_____________________ _____________________ Kissing You By Lisa Clevenger Explicit pairing of Tracy/Vachon (f/m) Light Drama Disclaimers and such: Feel free to archive, but ask me first. This is for the Vaqueras. My thanks to my Beta readers. All comments can be directed to . I don't own the charaters Tristar and Parriot do, and I promise to put them back when I'm done. Sukh ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Kissing You By Lisa Clevenger "See you in hell, Sailor." Vachon saluted his friend, taking a long swig of the liberated bottle of LaCroix's private stock. He stood and looked over the Screed's grave, took another drink, and then poured the rest of the bloodwine into the dark Toronto soil. The thirsty ground soaked in the red fluid, eager for any liquid. Starving, like Screed, desperate for sustenance. Vachon closed his eyes; exhaustion nipped at him, weakness still weak after his near death still lingering. Too bad Screed hadn't lasted a little longer. "So close buddy, so close," he whispered as he crouched over the new grave. At least Tracy wasn't burying him too. If he'd only known, he wouldn't be standing over his compadres grave. Guilt was eating at him, hammering through his brain. Should've, could've, it was all too late now. If onlys couldn't bring Screed back. He left, walking, not going anywhere, trying to outrun the memories of four hundred years of running as a crew. The memories nearly drowned him, bits and pieces of places and the taste of so many different women. Bourbon was gone, had been for a long while before the fever, right after Vachon had told the crew to go their own ways. Screed hadn't always eaten rats; Screed had been more than willing to indulge in a voluptuous bar maid or two. Somehow, he ended up at Tracy's door. Sweet Tracy Vetter, with all her innocent allure. All he wanted was another taste of her lips, another whiff of that floral shampoo. A warm comforting body to lose himself in, to dull the agony of burying his closest friend. A chance to start what almost never was. He slipped into her apartment, silent, intent on surprising her. Knight had said she had booked off for the evening, claiming to be with a sick friend. She lay on her bed, curled into a tight ball; he could smell the residue of tears where they had soaked into the sheets and the pillowcase. Tears for him, tears for Screed. He reached out and touched her moon gilded hair, the silky strands slipping through his fingers. She stirred and sighed in her sleep, settling closer to his caress. He should just leave; all he needed to do was hop a plane for the States. He'd almost done it once, but she had needed him to get her out of a jam he had put her in just by being in Toronto. Well, now he was the one in a jam. He cared for her, this innocent fragile mortal. How and why Vachon wasn't sure, but he needed to be with her tonight. Then he could run, at least for a little while. Leave for her safety, to give him time to grieve for Screed. After all, vampires and mortals mixed like oil and water. "Tracy?" he breathed as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to one soft cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, still foggy with sleep. "Vachon?" she whispered blinking, astonishment and joy dawning in her china blue eyes. "I thought you--" "Screed's gone." Vachon wanted to weep at the words, the pain on Tracy's face. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she feathered her palm over his hair in a comforting gesture. "We found a cure." He touched her face with the back of his hand, then cupped her chin. "Screed was to far gone though." Tracy smiled, and Vachon could swear he saw the sun. "You're here, that's all I need for now." She reached out and touched one trembling hand to his always-scruffy face. He leaned into her hand, closing his eyes and bestowing a gentle kiss to her palm. She was a balm on his battered emotions. He kissed her hand again, lingering, enjoying the warmth of her skin and the unique scent of her. She was Apricots, Calla lilies and soft musky female. He trailed kisses up her slender arm, following the path of her beckoning pulse, tasting the fruity flesh. The thick, intoxicating throb of her blood whispered under his lips and tongue. "Ahh Trace," he sighed as he kissed her neck; tenderness heated, flaming into hot need. She arched into his touch, her hands clenching into his long hair with a soft whimper of surrender. He sought her mouth, kissed her silky lips, possessing her in a desperate, rough need. She opened to him, accepting, searching and finding his tongue and teasing him to go further. One hand cupped the back of her neck, threading through Tracy's short hair, tugging her head back as his mouth dueled with hers. The other hand roamed up her side, across her slender waist, and found one taut breast. He cupped it in his hand; marveling at how perfectly it fit, his thumb skimming the hardened nub of her nipple. She arched and gasped into his mouth, and he broke off the kiss with a smile. "You like that," Vachon growled as he looked down into her face. Passion softened her features, her lips swollen from his kisses. He flicked his thumb over her breast again; she arched in his arms and moaned. "I'll take that as a yes." He leaned over and kissed the small valley her nightshirt revealed, then ran his tongue over the puckered nipple, through the cotton. She bowed and shuddered, then started to claw at his jacket. "Take it off," she demanded as he shrugged out of the leather coat. She ran her warm hands under his shirt, tangling her fingers in the hair on his chest. He closed his eyes and soaked in the heat of her hands, needing the healing, the gentle, questing touch Tracy offered. He was burning, but not with fever; he was hot with need for Tracy. He pushed her hands away. "My turn." He swept off her gown, leaving her in white cotton panties. Then he stripped off his shirt and pulled her against him, kissing her again, reveling in the heat of her, the hot pounding of her rapid pulse. Her nipples burned like a brand, turning him harder than steel. He straddled her, then sat back, bringing her long legs around his waist, rubbing himself against the moist spot on her panties. He needed to bury himself in her, to lose his sorrow in her. She could wash away his pain with her body, the taste and scent of her cleansing blood. He could smell her readiness; the ripe scent of need permeated his senses. He pressed his mouth to her arched neck, his tongue feeling the blood running just under the skin, tracing the frantic path of her pulse. He could almost taste her, the soft give of her sweet flesh, and then the first hot flood of her life, her peak as he drank. His incisors lengthened, and he scraped them lightly down her neck. She froze for a split second, then undulated in his arms, her hands seeking his belt buckle. "I want you inside me," she whispered, and he was gloriously naked for her in record time. "Tracy, I don't want to hurt you." He felt the blood lust coming to the surface, twining with his arousal in a molten rush. "You won't." She looked into his eyes, smiling as she rubbed herself against his erection. "I want you to taste me." She kissed his throat, her tongue a moist fiery trail across his neck. "I want you to do whatever you want." Then she nipped him, and his world burst into flames. "I want to know it all." Everything receded at the feel of her even teeth at his nape. Nothing mattered anymore but the driving pleasure of Tracy. "Trace." He laid one hand on her quivering stomach, then slid it down under the band of her panties, seeking her moist folds. "Ah Trace, you're so hot." He touched her clit, and she clamped down on his nape, a bolt of pleasure/pain jolted through him. He sought her mouth, kissing her, stroking her, seeking the trembling of her excitement as it trembled through her heating blood. She curled her tongue around his fangs; carnal sensation drove him higher as he dipped one finger into her wetness, mimicking the way her tongue caressed his fangs. He needed to be inside her, feeling her surrounding him with her warmth. He pulled off her panties. "I need you now Trace," he slid her down his body and spread his knees as he slid into her slick depths. Her legs tightened around his waist; silken prisons that he had no urge to escape. He held still as she pumped her hips against him, pulling him in and out of her incredible heat. Each stroke banishing the pain, the loneliness of the hundreds of years of running, the torment of his closest friends dying in his arms. He opened his eyes and watched the blood riding to the surface of her golden skin, the fine sheen of sweat dewing her ripe flesh. One small drop of moisture gathered, trailing down between her breasts and he leaned in to lap it up. His tongue rested for a moment on the spot, wanting to taste the scarlet rush under his tongue. He moved up, seeking her neck, wanting a brief sample of her essence, of her climax. "I trust you," the soft whisper in his ear snapped the last thread of his blood hunger. His mouth closed over her throat, the delicate curve where the shoulder met the neck, and he bit down, exploding, falling over the edge of pleasure, her orgasm filling him, nourishing him as he sampled her blood. All the weariness slid away, all the anger, the guilt in one shining exquisite moment of pleasure. He pulled out of her as her climaxes rippled away and tumbled down into the pillows. "Well, that was worth waiting for," she giggled as he kissed her nose. He looked at her and smiled, "You think?" "Yes," She stroked his chest. "But I want more." He reached out and touched the love bite. "One more time, Trace." He could taste the fruit of her once more without her losing too much blood. Lose himself in her once more. She gave him a fake pout. "Is that all I get?" He laughed. It felt so good to laugh. "Tonight Trace, only for tonight." Vachon ended up making love to Tracy twice more that night. Near dawn he looked at the relaxed, sleeping figure of Tracy, and knew he wasn't going to get to he church on time. "Trace?" He shook her gently, and she rolled into his arms with a small smile. "Again?" He grinned at her. "The dawn is coming. I need some aluminum foil." "How kinky." She ran her hand through her blonde hair, then stretched like a cat. He watched her breasts bob as her back arched and he reached out to cover the tempting pink nipple with one hand. She purred, and trembled as her rubbed his thumb over the pouting tip. "So exactly what do you do with the foil?" she laughed as he pulled her against him. "Just find the foil for me and I'll show you." He released her, watching her pert butt as she sashayed out of the room. A few minutes later she returned a package of foil in one hand, a half-drained glass of orange juice in the other. She saluted him and polished off the juice "I needed that." He took the foil and covered the window of her room with it, blocking out as much of the soon to rise sun as possible. Then he turned to find her gone. "Trace?" He heard the shower turn on and smiled. The end