head up, gasping, and held on to his master's hands like a drowning man. Lacroix snarled and tried to drag him up to his ready fangs again, but his son refused to budge. Nicholas squeezed his wrists, hard, and rasped out, "Wait." It took all his control, but Lacroix made himself hold still, trembling, his fangs aching and burning, mad to complete the second part of their exchange. Nicholas took a deep breath, closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. Then he released his master's wrists and moved like quicksilver up the length of the tall well-muscled body. Nicholas reached out and caught Lacroix' head between his hands. He kissed the full lips quickly, then moved to whisper against his master's ear. "I do love you. Don't forget that." Then Nicholas let go, straightened up, rose and turned away in one smooth motion. He walked quickly toward the door to the hallway. Nick turned as he reached the door, and faced his sire. Lacroix was still on the floor, the front of his clothing in ruins, panting and staring at Nick like he had never seen him before. His son slanted a glance at the sideboard, smiled beatifically and reached out to pick up one of the CDs that lay scattered there. Eyes dancing with sudden mischief, he picked up a CD, tilted his beautiful face sideways and tenderly pressed a soft, gentle kiss to the smooth disk, sparkling eyes never leaving Lacroix's. Then he tightened his grasp, and the CD shattered, rainbow shards falling to the floor. With a devilish grin that Lacroix had not seen in three hundred years, that simultaneously sparked a glow of excitement and set off every alarm bell in the old vampire's heart, Nicholas winked and was gone. Lacroix stared after him, speechless. There was something familiar about that gesture... Feeling very much like he'd been hit by a truck, Lacroix staggered to his feet. He stood up straight, and frowned when he saw the row of phone lines lit up solid across the board. Eyes widening, he looked at the board and saw the brightly lit "On The Air" sign. He lunged for the switch and pounded it down, denting the console. "NICHOLAS!!!!!!!" Perched on the rooftop next to the CERK building, Nick grinned. "He's going to kill me for this." Bright moonlight slanted across the rooftop, throwing Nick's shadow into crisp relief as he peered over the edge of the roof, then settled back on his haunches. Nick moved uncomfortably and tried to adjust the soaked crotch of his jeans. "Mmm." He rubbed himself lightly, shuddering. <Damn>, he thought, <Another piece of clothing I don't dare drop off at the laundry.> He hadn't gone in there intending to get so caught up in what he was doing, but kissing Lacroix, feeling him squirm and yell under his mouth and hands--it had just been so arousing... The few mouthfuls of blood he had gulped down glowed in his stomach, spreading tendrils of warmth and strength through his limbs. It felt wonderful. He wished he'd dared to really feed from his master, and let the other drink in return. But, if Lacroix had managed to start feeding from him, that would have been the end of Nick as soon as his master had ingested enough to realize what he was up to. Nick sighed and stood up, ready to leave. A car sped up, swerved into the small parking lot and squealed to a halt, parking haphazardly in front of the station. A man dressed in gym sweats, sneakers and a suit jacket jumped out, uncombed hair sticking up in several directions. Nick recognized the station's program manager, an overstressed, nervous man in his fifties who was usually thoroughly cowed by Lacroix. Not now, though. He slammed the door of his maroon Dodge Aries as if he were slamming down the hatch on a tank and strode into the station, every line of his body vibrating with fury. A few moments later, Nick heard him yelling. "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU??? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE--Look at this fucking place! Jesus Christ, look at you! Oh, fucking tell me that was for real! What the Hell were you and that guy doing in here--no, *don't* tell me, for God's sake! Oh, shit!!! Please, tell me that's not blood!" Nick winced and shifted from one foot to the other, his instinct for self-preservation warring with the need to keep Lacroix from killing the man in a rage. He had thought that a listener might call in a complaint to the police, resulting in a patrol car visit. Nick hadn't thought about the possibility of anyone being upset enough to come down to the station alone and confront Lacroix on the spot. He rose up a few feet into the air and hovered nervously, his keen hearing poised for any sounds of violence coming through the open door, waiting for the program manager's voice to choke off as Lacroix picked him up by the throat. Instead, he heard Lacroix snap something out and the tirade cut off in mid-curse. His sire's voice continued in a low drone, and Nick relaxed. Even in a total rage, Lacroix could still think about damage control, he mused affectionately. Well, damage control was going to be a bit more complex than usual this time, Nick thought, a satisfied smile creeping over his face. Hypnotizing roughly ten thousand listeners into forgetting they ever heard this was a bit beyond even his master's grand capabilities. "He *is* going to kill me for this. Ah well, if I'm going to be sitting in the sun tomorrow, I'd better enjoy myself for the rest of the night." He arced into the sky, laughing at the feel of the cool night air on his skin. "Maybe I should take another week of that vacation time." ***************** Lacroix closed the front door of his townhouse behind him, leather overcoat fastened tightly around him. He leaned back against the door and groaned, eyes closed. He was utterly exhausted. The old vampire thought that he might have mesmerized more people tonight than he ever had before in one sitting, between the four--no, six, police officers, the program manager, and the station owner (who showed up about twenty minutes after the second police car had). When the third patrol car showed up and two more grinning officers joined the party, it served to confirm Lacroix' suspicions that a), Toronto had way too many law enforcement officers with too much time on their hands and, b), the officers from the first car had sneaked out and called all nearby patrol cars to come in and join the party. Toronto's tax dollars at work. If Nicholas had been within arm's reach at that moment, Lacroix would have cheerfully torn him into many tiny pieces. He undressed, tossed the remnants of his clothes in the trash and took a long, steaming hot shower. Then he went into his sitting room, put on a Mozart CD and poured himself a glass of one of the better vintages from the Raven's cellars. The old vampire sank into his favorite chair, an overstuffed black leather near-twin to the one at Nicholas' loft, and took a sip from his drink. It took a genuine effort for him not to doze off as he felt the sun rise outside behind the steel window shutters. Holding his glass in both hands, he sipped from it and thought, golden eyes smoldering over the crystal goblet rim, about how badly he was going to have to damage Nicholas for this. Part of him still couldn't believe Nicholas' audacity. Never before had his son dared anything like this. And, possibly worst of all, he was still feeling the aftereffects of their brief but intense encounter. Aftereffects which gave him the infuriating impulse to find his son and caress him instead of break his arms; to drink from him and give him pleasure in return, instead of snapping his miserable neck. He scrubbed his face with his hands, let out a sigh and stared at the ceiling. A wry smile crept over his face and he shook his head. "Il m'a baise." He was still sorely tempted to fly over to the loft and break every major bone in the little Belgian demon's body. Lacroix was having a hard time reconciling this with the Nicholas he knew, who always acted on impulse, never considering anything. It had been so well thought out, too, also very unlike Nicholas. Spending two weeks visiting Lacroix in the broadcast studio, studying him as he worked, noting the times that other station personnel were not in the building, acting as if he were working himself up to some difficult decision... Lacroix had to grudgingly admit, it had been neatly done. He frowned. "I hate it when he does something new." His eyes widened, and a strange expression came into them. Actually..."It was much like something I'd plan." The old vampire shook his head. Just his luck. Nicholas was finally beginning to act like his son, and the first target of his newly discovered talent for scheming was his sire. Lacroix was going to have to most definitely nip this in the bud...but first, he was going to sleep. ******************* One week later The big blue-green Cadillac cruised on a leisurely patrol down Yonge Street, then headed east toward Balfour Park. So far, it was a quiet night. Nick reached out and turned on the radio. Lacroix' smooth voice purred out of it, elaborating on the subject of duplicity and betrayal. Nick winced, then grinned. This had been the recurring theme of the last four days. So far, he had not heard a word from Lacroix, except over the radio. He wondered idly how many people Lacroix had needed to hypnotize (or bribe) to get himself back on. CERK had played music for two nights after his visit, then on the third evening the Nightcrawler was on the air again. Seated next to him, his latest partner, a former state trooper from North Carolina named Sam Morgan, rolled his eyes and took a large bite out of his fried fish sandwich. Nick's new partner thought that the Nightcrawler show was, well, less than upbeat. On their second night out on patrol he had shared his opinion of the show with Nick. "One of *the* most depressin' buckets of--'don't the world just *suck*? Let's all jump out a friggin' window, ladies first'--bullshit I have ever heard in my life, Knight. You all will listen to anything up here, won't you?" They had worked out a compromise--Nick listened to the Nightcrawler for half of their patrol, then Sam was free to look for country stations. Nick gritted his teeth and dealt with it. For now. On the radio, Lacroix was taking a caller. "Yes, my friend. What do you have to tell us tonight?" A youthful male voice boomed over the phone line. "Hey, Nightcrawler! Some guy left a message for you." The cheerful caller proceeded to gargle a large mouthful of some liquid, then swallowed loudly with an audible gulp. There was click and a momentary hiss of dead air as Lacroix dumped the call. His voice came back, velvet tones much tighter and more clipped this time. "Yes, *next* caller." A sweet young woman's voice came on. "Hi, yeah, um, I just wanted to find out, when's the next blow job show? I want to tape it." Massed peals of young feminine giggles erupted in the background before a vicious click silenced them. Sam eyed the radio in disgust, then turned and gaped as his moody, reserved new partner burst out laughing. Nick brought the Caddy to a shaky halt, sank back against the seat, hands over his face, and howled muffled laughter into his hands. "Jesus, Knight. It ain't that damn funny. It's disgusting, is what it is. I heard about that show from some of the boys down the precinct. That guy'd be off the air for good in a New York minute, he ever pulled a stunt like that where I come from. Friggin' pervert. You got a weird sense of humor, Knight, anyone ever tell you that?" <I am a dead man> Nick thought, turning his face away and wiping bloody tears of laughter out of his eyes. <I bet he wishes he'd let the station install that delay whatever-it-was he was telling me about.> He turned back and punched the radio button set to Sam's favorite country station. Then Nick looked at the other man, grinning broadly. His partner looked him over as if he were mentally measuring Nick for his new straightjacket. "OK, Knight. We have a nice laugh, now? Good! The voices in your head ought to tell you to go out to a comedy club once in a while, y'know. You need to laugh just a little bit more often, catch my drift? Want me to drive?" Nick had a sudden vivid picture of Lacroix sitting in the studio glaring at the row of lights that denoted waiting callers, desperately trying to use any latent psychic powers to pick people who *weren't* calling just to torture him. The vision struck Nick full force, and he burst out laughing again, helpless to stop. Sam watched as his newly revealed lunatic of a partner reached for the door handle, opened the door of the Caddy and fell out. He leaned over and looked down at Nick who was still laughing, rolling on his back in the frosty roadside grass. "Knight. You got a severe problem, son. I'm callin' an ambulance, OK?" "Don't bother", wheezed Nick from where he lay on the ground, arms crossed over his eyes and a broad grin on his face. He began to giggle again, then got himself under control. "It's too late, I'm a dead man. But you know what?" "What, Nick?" asked Sam, humoring his insane partner and loosening the flap on his sidearm, just in case. Nick sat up and grinned at him, eyes sparkling. "It's not that bad." The end (I'l m'a baise is French slang for "he fucked me.") Comments welcome at: fenris@ma.ultranet.com