Physical Therapy
by Ophelia5
Nick/Nat
Explicit sex, Bondage
=0D
Natalie paused just inside the elevator door.  The radio was on and LaCroix's
voice resonated throughout the loft, although the volume wasn't that high.  
He was talking about the inevitability of accepting one's limits, of how battering 
yourself senseless against a brick wall never really got anyone anywhere 
and did as much damage to yourself as the wall, etc., etc. Etc.

She knew because she'd been listening in the car on the way over, afraid
to turn it off because she might miss something.  Since she'd begun to listen 
to the Nightcrawler's personal dollops of philosophy masquerading as entertainment, 
she'd begun to understand a lot more about LaCroix.

And Nick.  Who was, as she'd expected, standing at the windows, staring out into
the night.  He might even be oblivious to her presence, despite his preternatural 
senses.  That was the kind of blue funk he could get into, lost to everything 
in the world except his own, personal, self-induced and maintained hell, which 
was a morass of self-pity, self-loathing, with a couple of heaping teaspoons of 
despair thrown in for good measure.

It infuriated her, not only that he wallowed in it, but that LaCroix allowed him 
to do so.  Yes, it might drive him back to being a predator, a vampire who 
drank human blood, but couldn't LaCroix see how close to the edge it brought him?  
It wouldn't surprise her to show up one evening and find nothing but the windows 
wide open and a pile of ash on the floor, the radio still on and tuned to CERK, 
all audio self-flagellation, all the time.

The image scared her and stoked up her anger enough to send her stalking across the 
room.  Nick turned, watching her with casual interest, but she ignored him.  She 
half-expected to find him at the entertainment unit before she got there and was almost surprised when she twisted the knob haphazardly to another station, then cut off 
the power to the unit.

The discordant strains of a country guitar solo still hung on the air when she turned
to face him . . . but Nick was looking out the window again, hands clasped behind 
his back.  Her feelings warred within her--anger that he was hurting himself and 
that LaCroix was helping him, pain that he was hurting, and hope that she could do 
something about it.  It was becoming a vicious circle, sending her round and 
round on the same track, over and again.  Lately, she'd begun to think there 
might be something more.  Since Valentine's Day, Nick had pushed her away, set up a 
glass wall between them, thin enough for sound to pass through, but little else.  He'd maintained that distance, increasing it day by day, as if weaning himself off her, 
as if making certain that without her there, he'd still be alive, that the world would 
still continue.

It was to 'protect' her.  She knew that what had almost happened to her at the 
restaurant had frightened him almost as much as it had frightened her.  She'd been 
barely conscious through his little drama, when he'd held her in his arms, played 
with her as if she were a doll, toyed with her as if she were merely a puppet, 
a pawn . . . and then held her tightly and desperately when LaCroix had finally 
left, without calling his bluff.  Better not to think about the hungers his touch 
and play-acting had stirred within her, the feelings that she'd only let rise 
to the surface now that Nick had decided that it would be all right for them to 
try to test the limits of his control.  Whether he could control the vampire 
within him had no longer been important, it was the other part of him--the human 
part--that hadn't been able to deny or curb his feelings for her.  Trust LaCroix 
to have so royally screwed it up that she'd begun to think that she'd lost Nick, 
even as a friend.

The rattle of the brown paper shopping bag she carried and her footsteps were the 
only sounds as she walked across the room, toward him.  She'd almost given up . . . 
and then they'd needed each other more than ever after Schanke and Cohen had been 
killed.  Was it the death f their friends that had suddenly reversed the slide 
apart?  Janette's having hied off to greener pastures couldn't have hurt.  
They'd needed each other, found their friendship again, dabbled at the edges 
of something deeper than friendship . . . to the point when she'd started listening 
to LaCroix, and her own inner fears, Nick had finally found the courage to admit 
that he cared for her.  That he more than cared for her.

And then the worst of it had returned.  She still wasn't certain what had happened 
to him, but it was like he'd suddenly rediscovered everything he hated about what 
he was and what he'd been.  The self-loathing consumed him and, after having grown 
fond of the closeness they were developing, she was suddenly out in the cold, 
at arm's length to be 'protected' again.


"Not this time," she whispered to herself.  This time she wouldn't let it go on for 
so long.  She couldn't endure that again, the slow slide into professional formality
that would end with one of them leaving Toronto with nothing more than a handshake 
and a half-hearted, never-to-be-kept promise to 'keep in touch.'

He turned, the barest smile on his lips.  "What's 'not this time'?"

His eyes were sad, almost unbearably so, despite the joking tone in his voice.  
Natalie shut down some part of her that still cringed at the thought of what she 
was about to do-- let's face it, there was a certain amount of pride, puritanical 
leftovers, and some squeamishness that she still hadn't dealt with, not to mention 
the questions about self-worth, mental health, etc.--and said, "You're not 
pushing me away this time."

The sadness deepened, his eyes taking on a shade that was somewhere between the 
color of what she thought the Caribbean might look like in full sunshine and a 
brilliant cobalt blue.  "I don't want to push you away."

"You're afraid of hurting me."  She dropped the shopping bag to the floor to 
punctuate her comment and it did, with a metallic clank and a thud.

The sound raised an eyebrow and his interest, but then he met her gaze again.  
"Well, it's only a matter of time, isn't it.  One way or another, everything I do 
seems to hurt you."

There were two ways to handle that problem--protest bitterly and at length about 
how wrong he was, which would open doors to a whole truckload of other issues 
that neither one or them was capable of dealing with just then or . . . .

She kissed him.  Walked straight up to him and kissed him.  Full on the lips, 
nothing stirring or sensual, just for the shock effect.

And it worked.  Nick seemed surprised--it did her heart good that he was 800 
years old and she could still surprise him--and more than a little taken aback 
as she glared, adding, "That didn't hurt me."

He swallowed, but didn't move away.  They were inches from one another; she knew 
he could hear her heartbeat quite clearly.  "I didn't do that.  You did."

"Then you try it.  Come on.  I dare you."

"Nat--"
It was that long suffering tone of voice.  That 'you can't understand, you're only 
mortal, it's never going to work, oh why don't I just curl up into a ball and die' voice.

But she wasn't budging and she wasn't giving him a way out.  "Chicken?"

"Nat--"

She leaned forward and gave him another smack on the lips--a little more spit this 
time, but still platonic.  "Chicken," she announced afterwards.  "You are a one-hundred 
percent, bonafied, complete and total--"

She didn't get a chance to finish the accusation--he caught her with her mouth open.  
Whether it was intentional or not, she didn't really need to know, although she 
filed it away for later thought.  It was more than a platonic smack.  His hand 
moved behind her head, buried deep into her hair, fingers toying but not quite 
pulling and definitely not hurting.  Some mouth suction was involved, a quick 
nibble on the lips and corner of her mouth, a slight teasing darting of his tongue--

And that was it.  Nick pulled back, hand still in her hair, eyes blue, lips fighting 
to hold an indignant, defiant pose and tending to curl instead--thank God, his 
sense of humor had finally kicked in!  "Satisfied?"

Her mouth was still open--damn, he'd caught her by surprise, the sneak!--and her 
toes were just starting to unclench.  But she wasn't about to tell him that.  "Hardly."

A raised eyebrow and he moved in again.  It was all in fun, she could see it in his 
attitude, in the lightness of his eyes, the laughter hidden there.  He could let 
himself do this, enjoy this, because it wasn't serious.  It wasn't going anywhere.

The hell it wasn't!  This time, when he thought he'd caught her off-guard, he'd 
misjudged her.  He wasn't the only one who could suck and nibble.  When Nick tried 
to pull away, she went after him, maintaining the contact, lips to lips.  It 
didn't take much to tempt him back into action.  At some point, his other hand 
moved to her hair, then down to the small of her back, pressing her against him.  
The hand in her hair changed position, shifted, toyed with the strands, while 
Natalie slipped her hands around his neck to draw him closer.  Eventually she 
had to call time, take a break to breathe.

"No," whispered Nick.  He didn't pull away, or push away for that matter--in fact, 
she'd managed to push him back against the window.  "Nat--we can't.  Not now--"

Her first answer, 'Then, when?' was never spoken.  She didn't dare, because it 
led to other questions, other things that he would use to hold them apart.  
"Yes, now," she told him softly.  She raised her hand from his neck and ran the 
tips of her fingers along his cheek as he turned his gaze to the ceiling, the 
skylight, as if searching for strength or control, or an answer.  "Especially now."

"I told you--it's harder now.  I might forget myself.  I might--"  He gazed into 
her eyes and she saw the fear in him and his desperate need to instill the same 
fear in her.  "I might kill you."

"You didn't then."  She forced a smile.  "You didn't kill me.  You told me that you had absolutely no control over what you were doing.  And you still didn't kill me."

"I  . . .  didn't," he whispered, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him before.  
And then the shutters fell into place again, the locks were set-- "But I can't 
take the chance."

It was so hard to fight with him when her safety, a very real concern, was the 
argument.  How could she fault him for not wanting to hurt her--other than the 
whole control issue, and that was something else entirely.

He took her silence for assent, his hands moving to her shoulders as he leaned 
forward and stole a quick, chaste kiss.  "I don't dare take the chance."

"You won't have to."  She matched his peck on her lips with one just as chaste . . . 
well, almost.  Her arm slid from around his neck and she turned her back to him 
as she walked back to the black leather chair . . . and the shopping bag she'd 
set down beside it.  "I've been thinking."

Intrigued, he followed her, sitting down on the couch across from her and leaning forward slightly.  "Have you?"

"I know--I'll try not to make it a habit."  A quick raise of his eyebrows and a grin--
good, his sense of humor was still intact.  She wondered how long it would last.  
"I've been thinking about your problem--our problem.  It's based on fear, right?"

"Right," agreed Nick hesitantly, after a pause.

"Well, I think I've found a solution.  Or . . . let's call it a promising line of 
research."

He tensed at her words.  "You've found something to make me mortal."

"No."  Better to knock that off right away, although Natalie was wounded by the 
sudden despair that fell across his features at her admission.  "But I was thinking
 . . . what if we found a way to . . . be together . . . and there wouldn't be 
any danger.  To either of us."

Eyes narrowing, Nick growled, "No.  I won't bring you across--"

"Not that."  Her voice was just as sharp and twice as nasty, letting him know in 
no uncertain terms that becoming a vampire wasn't part of her plan.  Nick blinked 
in surprise, then his brow furrowed.  She could see that he was completely in 
the dark, literally and figuratively.

Which was where she wanted him.  And, she licked her lips in memory of that surprise 
assault of a moment ago, where hopefully he would want her.  She cleared her throat, 
suddenly feeling a little warm and knowing that her face must be flushed. "Okay, 
let's try another direction.  You can't control the vampire, correct?  The urge to 
bite and kill?"

The brutality of the words flitted across his features, followed by embarrassment 
and despair again.  "I try, but--"

"I know.  And I think we might be able to control it, in time, with behavior 
modification."  Natalie clasped her hands together in her lap, not daring to look 
at him.  "If we go under the assumption that it's instinct--well, there's probably 
not much we can do.  But if we assume that it's a learned behavior, that we can 
'unlearn' the behavior--"

"How?"

He could be bright upon occasion, usually when it had something to do with a cure 
of one sort or another and this time was proving to be no exception.  "Trial and error.  Repetition."

"Nat--I'd kill you.  We know that."

"Maybe not.  But . . . I don't want to take any chances either."  She pushed the 
shopping bag over to him with her foot.  "Believe me.  I've been working on this 
for a couple of days now.  And I think I've got the answer."  She cleared her 
throat again as Nick bent down to check out the contents of the large shopping bag--
she had to get past this bit in a hurry.  "The problem is strength and speed--you're 
just too strong and too fast for me.  So, I thought that maybe if we tilted the 
odds in my favor, gave me a physical edge on the situation, it might help you with 
the whole control issue."

Nick fished out the length of chain, which was attached to a padded iron wrist cuff 
with a bolt lock.  He simply stared at it in wonder, as if he couldn't quite figure 
out what it was for.

Natalie hoped like hell he was still listening.  She now knew that her face was flushed 
and that she was speaking too fast . . . but there was no way she was going to explain 
this again.  "We start with an absolutely secure situation--we make you completely 
immobile . . . within reason.  If that works, once you're comfortable with it and 
you think you're ready to move on--"  

He had the leg cuffs out of the bag, now. 
 
"--We change the parameters, give you some mobility, a little at a time. 
I'm not saying that it's going to happen overnight.  But I think it might help 
your self-confidence, give you something to work toward.  And I need to collect 
data.  To be honest, I really know nothing about vampire intercourse, where blood 
fits into it, is it simply a holdover from the predator instincts or--"

Nick was playing with the catch on the neck band, which was an iron collar, padded 
on the inside.

"--Whether it's necessary for you to achieve--God, I can't believe I'm actually talking 
about this!"  Her courage gave out just as he looked up at her and met her eyes.  Natalie snatched the iron collar from his hand and tossed it into the bag.  Without hesitation, 
she gathered together the handles of the bag, picked it up, and turned toward the door.

She was an idiot.  How could she have done this?  She was a rational woman.  It wasn't 
like she needed sex, for God's sake, and, yeah, sure, she missed it and had fantasized 
more than once about how she and Nick would do together if she found a cure and if he 
was still interested in her and if--

But now she just felt cheap and vulgar and embarrassed, and needy and--

His arm was around her, stopping her from leaving.  Nick pried the shopping bag 
handles from her fingers and the bag clanked on the floor again, falling sideways 
and spilling the contents.  But Natalie didn't have time to notice.  Nick's hands 
moved to her shoulders, then her face.  He gazed into her eyes and kissed her--
no attack this time.  No intention to tease or taunt or challenge.  Just a long, 
slow, loving, caring, caressing kind of kiss.

There was no breath left in her body when he finished and Natalie was very glad 
that Nick had his arms around her--about forty-five seconds into the kiss she'd 
dimly recognized that her knees had spontaneously turned to Jell-O and that she'd 
have fallen on her ass without his support.

"No one," he whispered softly, "has ever cared enough about me to even  . . ."

He was at a loss for words and--God, were those tears in his eyes?  She hoped not, 
because if he started crying, she'd start crying and the hell with that because 
she wanted to go back to round two of that kiss.  She settled, however, for a 
smaller, shorter version; a 'you're welcome' to his 'thank you.'

"Well?" she asked, once she'd regained some stability in her knees.  "What do you think?"

Nick released her and knelt down.  He tipped the spilled chains and cuffs into the 
shopping bag, then ran a length of chain through his fingers.  "It might work.  I'd 
have to be certain that these could hold me."

"They're single piece work--no joins on the cuffs or the neck cuff, so they won't 
snap.  The bolts would hold them closed.  I think if you can fasten most of the 
bolts, I can tighten the last one with a wrench--"

"Kind of puts a damper on the mood, doesn't it?"  He shook his head and she caught 
sight of his grin.  "Where did you get all this stuff?"

"Don't ask."  Grinning back and shuddering slightly, she leaned down and whispered, 
"There are a few skeletons in the morgue closets that you don't want to know about 
and I'm certainly not going to dig into.  Any more than I have already, that is."  
Natalie knelt down beside him and picked up one of the bolt clamps at the other 
end of the cuffs.  "There's a metal cross beam in here that's bolted together--
the more you pull on it, the tighter it gets.  If we slip that under your bed--"

"My . . . bed?"

"Sure."  She hesitated at the lost look in his eyes.  "I want you comfortable.  You need something familiar.  And with all this stuff involved, the more familiar the surroundings, 
the more at ease you'll be and the better chance this has of working."  Natalie picked 
up the edge of the chain and pieced the clamp and the chain together.  "Like this.  
Leg chains and wrist chains--we pull them taut at first, with no give, then ease up 
when you feel you have more control.  The neck clamp will hold your head down, so there's 
no chance that you could . . . ."

"That I could bite you."  Nick sobered suddenly and picked up the metal collar.  "Nat--
are you sure you want to risk this.  It's . . . it's only metal.  Metal can give or break."

"Believe me, I've had it checked out.  The risk factor is minimal--that's the only 
reason I'm even suggesting this."  She placed her hands over his.  "The question is, 
are you comfortable with this?  It's just so--"

"Kinky?"  He grinned as shook her head in disbelief.  "I don't know.  It's certainly . . . different.  You?"

"It's a little bit beyond my realm of experience," she admitted, picking up one of the 
chains.  "Hell--it's way beyond my experience.  And there are some drawbacks.  It 
limits our options, right off the bat. The whole purpose of this thing is to limit 
your movement, which means I'll be in control . . . at least, for the first couple 
of sessions."  She swallowed, realizing what she'd said, then felt his hand steal 
over and around her own.  Natalie looked up at Nick, part of her being the very 
detached doctor and the other being the woman who wanted him, but not in a situation 
that would cost him a part of himself.  "I'm not a psychologist, so I'm not going to 
begin to predict how this will work out.  But I know we're both going to have to 
deal with a lot of tough things here.  Some of them might not be pretty."

His hand closed a bit more tightly on hers and he nodded seriously.  Somehow, he 
was managing to avoid condescension and intimidation.  "Why don't--?"  His voice 
faltered as he met her eyes.  "If we're careful--  If we're honest with each other--  
If something doesn't feel right, we stop.  That has to be our second ground rule.  
The first is that I won't do anything that puts you at risk . . . more than you 
already are."

He was on the verge of backing out; she could see the hesitation in his eyes and 
knew it was for fear of what he might do to her.  Natalie glared back at him.  
"All right.  Then the honesty starts now.  I'm scared--I'll admit it.  This whole 
thing is . . . just too bizarre for words.  But I think I've found an answer for us.  
I've taken everything precaution I can think of to ensure my own safety.  If that's 
not good enough for you, then we don't go through with this."

For that instant, hearing her own voice, she considered backing out.  Not out of fear 
for her safety . . . but fear of the unknown.  She thought she could handle it, 
that if she made it sound clinical and cold enough, gave the experiment parameters 
and goals, it would be all right.  It was awkward enough making love with a relative 
stranger--and no matter how long you'd known someone or how well, there was usually 
that odd moment when you realized that you were both naked and this was your first 
time together and whether it happened again or not the first time between you could 
only really happen once and that you really were strangers.  This would change so 
many things between them, end some and start others.  Was she ready for this?

Nick raised her knuckles to his lips, kissing them lightly, his eyes still fixed on 
hers.  "Have I told you how beautiful you look?"

"Beautiful?"  She glanced down at the navy sweats she'd thrown on as she'd run out 
of her apartment.  "In these?"

"In anything."  He leaned forward to kiss her--just the barest meeting of lips.  
"In nothing."  Another kiss.  "I'd like nothing more in the world right now than 
to love you, Natalie Lambert.  All of you.  Completely.  If you'll let me."

Romance wasn't dead.  Not totally.  Occasionally, it assumed the form of an 
800-year-old vampire who seemed at a loss for the right thing to say 99% of the time, 
but that one percent proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that romance lived on.  It 
seemed a shame to break the mood.

But pragmatism won.  Natalie reached down and picked up one of the chains, adding, 
"Then we've got some hardware to install."

One more quick kiss, then Nick grinned.  He rose to his feet, grabbed her hand 
and pulled her up beside him.  It was a temptation to hang on, but she let her 
fingers slide from his.  In this one thing they were perfectly in accord--she 
marched directly to the bedroom while he gathered tools from the kitchen.

It took close to two hours to assemble the struts and fasten the bolts to Nick's 
satisfaction.  He pulled on each chain with all of his strength, mouth set in a 
grim line, until he finally relented and moved on to the next.  Natalie helped 
as best she could--she'd tested the pieces after purchasing them and before 
bringing them over, knowing that she didn't want to face the fiasco of proposing 
such an endeavor, having Nick accept . . and them being one screw short of being 
able to put this experiment to bed.  She could have assembled the thing in her 
sleep.  But she also knew why Nick had to put it together, why he had to test and 
retest the strength of each bolt and connection.  He needed to put his fears to rest, 
or at least ease them.  Watching how carefully he worked, she wondered again if she 
was doing the right thing, if maybe she should have brought up the idea in some 
other way, set up some schedule so they could get used to it, not rush headlong 
into this.  She was putting tremendous pressure on Nick when all she really wanted 
was to release some of the pressure he'd been putting on himself, give him hope 
when he had none.

He'd stop after each piece, shift this way or that around or beneath the bed, ask for 
a tool . . . and then smile at her.  A few times he'd kissed her fingers, the palm 
of her hand, and once had reached out, drawn her to him, and kissed her so completely 
and thoroughly that she'd been convinced that her toenails had loosened and were 
about to fall off.

After that last one, he'd closed his eyes and kept them closed, pulling on the chain 
that held the collar beneath the headboard with such an effort that she saw the 
muscles bulge in his shoulders through his shirt, which was now plastered to him 
by reddening, wet sweat stains.  If Nick had to be sure, she'd let him be sure.

But how sure was she?  And how sure could she be?

"It's good," he announced, dropping the chain and collar back to the bed, then 
taking a deep breath.  "It should hold."

"It <will> hold."

Nick fell back onto the bed, cushioning his head with his arms, and looked up at 
her with a searching gaze.  "Nat, are you sure--?"

"I trust you."

"I don't trust me."

She put her fist against his side, punching him lightly, then made a face as she 
drew close.  "If you think I'm going anywhere near you with you smelling like that, 
you've got another think coming, buddy."

Wearing a wounded look, Nick sat up.  "Do I offend?"

"In the worst possible way."  Natalie climbed off the bed and walked over to his 
robe and pajamas, which were draped over a chair.  Rolling them up into a ball, 
she threw them at him.  "Hit the showers, mister."

"Am I taking orders from you now?"  He rose to his feet, clasping the pajamas and 
robe against his chest, and grinned.

"If you know what's good for you--"

"I do--you're good for me."  He leaned forward into a kiss, teasing the edges of 
her mouth, then pulled away.  "Hold that thought--"

For a moment she simply stood there, charmed by his ability to move from tease to 
tiger and back again--although there were other circumstances when it annoyed 
the hell out of her.  

And that's when the cold sweats hit.

Natalie turned, caught sight of herself in the mirror--and stopped.  Her hair was 
a mess and she was dotted with dust bunnies from having helped Nick assemble the 
restraints on the bed . . . she'd discovered the one place his usually immaculate 
cleaning service seemed to have missed.  The navy sweats she was wearing were 
anything but romantic and just slightly more appealing than the extremely boring 
lingerie she'd thrown on when she'd dashed out of her apartment before she 
could lose her nerve.

She'd wanted this to be perfect, had thought she'd prepared for everything . . . 
and now she had nothing to almost wear!

Turning, she caught sight of Nick's dresser.  He had another pair of black silk 
pajamas in there.  She could easily be wearing them when he exited his shower . . . .  
Then she caught sight of the bathrobe she'd left, when she'd been Nick's houseguest 
and resident medical caretaker after his head injury.  Picking it up, Natalie clutched 
the terrycloth against herself.  Why wear anything?  Simply throw on the robe 
and be ready for him--

And what would he think of her, when he finally saw her?  What could he think, when 
she looked like this?  Perfect, she'd wanted this perfect . . and there'd still be that awkwardness as they stared and tried not to stare, wanting to see and know everything 
and yet being in a situation that was so utterly bizarre that the lack of clothing 
would just add to the feeling of unease.  She'd tried so hard to make this all 
seem natural, to find a setting in which Nick could at least be comfortable, where it 
wouldn't seem so unusual that they were naked and alone together.

The sound of the water kicking in as he turned on the shower broke through her 
reverie.  Natalie quickly stripped off her sweat pants and shirt, tossing them on a 
chair, then followed that with her bra and panties.  There was no time to shiver 
because she shrugged into her bathrobe almost immediately and remembered, on her 
way out the bedroom door, to stop in the hall and turn up the heat.

He hadn't locked the bathroom door--then again, she hadn't expected him to.  Nick 
was used to living alone, not accustomed to having someone else around to invade 
his privacy.  She hesitated, her hand on the door, and thought about what she 
planned to do.  How better to initiate the proceedings than to start in a place 
where they were used to being naked, although--admittedly-- not together.  
Should she knock?

Deciding that barging in might be the best tactic, Natalie opened the door slightly 
and peered into the bathroom.  It was foggy and the air was moist with steam.  She 
swallowed, then opened the door enough to slip inside, closing it behind her.

The tile was cold against her bare feet.  Nick hadn't noticed her presence yet--
the shower door was already semi-opaque and fogged over.  She cleared her throat.

There was a thud and she saw him stop--he'd dropped the soap in surprise.  The palm 
of a hand appeared against the door, then he opened it slightly, peering out in 
an almost frightened bewilderment.  "Nat--?"

"I'm covered with dust-bunnies.  Mind if I jump in real quick and hose them off?"

He blinked at her, most of his hair plastered to his head.  Beads of water covered 
his face and one driblet ran unnoticed down his cheek.  He swallowed.  "Do you think . . . that's a good idea?"

Her heart pounded in her chest, but she maintained the forced smile.  "Oh, yeah, 
sure--you get to be all nice and clean and I stay covered with gunk?"  Recognizing 
the fear in his eyes, she walked toward him, her smile softening of its own accord 
as she reached out and touched his cheek, cupping it in her palm and wiping away 
the dripping water.  "Yes, it's a good idea.  Think of it as 'show-and-tell.'  
Like we agreed, we take it slow.  Unless . . . it's a problem?"

Much as she hated to, Natalie knew she had to give him that out.  They had to 
start this thing with utter and complete trust and how better to show him how much 
she trusted him to be naked and unarmed with reach of fangs and claws.  But if 
he couldn't handle it, it was better to know that now, before things got far 
beyond the ability of either of them to control the situation.

He stood there, fingers clenched around the edge of the shower door, dripping--for 
a moment she was afraid he was going to crush the aluminum.  Then a slow smile 
appeared and he said, "I get the soap first?"

"It's your shower."

Nick stepped back behind the shower door and opened it to let her enter.

Cheat!  She couldn't see anything yet!  And she knew that he was just tall enough 
to see over the bar at the top of the shower stall, so he'd have a free show.

Deciding to let him make the most of it, Natalie shrugged off the robe almost 
disdainfully, then ducked into the shower.  She stood beneath the full force of 
the spray and concentrated on the tingling of the hot water as it struck her 
bare and chilled skin.  Thankfully, Nick hadn't turned it up too high and it 
wasn't so hot that it would burn her, just nice enough to soothe aching muscles.

She was aware of him standing close and yet not touching, his eyes on her.  Well, 
let him look!  She had nothing of which to be ashamed.  Fighting back the waves of 
self-consciousness that threatened to overwhelm her, she turned suddenly to face 
him.  "Soap?" she asked.

He blinked, his eyes moving quickly up to meet hers, his expression that of a schoolboy 
caught outside a peephole into a girl's locker room.  "Uh--what?"

"Are you done with the soap?"

"I dropped it.  Here--"  He leaned down to pick up the soap.

Her eyes naturally followed the movement . . . and she remembered that the intent 
was not only to make him feel comfortable with the idea of her being naked, but 
to introduce her to him in that all-too-natural state.  In patching him up over 
time she'd seen bits and pieces of him, of course.  His chest was familiar territory; 
she was looking forward to a less casual, tactile exploration of the area.  She'd 
never seen him in shorts, although she'd had to rip off a pantleg or two in the 
past to dig a slug out of his thigh when he'd been just a tad slow ducking a bullet, 
so the shape and musculature of the legs were no surprise, either.  She still wasn't 
certain what vampirism did to a mortal body brought across, but she was beginning 
to thank her lucky stars that he'd been a horseman in his day, if the brief view of 
his posterior was anything to go by.  As for the other equipment . . . .

Another brief glimpse.  No real surprises there, though.  She'd seen him asleep on 
the couch wearing his pajamas, one of the nice things about black silk being its 
tendency to cling.  Her imagination had filled in the not-so-gory details and, 
actually, hadn't been that far off . . . it was only now she'd realized that she'd underestimated him slightly and should have given him the benefit of the doubt.  He 
wasn't showing any real signs of arousal--quite the contrary.  Which was understandable
--he was embarrassed as hell, but curious about her body and feeling guilty because 
of it, to boot.

As he rose, she let her eyes linger on his physique, watching the play of muscles as 
he moved.  Not quite a god, but a damned fine specimen, she had to admit.  His gaze was hesitant, half-terrified and half-appalled, she wasn't certain whether it was at 
the brazenness of her behavior or the fact that he'd been comfortable enough to 
forget exactly where they were and what was going on.

Unlike him, Natalie didn't hide the fact that she was looking.  Her smile was appreciative 
as she held out her hand.  Nick placed the soap directly into her palm without speaking 
and before he could work up the nerve, she turned and moved beneath the spray of water 
again.

She felt him watching again as she worked up a lather with the soap between her hands, 
the sting of it making her nostrils smart.  She ran the bar along her shoulders, down 
her breasts, lathering as if he weren't even there.  Although the knowledge that he was 
so close, the memory of those muscled limbs and that body just behind her set something 
deep within her aching.  She'd started to rinse off when she felt a light touch on her 
left shoulder.

Turning, she smiled inquiringly.  Nick held out his hand for the soap, saying, "Allow me."

She handed him the soap, still not quite understanding,.  With a gentle pressure he 
turned her toward the spray again.  There was an instant's pause, a soft sound as 
she heard him working up a lather of his own, then she felt his hands begin to soap 
down her shoulders.

Nick was washing her back.  And doing it expertly, too . . . or at least it felt like a professional at work.  His fingertips caressed the muscles of her shoulders, massaging 
through the suds, running the length of her shoulderblades and to the center of her 
back in an easy, continuous motion.  Natalie felt her muscles ease up--God, she 
hadn't realized how tense she was!--and arched her back slightly, stretching.  
It felt absolutely wonderful.

His hands moved down her sides, fingers slipping beneath her arms, which she then moved away from her body just a bit.  The fingertips stretched out, barely caressing the edges of her breasts as if he was assuring himself of their placement, before they moved to her back again.  He moved closer as his hands drifted lower.  His leg brushed up against hers, jerked away as if to tell her that it hadn't been intentional and then, when she didn't protest, was a solid presence against her.  


Nick's touch grew more tentative as he reached her buttocks.  Natalie thought he was going to chicken out but, after the barest hesitation, his hands were sliding across her flesh again.  He was careful, finishing far too quickly for her taste, and moving up to her hips again.  By accident he caught a ticklish spot and Natalie jumped, her body colliding with his.

The contact was quick, but it gave her an immediate update on the arousal situation--she was gratified to know she had that much of an effect on him, but beneath that was the concern of his control.  Better to finish off this type of foreplay as soon as she could and move them to a more secure area.

Natalie took the soap from his hand, pushed Nick's shoulder to move him forward, and announced, "Your turn."

He grinned at her, then stood beneath the showerhead, ducking so that the water doused him thoroughly.  Leaning his palms flat against the wall, he spread his legs apart slightly and said, "I suppose you want me to assume the position?"

The view wasn't bad and she was <very> tempted to frisk him for the hell of it.  But knowing that she didn't want to push him too far, too soon, Natalie slapped his back lightly and said, "Maybe later."

His shoulders suddenly seemed broader than she'd thought they were.  She rubbed the soap between her hands--noticed that it was shrinking away to nothing--then began to massage Nick's back much as he'd done hers.  He bent his neck forward, interrupting the stream of water from the showerhead, so that a steady spray ran down his back.  In seconds she had a nice set of lather from the soap and she made her way down the trapezius, to the deltoid, then to the latissumus dorsi, all the while marveling at the texture of his skin.

It wasn't soft, but was pliable and the soap skidded easily over it.  She found herself looking for bullet wounds that she'd treated three years ago, the scars of which would still have been evident on the flesh of any mortal man.  But Nick wasn't mortal.  And his skin, even under the heat of the water, was slightly cold to the touch.

There <were> marks here and there that she couldn't identify--she gathered he'd gotten them before he'd been brought across into his state of undeath.  One at his hip in particular fascinated her.  Daydreaming, she wondered what kind of sword or weapon would have caused a laceration like that.  Certainly it was unlike anything in use today and, having been a Toronto Coroner, she'd seen the results of a good number of the variety of weapons man had found to use against his fellow man . . . and woman.

Natalie reached upward to soap Nick's shoulders again, heard his slight intake of breath, then realized that her body was pressed against his.  He'd drawn away into the spray from the shower at the contact, but stopped himself.  Her leg brushed his, her breasts pressed against his back unconsciously as she felt her way around the musculature, examining old wounds more with a physician's eye than a lover's.  When she ran her hand along his ribs, he let out a short cry--he was ticklish!

Now <this> was an opportunity she couldn't let pass.  Natalie very lightly strummed the barest tips of her fingernails along the flesh just to the side of his ribcage.

The reaction was immediate and unexpected.  Nick whirled, one arm to either side of her head, his body pressed against hers so that he all but pinned her to the wall.  Before she could even begin to acknowledge her fear at the sudden movement--he'd moved too quickly for her to see--he'd leaned down and captured her mouth with his.

Her common sense was setting off more bells in her head than an eight-alarm blaze, but she ignored them.  If Nick's skin was cool, his lips and mouth were warm.  Dropping the soap, she slid her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, as if skin-to-skin contact might somehow warm his flesh.  The sound of the shower spray was drowned out by the thrumming of her heart in her ears and she closed her eyes, falling into the hunger of the kiss, devouring him with as much desperation and passion as that by which she felt herself being devoured.

Whether it was the press of her body against his or the intensity of the kiss she wasn't certain, but she became aware that Nick was responding to her in a very forthright manner . . . which was currently trapped between them.  His kiss moved to the line of her jaw, to her neck . . . .

And Natalie froze, her fingernails digging into the flesh of his shoulders as she realized that she was about to arch her neck and tilt her head to give him access to the artery.  She stared over his shoulder, not daring to move, almost afraid to utter a sound.  If she looked, she <knew> his eyes would be gold.  And his teeth--

Nick also froze, barely a second after she did.  He left hand was on her back, the fingers of his right hand paused on the line of her jaw, as if he were about to turn her head.  That hand fell away and he was gone from the shower, leaving her chilled, dripping, and alone.

There wasn't time to be scared.  Dammit, she didn't <want> to be scared, not with the memory of his touch still lingering on her skin, the taste of him still on her lips.  She wanted to be kissed and held and cuddled and loved . . . <not> scared.  So Natalie turned off the shower controls tightly, then opened the door wider and stepped out onto the cold tile.

It was like walking out into a cloud--the water had been so hot for so long that they were enveloped in a mist.  Nick's silk bathrobe clung to him, which meant that he hadn't bothered to dry off . . . but neither had he run away.  He stood at the sink and stared into the mirror.  A clear swath revealed a partial reflection, indicating that he'd swiped it clean with the sleeve of his bathrobe or his palm, but it was already being reclaimed by the haze.  He didn't seem to notice, simply staring into the glass, lips twisted into a snarl that was a combination of anger and disgust as if he saw something he despised and loathed.

Perhaps he did.  Natalie swallowed, bent to pick up her bathrobe, then shrugged into it, watching him all the while.  This was wrong . . . she hadn't meant to send him deeper into despair.  Nor had she meant to give herself and him such a scare.  Was his hold on himself really so tenuous?  Had her trust been misplaced?  Was he right in that his battle with what he thought was a demon had pushed him past the ground they'd spent years reclaiming?

Was she unconsciously willing to surrender her soul and her life to him by giving him her blood?

She swallowed again, watching him as he watched his reflection.  She'd been right--there were a lot of things they were going to have to deal with if they were going to get through this.  Some of them were ugly.  

And some of them were downright terrifying.

Finally, Nick bowed his head and raised a hand to his face, as if unable to look at her or the reflection any longer.  "Go home, Nat," he whispered.  "It's--I can't do this.  Go home.  Please . . . go home."

His voice was soft, but ragged and worn as if it cost him a part of his soul to even say the words.  Her own fear drained away at the sight of him, at the sound of his voice, the heartbreak evident in each.

The question was, how best to deal with this?  She'd promised him that either one of them could put a stop to it, if it became too difficult or dangerous . . . but to stop now, when they'd just begun, meant that they'd never get past this point again.  They'd broken down several barriers in the past few hours, reached a point they never thought they'd ever be able to reach, and she was supposed to go home and be content with the memory that it happened this once and was it?

The anger swelled within her chest.  Natalie folded her arms, but bit her lip before she could say anything.  Because he wouldn't respond to her anger, not the way he was feeling.  To rail at Nick now would be like beating a wounded animal, senselessly cruel and possibly dangerous--it wouldn't do either of them any good and would leave him worse than when they'd began.

"Go home," he repeated weakly.

"What?  And let you catch your death of cold?"  The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, startling her.  


Nick froze, then his head rose slowly, his eyes searching out her own in puzzlement.  "I'm afraid that's . . . not an option."

"Don't tell me that.  We know you've got an immune system from hell, but we--at least <I>--am well aware that there are dozens of little germs that must be looking for the right vampire to settle down in.  You stand there much longer, you're going to be the hottest vampire virus condo site this side of the garage dump."

His smile was faint, but it made her heart skip slightly just to see it.  Making a show of it, Natalie picked up one of the large, fluffy bath towels, pointed at the closed lid of the commode, and said, "Sit."

She expected him to protest and so put on one of her sternest expressions, the one she usually used when Sidney had done an unmentionable in one of her open suitcases.  It worked as well on woebegone vampires as it did on cats, because Nick sat down on the lid wearing a slightly amused, slightly dazed expression.

"First thing is your hair--it's waterlogged."  Moving behind him, Natalie draped the towel over his head and began to rub vigorously, eliciting an yowl of protest which she ignored (she'd bathed Sydney often enough not to fall for <that> sound).  "I think you've ruined your bathrobe.  And . . . for God's sake, it <is> silk, isn't it?  Nick, you should know better than that--that's for sitting around in while you drink your coffee and read your paper in the morning, <not> for throwing on when you're fresh out of the shower and dripping wet!"

His voice was muffled, but mostly audible beneath the towel.  "I don't--OW!--drink coffee."

Nick kept raising his hands to stop her massage of his scalp with the towel, but Natalie kept batting them away.  "Well, maybe a dry-cleaner could take care of the water stains."

"Nat, I'll--OW!  That's attached, you know!--I'll buy another--"  He finally grabbed the towel from her, saying, "<Give> me that!"

"All right."  Relinquishing the towel, Nat leaned against the wall and tried to hide her smile as Nick draped the towel around his neck.  She'd gotten most of the moisture out of his hair, but it was sticking up in places . . . and she was unable to hide her amusement at the sight of it.

He assumed a suspicious and petulant air as she started laughing lightly.  "What?"

"Your hair.  It's like--like someone plugged you in or something."  She gasped between syllables in places, but finally managed to get all the words out in the right order.  His expression was one of wounded dignity, which only set her laughing harder.

"Oh yeah?"  Nick took the towel from around his neck and pulled it taut between his hands.  "We'll see how <you> like it," he informed her in a lightly threatening tone, as he flipped the towel around itself, then snapped it at her.

"Ow!  Nick!  No you <don't>--"  With a squeal, Natalie made a move that she hoped would take her over the toilet and out of his reach, but it was a small bathroom, the floor was wet, and he was fast.  She jumped, she slipped--

And she was suspended in his arms, one of his hands beneath her knees, the other clasped tightly around her back and shoulder.  There was silence for a moment, as they simply looked at one another.  The fear was back in his eyes, which were so blessedly <blue>.  In unison, their mouths moved toward one another, lips slightly parted, but hesitated, almost touching until their eyes met in accord.

His kiss was soft and tentative and tender, full of fear of breaking her and yet promising to treasure her.  Natalie didn't press him, but yielded to the moment, reveling in the closeness.  Her arms moved around his neck to take some of her weight off him and to draw their lips together.

It was only because she had to breath that they parted.  He stared down into her eyes, features still touched by sorrow and bitter contrition.  "All right?"

He wasn't asking about her falling on the slick floor just then.  Natalie managed a slight smile and a nod for his benefit.  "Okay.  Guess we got a little carried away there, huh?"

"We got <more> than 'carried away.'"  He swallowed, looked away for a moment.  "I couldn't stop it.  I couldn't help myself.  You were just so . . . ."

The words trailed off and his eyes became distant.  "<So>--?" prompted Natalie.  "Come on, don't stop right in the middle of a compliment!  I get few enough as it is."

 "So . . . beautiful."  He leaned forward to kiss the tip of her nose.  "So enchanting.  Charming.  Wonderful--"

Natalie threw back her head in an exaggerated gesture and her damp hair sent droplets of water scattering.  "Tell me more," she intoned, in her best imitation of Tellulah Bankhead.

Nick pushed open the door with his foot and carried her into the hallway.  "Wonderful--"

"You did that one."

"Okay."  He frowned for a moment, then brightened.  "How about 'gorgeous'?"

"Good."  Natalie squinted her eyes as she thought.  "But you can do better."

"Exquisite?" he asked, carrying her over to the bed.  "Radiant?  Ravishing?"  Just as they reached it, Nick turned and half-lowered, half-dropped her to the bed.  "And <heavy>."

"It's all water weight," commented Natalie archly.  "You should pick me up sometime when I'm dry."

"I'll think about it."  

He lowered himself to the bed next to her and turned on his side.  His robe fell open, revealing a section of chest--his pectoralis major, actually.  Her own robe was tightly closed.  Nick reached across and ran his finger along the large terrycloth tie of her bathrobe.  "Now, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?"

"Saying something about wanting to ravish me, I think."  Natalie batted her eyelashes at him in exaggeration, then matched his grin.  When he drew closer to kiss her, she met him half-way.  His hand slid beneath the robe, stroking the skin alongside her breast as their lips met.  Nick leaned on his other elbow, his kisses more cautious now and still tentative.

Natalie wanted to push this time, wanted to stir things up a little, but held back.  He had to find his own way in this, had to feel comfortable and <safe>, or they might as well end it now . . . which was not at all what she intended.  Her fingers reached up to run the line of his neck, exploring the length of his jaw with the barest touch, then drew him to her again as her tongue began to explore his mouth.  She moved slowly, softly, carefully.

As did Nick.  She felt him cupping her breast in his hand, his fingers cool against the warmth of her skin.  He squeezed gently, his thumb flicking along the nipple and sending shivers through her.  Natalie let the sensation wash through her, savored it, and wondered how she'd ever thought they could have felt awkward with one another.  It was as if they'd done this a hundred times before, each experience new and yet too perfect to be accidental.  <This> was how it should be for them, caring and careful, loving and tentative, moving toward confidence as they responded to one another's touch.

Nick's lips left hers.  He nibbled at her ear, buried his face in her hair, leaving a path of soft kisses along her neck.  His body pressed along the length of her own and she could feel him even through the terrycloth robe.  Her arms went around him, drawing him into a hug, and she thought she might cry, never having had him so close before, never having dared dream that such a thing might be possible.

His hand left her breast as he pulled away from her, breaking their embrace after a moment or two of near stillness between them.  She realized then that his eyes were gold and haunted.  He dared another kiss, a meeting of lips only, and whispered, "I love you, Nat.  And I want you."

She kissed him back, hating to break the spell, the warmth that had settled between them.  They couldn't let it get too far out of control.  That frightening moment in the shower had taught her that much.  Steeling herself, which involved trying to figure out how she could say, 'Gee, guess we'd better chain you down now' without ruining the mood, Natalie took a long breath--

But had no chance to expel it.  Nick obviously had other ideas, as he covered her mouth with his own, his kisses still light and careful.  She felt his hands tug on the tie of the robe, loosening it, then parting the fabric even as he continued to press his lips against her eyelids and her cheeks.  His fingers began to knead the skin of her breasts, stroking lightly, then applying a slight pressure.  An occasional finger drifted across either nipple, teasing it.

Moaning low in her throat, Natalie shifted, knocking away more of the terrycloth robe and giving him better access to her skin.  His head lifted from hers, moved downward . . . he kissed her breasts, sucking lightly on one nipple and running his tongue across the tip of it, while he pinched the other--not too hard--between his thumb and forefinger.  She closed her eyes, feeling adrift in the darkness, centering only on the moment.

A rush of warmth flooded through her, accompanied by a feeling of anticipation and, simultaneously, utter bliss.  His fingers were still cool against his skin, as a free hand trailed lightly down her belly, to her pubic hair.

Natalie's eyes shot open in panic, but Nick raised his head to look at her--his eyes were completely blue, with no sign of gold.  "For you," he said, raising himself slightly, to kiss her lips again.  "I won't be able to hold you or touch you.  Let me touch you now . . . ."

Her throat tightened involuntarily and she blinked back the tears that threatened to form.  When she'd first considered this adventure, one of the things she'd realized immediately was that she'd lose a good part of what made sex enjoyable for her--behind held and holding.  Although she'd be able to hold Nick, to hug him, his arms would be pinioned and he wouldn't be able to return her hug.  Getting within reach of his fangs would make kissing after a point entirely out of the question.  Sex would be reduced to whatever foreplay he could manage while remaining in control of himself and intercourse with so many restrictions that she was afraid it would seem mechanical and cheap.

She'd doubly enjoyed the contact she'd managed to have with Nick so far, savoring the kisses and caresses because she knew there'd be none later, when she'd need them to soothe her nerves, calm her fears, and allow her to find some pleasure from this escapade as well.  Natalie had resigned herself to the fact that it wouldn't end up being all that she could hope for.

And here Nick was, surprise of surprises, offering to make up for the loss on his own initiative.  She wouldn't have believed he'd ever have come up with the idea on his own, but he had.  And even though half her mind warned her to be cautious and to watch for a repeat of what had nearly happened in the shower, Natalie stretched with abandon as Nick's head lowered again to her breast.  Murmuring, "Yes, oh . . . yes . . . ." softly as he continued to suck and nibble at the sensitive skin, alternately nuzzling and biting at her nipples, she arched her back automatically, as if trying to make herself even more accessible to his caresses.

His dedication to the task was phenomenal and she dimly realized that she'd have to give him points for technique.  For some reason she'd always been under the impression that Nick understood little, if anything, about women.  She'd have to amend that assessment, for there seemed to be a few things at which Nick excelled.  Being that most of his mortal lovers during the past eight hundred years had probably never reached this point, it was some small irritation to consider that she might have Janette to thank for his education in this area.  Janette had always struck her as a woman who accepted no less than the best, no matter what the circumstance.

Natalie ran her fingers through Nick's hair and smiled contentedly, luxuriating in both the pleasure instigated by his touch and the feel of him.  When the just slightly chilly fingers traced another path down her stomach, pausing in their move to draw light patterns on her skin, she merely sighed.  Almost regretfully, she realized that they should have pit some CDs on the stereo or something--a consideration for next time.

The idea that she was assuming that there would be a 'next time' broke through the haze of fulfilled desire with which her mind was clouded.  But as quickly as the thought had occurred to her, it was driven clean out of her head by the sudden, electric bolt that raced through her when Nick's wandering fingers found and began to stroke her clitoris.  She breathed in--then found she couldn't exhale as wave upon wave of ecstasy oscillated through her, short and sudden bursts of intense joy varied by long and drawn-out plateaus of contentment.

Her fingers clenched in his hair and she realized that she was moaning in complete and utter abandon, letting loose a barrage of sound that both excited and embarrassed her because she couldn't control it.  Even more distantly she realized that Nick's head had moved away from her breast, and then his mouth and tongue continued the work of his fingers, toying with and teasing her flesh until she found herself gasping for air.  When she felt one of his fingers testing her, then entering her, she lost it completely.

In college, she and a few of her dorm-mates had tired of hearing about the 'mind-shattering orgasms' promised in literally every issue of <Cosmopolitan.>  They'd done some field research of their own in this area, in the course of pursuing the male of the species, and kept accurate and specific data covering everything from food consumed, to film scores, to the location temperature, humidity, and barometric pressure (when available).  None of the participants had ever claimed to have managed one of these illusive and often promised events throughout their study, although a couple claimed to have come close.

As her eyes rolled back into her head, Natalie realized that if she hadn't found the real thing, she'd found something so similar that differences in degrees couldn't be considered within the parameters of the definition.  Her fingers clenched of their own accord and her elbows seemed to lock.  For  moment, she was simply unaware of everything, lost in a sea of nothing, where everything was light and bright and beyond comprehension.

At some point, she began to breath again.  She knew she hadn't lost consciousness, but the world seemed a little fuzzy around the edges as she realized that Nick's attentions had returned to her breasts.  He kissed her lips and Natalie opened her mouth, not wanting to waste the small amount of passion left unspent.  Even though her limbs felt weak and unwieldy, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly, kissing Nick for all she was worth.

Finally, she released him, then fell on her back, utterly and completely exhausted.  Nickpropped his head on his elbow and lay beside her, the fingers on his right hand tracing patterns on her skin again.

"Well?" he asked, leaning close to kiss and nuzzle her ear.

"Well what?"  Natalie stretched out her legs, curling and uncurling her toes, which suddenly felt very tense.  "You want a performance evaluation?"  She glanced over at him--his eyes were still blue, but tinged with gold. Mentally searching for an adjective, she reached up a hand and ran her knuckles lightly along his cheek.  "It was . . . ."

She realized then that her adjectives were gone.  "Nice," was the best she could manage.

"Nice?" asked Nick, slightly abashed.

Natalie closed her eyes and thought back.  "<Very> nice," she purred, turning on her side to face him.  She leaned forward to touch her lips to his lightly.  "If I were a general practitioner, I'm prescribe that once a day and twice on Sundays."

"Nat?"

"Hmmn?"  Her eyes were mere slits as she kissed him again.

"I think maybe it's time for--"  She opened her eyes and saw him turn his hand in the air, indicating the wrist restraints.

Her eyes opened wider as they met his--the sadness was back . . . but he was still more than a little pleased with himself.  His eyes were pure gold now, without a speck of blue to be seen.  And the pressure of his body against hers told her that he'd been as excited by what he'd done to her as she'd been.

There was something on her fingers--Natalie rubbed her thumb against her forefinger and found strands of blond hair clinging to her nails.  She ducked her head guiltily at the discovery and muttered, "Sorry," but he only laughed.

"It didn't hurt," Nick promised, with a grin.  "I never even noticed."

"Liar."  Still, she raised her hand to his cheek again, wondering if she could feel the fangs beneath the skin with even a gentle touch.  "You held control through all that--Nick, that's amazing!  You don't think you could--"

"No," he answered too quickly and too sharply for her liking.  Then he took her hand from his face and kissed her fingertips.  "I thought of you--only you.  I thought of how much I loved you, of how you made me feel.  I wanted you to feel that."  His smile disappeared and his expression turned deadly serious.  "But not this--I don't have that kind of control, Nat"

"Not <yet>," she corrected.  Pushing her way up from the bed with a slight groan--yes, those muscles definitely needed regular workouts--she paused and looked down at the robe lying on the bed beneath her.  Being naked with Nick was no longer a problem, so she slipped away from the edge of it and pushed it off the bed.  Then she looked back at Nick.

He was still lying on the bed, watching her.  Only then, seeing him at what should be a state of 'rest,' did she realize what his self-control was costing him.  His shoulders practically shook with the effort and one fist was clenched so tightly she could swear that the red dots on his palm were cuts from his fingernails.  She'd thought to ask him if he wanted to go through with this, but knew now that he really had no choice.

And neither did she.

Leaning down to slap his thigh--and a nice thigh it was--she ordered, "Swing around this way."

Nick slid easily on the sheets, once she removed the coverlet (she wondered just how much damage they'd do to his silk sheets, then decided against mentioning it).  He sat up, then bent forward as she pulled the leg cuff chains onto the bed.  The chains clanked against one another, the sound eerie and disquieting.  It made her feel suddenly conscious of her nakedness and she glanced down at the robe on the floor, then decided against it as Nick fastened one of the padded cuffs on his left ankle.  It wouldn't be fair, now that she thought about it, if she had a robe to cling to for psychological covering and he was chained naked and defenseless to the bed.

Although the thought did stir some prurient interest, which surprised her somewhat.

Natalie stood back as Nick finished fastening the second cuff to his leg.  He shook his foot slightly as if to test it, then gave a grim nod of satisfaction before he laid back down on the black silk sheet.  Natalie finally sat down on the bed beside him while he fastened the left cuff on his wrist.  His legs had been chained slightly apart, but they'd drawn the chains tight, so that he couldn't move them enough to trap and hold her between them.  His arms were held straight out from his body at shoulder level, the wrist chains drawn as tightly as the ankles to prevent movement or leverage, the thought being that if he got even one hand out of the shackle, she'd manage to get far enough away to find some safety before he either regained control, wore himself out . . . or broke free.

When the left cuff was finished, he fell back against the bed almost wearily--his eyes were completely blue without a trace of gold.  "I'm going to need your help with the collar--"

Natalie bit her lip, hesitating.  They'd hoped he'd be able to secure the collar by himself, both of them trusting his ability to turn and fasten the bolt more tightly than she'd be able to manage with an electric screwdriver.  It was the one thing they hadn't tested and absolutely imperative for her safety--the collar would pin Nick's head and chest down, so that he couldn't bite her, even by accident.

Trying to make light of it, she smiled and threaded her fingers through his, before stretching out his right arm to its length and securing the bolt on the cuff.  It rattled behind her when Nick tested it and she ignored the sound in favor of concentrating on the clasp at the collar.  The bolt slipped into place perfectly.  While she was leaning over him, Nick made a sudden move toward her, which set the chains rattling.  She froze--

He could raise his head from the bed a mere inch to two inches at best.  The rest of his body was firmly and securely pinned in place.  It worked.

Natalie was sitting against his ribs.  She leaned down and kissed him gently, carefully, whispering, "All right?"

She had a reason to be concerned; there were some men who simply couldn't perform in any position other than the classic missionary position.  Sometimes, it was a matter of control.  Even if she'd only been joking about performance anxiety earlier, it was a real possibility.  Nick was, at the base of everything, a <male> vampire.  There were a number of mental games people played with themselves, one of which was their conception of their own sexual prowess.  Technique and experience often played a part in confidence, but Nick's movement was so restricted that what he <could> do was limited and she had no idea how much experience he'd had in letting a woman have the dominant role during intercourse.

"Okay," he admitted, after a pause.  But there was a twinkle in his eyes as he added, "You know, if you walk out right now, I'll never speak to you again."

"Oh yeah?"  Natalie straightened, then reached out a hand to brush back his hair.  "And what would you tell the cleaning people when they found you chained up like this?"

"That it's physical therapy."

She chuckled, then leaned down and kissed him again, murmuring, "Damn <right> it is.  And don't you forget it."

His lips were slightly cold as she nibbled on them--still safe without his fangs present or any sign of gold in his eyes.  She tried to ignore the sudden terror that struck her at the thought that she was in complete and total control of the situation.  God, and she'd been worrying about <his> performance anxiety!

And with regard to worrying . . . .

Natalie bent down, whispered, "Be right back," then slipped off the bed and padded across the room to the chair where she'd left her sweats.

"Nat?" asked Nick, managing to contain all but the slightest tremor in his voice, although she heard a chain rattle as he involuntarily shifted and tried to free himself.

"It's okay.  Just taking care of something."  She searched the pants pockets of the sweats frantically and was on the verge of panic where she found the tiny foil packet hidden in a fold.  With a sigh, she walked back to the bed and sat down, holding the packet up so that Nick could see it.  "Former Girl Guide," she announced.  "I think the motto was 'Be prepared.'"

"If the Girl Guides could see you now . . . ."

She merely smiled and ripped open the packet.

"Um, Nat . . . I told you, I can't <have> children."

Natalie held the little circlet between her thumb and forefinger, discarding the package over her shoulder.  "That's not quite true.  We know you can't make a female <vampire> pregnant.  As far as a mortal woman . . . I think it's pretty safe to assume that any woman who's made it this far with you didn't make it much farther, so we only have hearsay on that score.  Besides, you want to be mortal some day, right?  When you do, we want you to start out with some good habits in place."

Nick didn't seem at all convinced, but as Natalie turned in place and concentrated on his body from the waist down, she reminded herself that this was for his good, as well as her own.  She <did> have a secret, momentary thought about what it would be like to make love to Nick for the first time without a condom between them . . . then decided that she had to teach him <some> form of responsibility.  The last thing she wanted was to send out a newly mortal, sexually active former male vampire into the world without an understanding that the life he saved could be his own.  Besides, right now the extra lubrication might not be a bad idea, considering.

His erection had softened considerably since their last bout at foreplay . . . for which she blamed the restraints, or at least the way they were forced to employ them.  She'd have to give some serious thought to making the restraints more of a turn-on until he gained more control, without addicting Nick to S & M or fetishist tendencies.  She moved her hand toward his cock and heard the chain from his collar move--Nick couldn't see what she was doing and that was probably making him more than a little nervous.

Natalie shifted her position, one leg folded beneath her, the other hanging off the bed, so that he would feel that she wasn't trying to block his view--not that he could raise his head enough to see anything.  Next time--and she was beginning to expect that there <would> be a next time--she'd have him put on the condom himself, before they got to this point.

Experimentally, Natalie ran her finger lightly along the length of his cock and Nick's entire body shuddered.  She placed her fist around the base, careful not to pull out his pubic hair, at least, and moved her hand upward slowly, in a stroking motion.  "Do you like that?"

He groaned in response, a low sound coming from deep within his chest.  "We'll take that as a yes," she said lightly, then repeated the movement, this time with a bit more speed and pressure.  With each stroke, she could feel his penis expanding, becoming more erect.  It wasn't long before she felt comfortable enough with the size and fullness of the erection to put on the condom.  Placing the small latex circle just to one side of the tip of his penis, she slipped it down with a firm, even pressure.

When she looked up, Nick was staring at the ceiling, his eyes gold.  On her hands and knees, she made her way up the bed, then lay against him, partially atop his chest, daring a few last kisses.  He'd been holding back since the near-disaster in the shower and now she was suddenly faced with the full force of his passion.  He bit and nipped at the edges of her lips and mouth, his tongue exploring hers almost in desperation.  She found herself having to come up for air a few times, but quickly plunged back into the fray, kissing and nibbling, exciting herself all over again.  But, she decided, it was Nick's turn.  What he'd done for her, she'd do for him, to the best of her abilities.

She started kissing lightly down his neck, but changed that tactic quickly when every chain on him rattled--she'd forgotten that the major vampiric erogenous zone was something to be avoided under these circumstances.  For the moment, Natalie settled for his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, caressing as if mapping out the locations of chest hair.  She ran her fingers lightly over one of his nipples and when he closed his eyes and groaned again in response, leaned down to taste it.  His skin still tasted clean and sweet from the shower, even despite their earlier foreplay.  She tweaked one nipple while lightly biting the other, sneaking careful glances at his face to discover his reaction.

His jaw was clenched tightly and his eyes were closed--she wasn't certain, at first, that he was enjoying her attentions.  But then she realized that even now he was attempting to stay in control, trying to keep the vampire at bay.  Which she didn't entirely mind . . . but a part of her wished that she felt safe enough to tell him to forget it, that the chains would hold and that he should relax and enjoy himself.  That wasn't the purpose of this experiment.

Not the <sole> purpose, anyway.

Leaning across him, she hugged him, pressing her body against his, letting her breasts rub against his chest.  The result was electric and her nipples hardened at the contact.  A wave of desire swept through her at having him so close, at being able to finally love him in this fashion <and> using it to work toward their goal of bringing him back across to mortality.  She wanted this to not only be a test of his will, but an affirmation of life.

That's exactly what she found his body to be--an affirmation of life.  It seemed odd, after dealing with cadavers day-in and day-out, that she was still fascinated by the body.  She pressed close enough to let him feel the heart beating in her chest, then slid down further, to the taut line of his stomach and below that.

His penis was almost completely erect.  She pressed her lips lightly to the tip of the condom, while she reached down between his spread legs and cupped his scrotum.  Running her fingernails lightly along the sensitive flesh caused him to gasp aloud . . . which ended in what sounded like a snarl.

The sudden change of tone made her heart skip a beat, but setting her fears aside, Natalie returned to the task at hand.  Making a circle with her fingers, she ran her fist up and down his shaft again, careful not to dislodge the condom--having no idea what might set him off, it was better not to take any chances.  This time, the snarl didn't scare her as quickly and she grew comfortable with the thought that she'd gotten a better idea of the actual size of him.

Climbing up toward the top of the bed, Natalie swung her leg over Nick's chest, facing him.  She moved back slowly and carefully until she felt his penis bump up against her buttocks--something else that made him groan.  He was almost panting now, his breathing far quicker and more shallow than she'd ever heard before.

She wasn't certain that she was ready for him.  There might be enough natural lubrication left from his earlier attention to her, but she still wasn't sure.  She raised herself slightly, then seated herself behind his erection.  His eyes were closed, his jaw was clenched, and even his fingers were curled tightly into fists.  The muscles in his legs were unnaturally tight, which she found as she ran her hands over them.  It didn't matter if she was ready, <he> was ready, and he probably couldn't stand this for much longer.

Kneeling over him, Natalie placed her hand at the base of his shaft and guided the very tip of him inside her.  Nick muttered something--she couldn't quite hear, but thought it might be French, before biting down on his lip.  She was astonished by the sight of the trickle of blood running down the side of his mouth, then further surprised when his body slammed up into her, burying himself within her in one, sudden motion.  She shuddered at the invasion and her leg muscles seemed to melt beneath her, so that she fell heavily down upon him.

His size, thankfully, was not a problem--they fit together beautifully.  She held him inside her for an instant, regaining control of her leg muscles and settling her body against his, finding the best way to accommodate him.  After that initial push, which had jarred her senses, she found that she was lubricated enough to slide up and down the length of him easily.  Hands on his abdomen, she began to ride him, shudders coursing through her body as she moved from holding only the very tip of him inside her, to plunging down the length of him and encasing him again.  She kept the pace slow at first, fighting for her own form of concentration as she moved up and down.  Before she quite realized what had happened, her body took over control of the pace, slow and then fast, a long, languid thrust followed by several short, sharp ones.

Natalie thought she heard him call her name and more than once, but she couldn't be certain.  Her concentration was on the ball of fire growing within her.  With each thrust it flared brighter and hotter, scorching her lungs and soul with such delight that she was certain that it couldn't grow any stronger . . . and then it did.  She was saying something, screaming something.  


Nick's body stilled beneath her and then jerked upward with such fierceness that his thrust carried her with him.  His muscles shuddered beneath his skin and she felt his release.  That was the one thing she needed to send her over the top, where she drowned in an orgasm that moved through her, centering at their joining and rippling through her body from there.  Not just once, but three times she felt that shudder travel through her, dowsing her senses like a candle, leaving her oblivious to anything but the tingling within her.  She fell forward onto Nick, her arms wrapping around his chest as she rode out the overpowering sensations with such delight that she thought she might cry from a combination of exhaustion and joy.

The last of their shouts echoed in the room and stillness fell.  Natalie lay panting against Nick's chest and she heard his heart beat twice, far faster than should have been the case.  She lifted her head, wanting to see his eyes blue, wanting to kiss him and free him so that he could wrap his strong arms around her, taking her into his embrace as securely as she had just taken him.

Nick's eyes were closed, as was his mouth, his fingers still clenched into fists.  Natalie propped herself up on his chest and touched a hand to his cheek, smiling.  "Nick?"

His eyes, when they shot open, were red . . . even unseeing for an instant.  He snarled at her and she stifled a shriek when she found herself faced with fangs.  "Let me up," he hissed hoarsely.  His head fell back against the pillow, the collar still holding.  "Nat--let me up.  I can't--I can't!"

For an instant, she didn't know what to do.  His panic was real, not feigned--she'd stake her life on it.  Which was precisely what she'd be doing if she released him and he attacked her.  When he rattled the chains and began to thrash around in a mindless attempt to free himself, she knew she didn't have a choice.

Scrambling to the bottom of the bed, she undid the bolts on the ankle cuffs first.  Her fingers were sweaty and the bolts were new and hard to move, but she managed to undo them.  Leaning over him, she managed to unfasten the bolt on his right wrist cuff--

Then found herself unceremoniously thrown off the bed and to the floor as he unbolted the left cuff, then the collar around his neck.  The whole process took less than a minute and Natalie barely had a chance to scramble away before Nick moved past her, grabbing his bathrobe around him and becoming a blur.

Sitting there, bare-assed, alone, and cold was about all she could manage for the first few seconds.  The afterglow still hadn't left her and she was as stunned by the passion they'd shared as she was to Nick's reaction to the experience.  Tears welled in her eyes and she brought her knees up to her body, clutching at her discarded terrycloth bathrobe and draping it over herself for warmth.

Common sense pleaded with, then screamed at her to get her butt out of there, but she wasn't paying much attention to common sense.  If fact, if she'd listened to common sense in the first place, she wouldn't be in this mess.  But it was too late now for recrimination.  She had to find out what had gone wrong, what <she'd> done wrong . . . and how she could set it right again.

Natalie let out a weary groan as she pushed herself up off the floor, then shrugged into the terrycloth bathrobe.  For a moment she simply stood there, getting her bearings and letting her muscles remember what gravity was for.  She'd certainly gotten a workout; she made a mental note to remember this feeling the next time she was tempted to join a gym that she'd never have any time to go to--this was a lot more satisfying and cheaper in some ways.

But <only> in some ways.  Leaving the bedroom, she wandered out to the railing and looked down over the first floor, wondering where Nick might have gone and if she dared to face him, considering the state in which she'd last seen him.

The first thing she spotted was an empty green bottle discarded on the floor by the refrigerator.  She could see his back; Nick was sitting with one arm on the table, his head resting on it, and a half-filled bottle of cow's blood just within reach of the other hand.  Natalie walked slowly down the staircase, waiting for some sign of life, some movement or acknowledgment of her presence . . . but there was nothing.

Fear flitted through her before she quashed it and set her resolve--she was responsible for this.  And if Nick had completely lost control, she would have been dead already.  She drew close to him, ruffling his still damp hair lightly.  "Nick?"

He moved his head a little, but didn't answer her.  Swallowing, she stepped closer, her right hand still resting in his hair, not certain at all about what to or what to say, other than, "I'm sorry.  I should never have--"

Nick lifted his head then and turned in the chair to look at her.  His eyes were blue, not gold, and there were bids of red flaking from the corners, as if he'd shed a few tears.  He took her right hand and pressed her knuckles to his lips, kissing them fervently.  "No--don't be.  You've got nothing to be sorry about.  It's my fault.  I couldn't control it.  It was too strong, I couldn't get a handle on it.  And then, the chains . . . ."

A sudden cold spot appeared in the pit of her stomach as he looked away, the odd break in his voice making her afraid.  "Nick, what <about> the chains?"

His eyes were distant, focused elsewhere--she realized that that he was caught up in his memories.  "It was while I was on Crusade--afterward, really, on my way home.  I was captured and held for ransom.  I spent almost a year of my life in chains."

"You've never mentioned it--"

"I'd forgotten about it."  He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with the tips of his fingers.   "Until the end--it all came back to me.  I--Nat, I panicked.  You shouldn't have released me.  God knows what I could have done to you . . . ."

A year.  Of his life.  In chains.

What had she done?  Natalie took a deep breath, remembering her warning to him earlier, that they'd face things in this that they never really thought about.  This however, was completely unexpected.  She gently pulled her hand from his and leaned close to him, circling his neck with her arms and hugging him tightly, as if she could protect him from the memories.  "I'm sorry.  I never thought . . . I didn't know."

"How could you?"  He freed himself from her grasp and took her hands in his, looking up at her intently.  "Like I said, I'd forgotten all about it.  That's what triggered the panic, I think.  And . . . I needed the blood.  I <needed> it."

She licked her lips lightly as she stared at him, wondering how he could be so understanding, so <calm> about it.  "It's my fault--I should have addressed the blood issue earlier.  My God, what am I saying?  I should never have gotten you into this at all--"

Natalie started to pull away from him, but he held her hands tightly in his own, refusing to release her.  "Come here," he said softly, drawing her into his lap.

She resisted for a moment, but gathered her robe together and sat down on him, resting her head on his shoulder.  Nick's hand moved to cradle her head, his fingers tangling in and toying with her hair.  He leaned his lips toward hers, hesitating before kissing her, searching out her eyes as if in permission.

Natalie closed her eyes as his lips touched hers, then opened her mouth slightly.  He began tentatively, carefully and all the tension within her dissolved at the feeling of safety and warmth that flooded through her, cradled in his arms and, for an instant, the center of his universe.  <This> was what she'd been denied when he'd run from the room, this emotional maintenance.

Her head rested against his shoulder and she sighed.  "I needed that."

"I thought you might."  He planted a kiss on her forehead and gazed down at her fondly.  "Well . . . what's the verdict?  How'd we do?"

"The chains held, so I got that bit right, at least, although if I'd known--"

"Not <that>," scolded Nick lightly,  He nodded toward the upper floor, adding, "the <other>."

"Oh.  <That.>"  Natalie shifted, adjusting her position in his lap.  Even through his bathrobe and her terrycloth robe, she was very aware of his continuing interest in her.  "I expect to be sore for a day or two--"

Nick's eyes clouded and he touched her face gently with the back of his hand.  "If I hurt you--"

"<Hurt> me?"  Her eyes widened and she smiled.  "No, I'm about as 'unhurt' as I could be.  Just not used to that much exercise, I guess.  A long soak in a hot tub should take care of it."  She touched the tip of his nose with her finger when she saw the sudden relief in his eyes.  "You . . . surprised me.  In a good way," she amended quickly, when his eyes threatened to cloud over again.  "I didn't expect you to be so strong.  And I can't believe you were able to keep the vampire in check for so long."

"I think--"  He hesitated, looking away for a moment, then back to her.  "I think I know a little bit more about my limits.  What's safe . . . and what's not."

"Ummmm."  Lowering her head to rest against his neck, Natalie sighed.  "I just wish you'd been able to enjoy it more."

He placed his fingers beneath her chin, so that she'd move enough to meet his eyes.  "And you think I <didn't>?" he asked, incredulous.

There was joy, utter delight in his expression . . . and Natalie finally began to realize exactly how much their encounter had meant to him.  She'd hoped to heal some part of him that was broken and wounded and, at that instant, she realized that she might just have succeeded on that score.  "Well," she said slowly, pretending thoughtfulness, "I do remember you yelling something in--I guess it was French."

"I wasn't the only one screaming--"

"<Not> screaming," she denied, somewhat abashed.

"<Screaming,>" he repeated, eyes sparkling.  "I don't seem to remember anything coherent--I was sort of busy at the time--but I'm <very> glad that I don't have any neighbors to speak of."

"We'll see who screams next time," she teased.

The words slipped out before she realized what she was saying.  Nick's smile faded, his expression becoming very serious as he lifted her hand to his lips.  "Next time?"

Very deliberately, he began sucking on her knuckles.  It sent shivers through her, but she tried to appear collected and unaffected.  "I mean, if there <is> a next time.  That is, if you want-"

"I want <you>" he whispered, dropping her hand in favor of her lips, as he cradled her in his arms and kissed her gently.  "I want you, whenever and wherever you're willing to have me."

"Within reason," she amended, as they parted.

"To hell with reason--"  His comment was a growl and he leaned into the kiss, passionate and forceful.  It all but sucked the air out of her lungs and when they finally parted, she was gasping . . . but more than ready to go back for round two.

Until she saw that his eyes were gold.  Natalie raised a finger to his lips and said shakily, "That's enough for now.  You've been a busy boy.  And I, for one, have a very mortal constitution."

He lowered his gaze and closed his eyes--when he looked back at her, his eyes had returned to their normal color and the momentary defeat in his gaze was replaced by hope.  "When?" he asked eagerly.

Natalie thought quickly, making a mental match of what she knew of their schedules.  "Next Tuesday?"

"Too far away.  Tomorrow."

"<Not> tomorrow.  We've both got work and I'm on the afternoon shift.  And I'm <not> meeting you here for your dinner break," she added, cutting off his reply before it could form.  Taking his hands in her own, she wrapped her fingers tightly around his.  "Nick, we've got to take this slowly.  We have to be careful; we both know that.  I want to work with you on this, set up parameters, set up goals for control . . .  and--" she finally looked up, meeting his eyes, "I want it to <mean> something.  I want this to be special."

"You're right."  He smiled and squeezed her hand.  "It's just that--it's so impossible.  We've found a way.  I <can> love you, Nat.  I <do> love you."

He was too happy, but she wasn't about to spoil it for him.  Right off the top of her head she could name two dozen reasons why this would be a bad thing, and the first six all began with 'LaCroix.'  But to stomp on his joy now would be like stealing a toy from a child at Christmas.

She forced a smile, echoing his sentiment and, as they kissed again, she decided not to burden him with the downside.  For the moment, she could share his joy and pretend that all the barriers had fallen, that they <could> love one another, that it wasn't a dream.

And she wouldn't have to pretend that hard, because she had the bruises to prove it.

The End
__________
=0D
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