Title: Up on the Roof (Reconciliation/chapter 2) © 2001

Author: Mom-Ra

Fandom: Forever Knight

Pairing: Nick/Vachon

Rating: R - Sex and bloodshed

Status: WIP Series sequel, This is the second story in a series called "Reconciliation"

Summary: Nick and Vachon get to know one another better. Later that evening, LaCroix stops by Nick's place to Have a Talk with him.

NOTE: Contains character introductions, written mainly for some friends unfamiliar with Forever Knight.

As far as I know, there is no literal translation for cabrón. It's an all-purpose invective; like dickwad or fuckface.

Permission to archive in WWOMB and Battlefields of Slash is hereby given, all others please ask first.

Undying gratitude to Beta Mistress Lydie for her support and encouragement!

Disclaimer: All charachters from Forever Knight belong to Sony/Tristar and were created by Barney Cohen and James Parriot. I'm just letting them out to play.

Reconciliation 2:Up on the Roof
by Mom-Ra

Javier Vachon walked into the lounge of the Raven, a popular Toronto nightspot which catered to a very special clientele. Vachon, like many of the other patrons in the club, was a vampire. Although he looked to be just twenty-six or so, he had been born during the early part of the sixteenth century. He'd come from a small village which had long ago become a suburb of Barcelona.

Graceful and slightly built, he stood about five-foot ten. Black, wavy hair tumbled to his shoulders, cut into short spiked bangs around his face. He had tried for that black-leather biker look, complete with motorcycle jacket and fingerless gloves, but he looked more like a cross between one of Botticelli's angels and a rough-trade boy-toy. He had full, pouty lips and a sweet, childlike face, despite his deliberate five-o'clock shadow.

He paused in the doorway, looking around to see who was there. Just the usual week night crowd; vamps, wannabes, mortals, fledglings and tourists. All of them dancing, drinking, or trying to get picked up. Looking past the packed dance floor, he spotted his friend Nick sitting alone at the bar.

Nick and Vachon had gone from mutual animosity and distrust to a grudging respect that had eventually deepened into friendship. It was hard not to like Vachon; his quick wit and easy smile made him a favorite among the younger members of the vampire Community. Nick, on the other hand, had made himself something of an outcast, but Vachon could emphathize with his loneliness and frequently sought him out.

Nick had earned the scorn of the Community when he began not only living among mortals, but by trying to become one, as well.

Sickened by his own bloodthirsty nature, he was convinced if he could regain his mortality, perhaps he would have a chance at forgiveness and redemption. He anguished over the pain he had caused others and he mourned the countless people he'd slain to abate his monstrous
hunger. He had attempted to atone for his crimes, by using his special knowledge and skills to help people. For his pennance, he denined himself the pleasures and company of his own kind.

Lately, he was finding himself slowly drawn back to the Community. More often than not, he had been spending his nights at the Raven, rather than sequestered at home with his shame and guilt.
In his present incarnation, Nick was Detective Knight, a Metro police officer in the 96th precinct's homicide division. He'd recently been assigned another partner; Tracy Vetter, the police commissioner's only daughter. She and Vachon had become close friends, despite Nick's protests and warnings. Not that he had anything against Vachon, but Tracy was a Resister, which meant she couldn't be subdued to a vampire's will.

When she had found out quite by accident what Vachon was, he couldn't hypnotize her into forgetting what she'd seen. She had learned that vampires, real vampires, co-existed with humans; forming a separate, yet parallel society. What she didn't know, to Vachon's everlasting amusement, was that her own partner was also a vampire.

Although both men thought life would be slightly less complicated if Tracy was let in on Nick's little secret, the knowledge might endanger her. As long as she was kept in the dark, she would be reasonably safe from the Enforcers.

Vachon sat down next to Nick and signaled to the bartender. "Hey, Nick. How's it goin'?" he said, sounding like any other North American, without the blurred consonants of his natal Castilian accent. "Boy, I could sure use a beer." He got no response to his pleasantries, so he thumped Nick on the shoulder, startling him out of his reverie. "If you want to be left alone, I'll take my
business elsewhere."

"Sorry, I was just-"

"Living in your own private Idaho?"

"What?"

"Never mind." Vachon picked up his beer and slid the other one toward Nick. "Here. I bought you a drink." Nick looked skeptically at the dark bottle. Vachon made an exasperated sound. "Oh, go ahead, have a beer. It won't kill you." The beer they were drinking was actually blood diluted with beer, the alcohol added primarily as a stabilizer.

Toying with the bottle, Vachon asked carelessly, "So ... how was everything at work tonight?"

Nick made a noncommittal shrug, "Oh, you know ... it was okay. No one tried to shoot me, or anything."

"That's good. And ... uh, how's Tracy?"

Nick grumbled at Vachon, which did nothing to deter him.

"Nick, I swear, I'll be careful with her. Promise."

"Just make sure, Vachon. Nothing happens to her, get it?"

"Yes, dear." Vachon gave Nick a very nasty smile.

Nick was formulating a retort, when he saw a pair of young vampires approaching; a boy with a girl trailing in his wake. Young in every sense, because they were barely old enough to be in the bar and they were fledglings; brand-new vampires, brought into darkness seemingly moments ago. They didn't look much different than the other, mortal boys and girls in the club, with their stiff, multi-colored hair and body jewelry. But they broadcast a supersensory energy, perceptible to others of their kind. They boy's energetic signal carried his arrogance and uncertainty. The girl was sulky and unassertive. Nick was appalled to realize she was the boy's vampire-child.

The boy leaned in, next to Vachon. "Beat it. We were sitting here."

Vachon smiled, showing his teeth. "Well, now we're sitting here."

As he turned back towards Nick, the boy grabbed his shoulder and hissed at him, drawing his lips back.

Vachon stifled an impulse to laugh. "Your mouthwash ain't makin' it." he said. The fledgling grew more menacing and Vachon laughed outright. "Okay, okay ... don't get your knickers in a twist, Junior. We were just leaving." He nodded to the girl and helped her onto the barstool with exaggerated courtesy.

The older vampires went to a vacant table on the other side of the dance floor. Vachon shook his head. "Sheesh. Who pissed in his coffin?" Nick kept looking back at the fledglings. Vachon followed his gaze, then rolled his eyes. "Aww, forget him, Nick. He's just a kid."

"Fledglings bringing their friends across." Nick was thoroughly disgusted.

Vachon made a face and in a rich, assumed voice, said, "Yes. Quite dreadful. In our time, it just wasn't done."

"You know that's not what I meant." Nick reined in his irritation and gesturing towards the kids, said, "They're dangerous, they have no idea of what they're doing. That boy had no business challenging you. Did he think he could reveal himself in front of all these mortals?"

"Relax, Nick. Guys like that aren't much of a problem." Vachon waved a hand, as if shooing the fledglings away, then leaned his elbows on the table, amused by Nick's annoyance. "The way I see it, one of these nights, he'll do something really stupid, and-" he snapped his fingers, "he's history. Or, if he becomes too much of a nuisance, the Enforcers are always nearby. Either way, problem solved." he smiled at Nick, "Or, that little cabrón might actually figure it out and get with the program."

"Not in a million." laughed Nick, "I'm sure he gets all his ideas about how he's supposed to behave from television. Or movies."

"Oh, they all do, nowadays." said Vachon, "Now, you, on the other hand, despite your complete lack of social graces, seem to have been well brought up. At least you had someone who could guide you through the intricacies of our ... ahem, society."

*

The club's new owner, Lucien LaCroix, stood at the bar looking out over the dance floor. He had recently purchased the club from a woman he'd known, quite literally, for ages. LaCroix was the
one who had brought her across. Beautiful Janette, his immortal daughter. For so vampires love to refer to one another in such familial terms; father, daughter, brother.

Business was good tonight. The ratio of mortals to vampires was about four to one. While LaCroix enforced a strict `no hunting in the club' policy, he knew the imbalance would make for a rather amusing evening. He could just imagine the cat fights in the Ladies' lounge.

LaCroix picked up his wineglass and headed for the back of the club. He avoided the crowded dance floor, walking along the wall instead. He passed close to the table where Nick and Vachon sat talking. The lights from the dance floor cast colored shadows on his pale, stern face and close-cropped hair. Nick trailed off in mid-sentance when LaCroix approached their table and never took his eyes off the tall, elegant man as he walked past them towards the door of a radio sound booth.

From there LaCroix would broadcast sort of a call-in rant and rave show. Calling himself the Nightcrawler, he would torment the lonely and the lost, spewing out his own brand of philosophy and self-indulgent monologues. Nick listened frequently, even taping the show sometimes. Secretly he felt as though LaCroix, in his guise of the Nightcrawler, was saying things meant only for him, whispering to him in that deep, velvet-soft voice. Even the music he would play on the
show seemed, to Nick, to have a special significance.

LaCroix paused at the door to the booth and looked back at them, first at Vachon, then at Nick. His ice-blue eyes registered approval, amusement. He had a cold, austere beauty that when
contrasted with his extraordinary sensuality, was somehow disquieting.

*

Vachon watched LaCroix go in to the booth, then asked Nick, "What do you see in that creepy old fossil, anyway?" LaCroix was `old' only in vampire parlance. To mortal eyes, he looked fortyish, not much older than Nick, but he was ancient beyond reckoning. "I mean, what's Abuelo got, that has you eating your heart out?" Vachon asked, peeling the label off his beer bottle, glancing over his shoulder. "Nick ... he's watching us. I think I'm gonna be in big trouble."

"Don't worry about it." Nick laughed. "Besides, I thought you liked getting into trouble." Vachon leaned back in his chair and looked towards the ceiling. "I never noticed before, but you sure are cute when you laugh."

"No one likes to be told he's cute." Nick warned. Vachon feigned surprise. "Really? `Cause I like to be told I'm cute." He looked back at Nick, waiting for him to smile again. "Hey, I'm fishing for
compliments over here." he said.

"You're adorable." Nick obliged.

"You're hopless." Vachon sighed.

Just then, four women came into the club, two mortals followed by two young vampires. The vamps looked directly at Nick and Vachon and smiled. Vachon smiled back at the petite red-haired one.

"Hey, check out the talent." he said, "Let's go dance with those girls."

"You go ahead." said Nick. "I don't feel like it."

"Oh, I forgot," Vachon teased, "you only know how to dance the Minuet."

A few minutes later, Vachon returned to their table, with two glasses of the special House Red. "From the ladies." he said, setting the glasses down. The girls waved from the bar, raising their
wineglasses in salute. More fledglings, Nick thought. "This place is turning into a Kindergarten." he said bitterly. Vachon drained his glass and licked his lips. "Then, what do you say we get away from the kiddies and go someplace where we can make out."

Nick looked up quickly, "What did you say?"

Vachon reiterated, "I said, `let's go someplace where we can hang out.' Someplace quieter." They put some money on the table and Nick fumbled with his car keys. "I thought you said something else."

Vachon gave Nick a wicked grin. "Maybe I did."

They stood in the doorway of the Raven while they discussed where they could go. Vachon walked to the curb in front of the club, where Nick's turquoise convertible was parked. "Hey, let's go for a ride in your fin mobile." he suggested.

"Okay." said Nick, "Where to?"

"Someplace with a view. Can I drive?"

"In your dreams." Nick said as he slid in behind the wheel of the vintage Cadillac. He reached to turn on the radio, but Vachon beat him to the controls.

"No, I don't think so. I am not in the mood to listen to that psycho." The last thing Vachon wanted to do was ride aimlessly around town, listening to the Nightcrawler. "Let's have some music. Got a CD player, or a tape deck?"

"Just the radio."

Vachon fiddled with the controls until he tuned in an oldies station. He leaned back, singing along with the radio. He had a good voice and sang through to the end of the song. When a commercial came on, he turned down the volume and said, "Quite a few rumors going around about you and dear old Uncle."

Nick frowned at him, but declined to comment.

"Me, I've got my money on the one that says he's your sugar daddy." Vachon continued.

"I don't have a sugar daddy." Nick said distainfully.

"Well? What's the deal with you two?" Vachon pestered, "You might as well tell me, or I'll spread it all over town that you're a gigolo."

Nick broke down and smiled. "Oh, please!" he said in mock terror, "Anything but that."

He swung the car onto a side street and parked on a hill with a view of harbor lights shimmering on the dark surface of Lake Ontario. He killed the engine and leaned back, with his hands resting
lightly on the steering wheel. "LaCroix is my father." Nick began.

"Oh." said Vachon. After a pause, he ventured, "I take it you're not exactly on speaking terms. Have you been remiss in your filial duties?"

"Something like that." Nick said, looking out the side window. "We haven't been getting along too well lately." That's the understatement of the century, he thought, then turned back to face Vachon. "I want to reconcile with him, but I'm not sure he'll take me back. I did something terrible." his voice had fallen to a whisper.

"Sorry ... I didn't know." Vachon, in a rare moment of seriousness, reached over and touched Nick's hand. "Have you apologized to him?"

"It's not exactly the kind of thing one can just-"

"Have you said you're sorry?" Vachon asked, insistently.

"It's not that simple." Nick said, dodging a swat from Vachon.

"Sure it is. You just say `sorry'."

"Do you quarrel much with your maker?" Nick asked, to change the subject.

"We never got the chance." Vachon said, "She ...um, we only spent one night together. I saw her walk into the sun."

Nick couldn't even imagine what it felt like, to be so alone.

Even when he had been trying to find his own way and actively resented any interference from his master, he knew LaCroix had always been nearby to protect him, like an invisible safety net. He turned his hand over to twine his fingers with Vachon's. "You must miss her terribly."

"When I'm very still, I can feel her with me." said Vachon, touching his heart. "She'll always be right here."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, then Vachon said, "I know of this building with a rooftop garden. The view from up there is fantastic. Wanna check it out?"

"Sounds great." said Nick leaning forward to start the car. Vachon intercepted him. Nodding up at the sky, he said, "Let's just go. We can come back later for your car."

"Okay, let's go."

Together they leapt from the car, into the night.

*

The garden turned out to be nothing more than a corner of the rooftop where the building's worker bees came to take their breaks and sneak smokes. The vampires stood close together, leaning on the parapet. Behind them was a low, poured concrete garden table, flanked by a few patio chairs and a planter box full of weeds and paper coffee cups.

The view, however, was everything Vachon had said it would be. They could see the city lights and harbor spread out below them.

The stars wheeled slowly above them in the cloudless sky. They delighted in the shivery moonlight, as did all of their kind. A light wind stirred their hair, carrying a subtle flavor. Vachon
closed his eyes, to shut out any distractions and reveled in the taste borne on the breeze. Sweet, young women. "Don't you love the way they smell?" he asked softly.

"Yes." Nick edged closer to him, "I love the way they taste."

Vachon agreed. "Women are so soft." he added. "So warm, and soft."

Nick closed his eyes and said under his breath "I adore women." He turned back to the view, thinking of a particular woman; a medical examiner named Natalie Lambert, one of his dearest mortal friends. She felt certain Nick's vampirism was a medical condition, rather than a metaphysical one and something she could remedy. Nick had little faith that modern medicine could cure him, but he was game for just about anything. He'd already tried alchemy, accupuncture and magic, so he willingly participated in Natalie's experiments; gagging down vitamins, artificial plasma and other protein concoctions, even enduring painful ultra-violet light therapy.

Scientific curiosoty wasn't Natalie's sole motivation to find a cure for Nick. Natalie was in love with him and he knew it. Sometimes he used it to his advantage. Sometimes he felt guilty about
it. Nick kept most of their physical contact on a friendly, affectionate level. He knew what could happen if he gave into his slightest desire.

He cleared his throat and asked, "Have you ever kissed Tracy?"

After an uneasy pause, Vachon shrugged, "Sure. A couple of times."

"Does it frighten you?" Nick asked.

"Yeah, kind of. But I love kissing her. She tastes like," he paused and smiled. "a ripe apricot. Her mouth is so warm and sweet." Closing his eyes, he whispered, "I've tasted her blood."

"Vachon! I warned you to leave her alone. You promised she'd be safe." Nick was furious, his voice was low and cold.

Before he could advance, presumably to break his neck, Vachon stepped back, holding his hands up in a defensive manner. "Hey, whoa! Nick, nothing happened! She's okay, I swear!"

"Tell me what you've done and don't you dare lie to me." Nick glared at him. Vachon couldn't endure those eyes for very long.

He looked away and stammered, "I didn't ... I mean, I just ... she was menstruating." He stole a glance at Nick, hoping he wouldn't get socked in the jaw, but Nick was no longer thinking about bashing Vachon. He, too had been lured by women in their menses, catching the scent of their blood as they passed him in the street, or at work.

He'd never thought of such a thing and he was intrigued. He imagined this intimacy with Natalie; sating his hungering for her, drinking her moon blood.

Vachon felt Nick's anger melting away and he continued, quickly, "It wasn't the same as the blood from a woman's veins, it was primal and ... sacred." He spoke excitedly, thrilled to be able to share the experience with someone. He stepped closer to Nick and laid a hand on his arm. "It was so amazing, to connect with her like that." Vachon stopped to catch his breath and saw that Nick
was a little breathless, himself.

"Mmmmm... faire venir l'eau a la bouche." Nick sighed and fell backward onto the table, his arms stretched out, head back. It had been a long time since he'd tasted a woman's blood. Not since his
last kill, perhaps a century ago. He could still remember how she felt dying in his arms, overcome by his fatal kiss. He had loved her and had loved killing her, possessing her entirely, if only for the
time it took to drain her life away.

A luscious tightening began in the pit of his stomach, small shivers rushing deep inside him as the vampire surfaced and he decided to enjoy the sensation, for a change. He lay back, looking at
the stars, savoring the delicate scent of the women; near enough to tantalize, far away enough to be safe. Rather than roaming his hands over his body, he put them behind his head and touched the tip of his tongue to his canine teeth as they lengthened into fangs. "Vachon, I'm getting hungry."

"Me, too. I'm so hungry I could eat a whore." Vachon said, sitting on the table beside Nick. "I don't want to go back to the Raven, though."

Looking up, Nick saw Vachon's large, dark eyes now held a soft golden glow. Nick raised up onto one elbow. "I don't either. I'm not in the mood for something cold out of a glass. I want-"

Vachon smiled down at Nick, showing his own fangs. "I know what you want." he said, his voice was light and teasing. "But, now that we're all lathered up, what are we going to do?"

Nick smiled back and pushed himself up, saying, "It's hard to shake it off when it gets this far."

"Who said anything about shaking it off?" Vachon moved to kneel astride him, tangling his fingers in the dark blonde curls. At Nick's hesitation, Vachon leaned back, regarding him. "This doesn't mean we have to pick out curtains, you know." he said and ran his finger up and down Nick's shirt front, then poked him playfully in the belly.

"I know." Nick laughed, brushing his knuckles against Vachon's scratchy cheek. "Does it have to mean anything?"

"It means you and I are gonna get nice and nasty." Vachon murmured, running his tongue along Nick's ear. Gently, he closed his teeth on the wet earlobe, then licked and kissed Nick's face and mouth. He shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned Nick's shirt while he swept his tongue down his throat in slow motion, moving closer and closer to the soft, smooth skin just above his collarbone. Vachon lifted his head and kissed Nick's mouth again.

Nick wasn't quite sure what he should do. Decades of self-imposed celibacy had left him hopelessly out of practice. There had been Janette, of course, but he was used to her. He felt shy and nervous, even though Vachon was squirming in his lap, obviously hungry and hot for him. Nick could discern a whisper of the sea in the spicy evergreen of his kisses, long, sweet kisses that burned along his nerves like heat lightning.

Vachon pulled his sweater off, then slipped his hands inside Nick's shirt and rubbed his back, sneaking his fingertips into the waistband of Nick's trousers. He stroked the small of his back as he pulled out the shirt tails.

At first Nick simply mirrored his caresses, but as his confidence increased he relied on his own intuition. His hands began to move very slowly over Vachon's bare shoulders, then his chest,
descending toward his belly, learning the contours of his supple body. Guided by Vachon's moans and shivers he knew when to use feather light touches, when to tease, or increase the pressure. Nick wrapped his arms around Vachon and pulled him close, the feel of cool bare skin against his sent a shock of pleasure through him. He ran his hands along Vachon's thighs and his tight backside, massaging his whipcord muscles through the soft, worn-in denim. Their love play heated up and the hunger took them; they wanted to feed and be fed upon.

Vachon settled deeper into Nick's lap, grinding against him. Nick brushed his lips from his ear to the hollow of his throat, sensitizing the place he would bite. He eased his fangs into the large vein and cool blood filled his mouth. Nick was surprised by the depth and passion and richness of the young immortal life rushing into him as Vachon's essence filled his mind.

Vachon splayed his fingers against the side of Nick's face, pressing his thumb against the jugular spot, compelling him to lift his head. He kissed Nick's bloody mouth once, then rained quick light
kisses on his throat. Nick grabbed Vachon's hips and matched his slow thrusting, arching his neck against the teasing mouth.

"Now." he whispered, "Hurry."

"Mmmm ..." Vachon bared his fangs and lunged into him so hard, they fell back with a loud thump onto the table. Smoothing the tangled, dark mane away from his neck, Nick clamped his mouth against him again and they were bound, swept up in a flood of newly shared memories and exquisite sensations too rapid and brilliant to take in any single one.

As the vision melted into touch, Nick tasted his own blood flowing back into him and felt the shock of Vachon's crisis centering in him, triggering his own convulsions. They rolled over and over one
another, shuddering with the fierce bliss of quenched blood lust.

Gasping, Nick sat up, half lifting Vachon and buried his face in his long, soft hair. They held each other until their trembling subsided, then with shaking fingers and gentle kisses, cleaned each other off.

Nick took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped Vachon's mouth. He folded the white, blood-stained cloth and handed it to him, saying, "A souvenir."

Vachon smiled as he slipped it into his pocket.

Had anyone but Nick done this, he'd have thought it too cornball for words. "Thank you, querido, I shall treasure it always." They both laughed and helped each other to their feet.

*

Shortly before Nick moved from Chicago, he'd arranged for his lawyer to facilitate the purchase of a warehouse near the waterfront. He'd had the top floor converted into a loft, with spacious living quarters, a mezzanine, a studio for his painting and plenty of room for his most treasured possession, a grand piano. The rest of the warehouse was used mostly for storage. Carefully packed in crates, were the treasures and the trash he'd accumulated during his long existence.

Nick walked along the mezzanine toward his bedroom. He was barefoot, wearing only a long black kimono, with small maroon symbols near the edges. He paused before the doorway, drying his hair with a towel and called, "Why don't you come down, instead of skulking about on the roof." He heard a silky voice behind him.

"I was not `skulking about'. I was simply waiting for you to finish your bath."

Nick looked over his shoulder at LaCroix. "Perhaps you'd care to wait downstairs while I make myself more presentable?"

LaCroix gave him an arch smile, "Oh, Nicholas. I realize it's been awhile since I've seen you en déshabillé, but you needn't be shy with me." Nick wouldn't meet his gaze, so he turned to go. "Very well, get dressed then. Put on your `jammies, and we'll have a slumber party."

He descended the stairs, and without turning to look at his wayward protégé, cautioned, "Don't roll your eyes, Nicholas. It's unbecoming."

Nick sighed, tossing the towel over a chair. He called down to LaCroix, "If you'd like a drink, there's something on the dining table for you."

He found LaCroix standing in front of the table, examining a wine bottle. "This is not your usual libation. Tell me, is this some sort of special occasion?"

Nick came over carrying two wineglasses. "Think of this as a peace offering."

LaCroix filled the glasses while Nick held them, then took one from him.

Nick explained, "I'm tired of being adversaries, LaCroix."

The beautiful, ancient vampire held his glass to the light. "I am not being adversarial, Nicholas. I am merely trying to keep you in line." He leveled his gaze at his favorite child. "You are quite a handful, you know. " LaCroix glanced at him in such a way as to give another meaning to his words.

Nick looked down into his glass, rather than at his mentor. "I miss you." he said, finally.

LaCroix inclined his head slightly. "So, that is why I have been rather on your mind, of late." He paused to take a sip. "I can feel you ... reminiscing about some of our more lurid exploits when you're alone." LaCroix knew, because he could sense through their link, whenever Nick was startled awake from voluptuous dreams of feast and slaughter, aching with hunger, tearing at his own wrists, which only served to inflame his lust and increase his loneliness.

"I know all about it, Nicholas." LaCroix crooned, encircling Nick's wrist with his fingers. "A most enjoyable indulgence, occasionally.

But it's a poor substitute for a close, personal friend, ne c'pas?"

When Nick didn't answer, LaCroix released his hand. "You should go sit by fire, your hair is still damp."

Obediently, Nick sat on the back of the armchair nearest the fireplace, obviously flustered.

LaCroix sat down in the same chair, admiring the way he looked in the loose black silk pajamas. "Do you remember, Nicholas? Oftentimes, we would sit in front of the fire, waiting for your hair to dry, before going out for the evening. When you were it wearing it long, I would brush it for you, then tie it back from your face."

"With a black ribbon." Nick said in a flat voice, looking into the fire.

"With a ribbon of black velvet," LaCroix whispered, as he reached out his hand, "tied in a lover's knot at the nape of your neck." He indicated the spot with his forefinger, savoring the effect it had.

Nick caught his breath and leaned into the caress. "It's been a long time since I've been able to move you at all and here, I've aroused you with a single touch." LaCroix murmured, tracing Nick's
throat with the same cold fingertip. "Your liaison earlier this evening has served to whet your appetite, it would seem." He closed his fingers around Nick's throat and pulled him down, leaning over his shoulder, "I can smell his blood in you. Quite an aphrodisiac." With his hand still on Nick's throat, LaCroix urged him to stand and moved in behind him.

Nick stood very still, hardly daring to breathe, he hadn't expected LaCroix to make his advance so early on. He wanted to turn and wrap his arms around his mentor's waist and fall into the embrace they used to share so easily. Afraid to break the spell, he closed his eyes, ready to let go of the hatred and blame, ready to be whatever wanted his master him to be, if just for the moment. He could feel LaCroix behind him, nearly touching him, soft lips almost at his throat. Nick pleaded silently for the kiss.

"Well, Nicholas," the elder purred, "what's it going to be? A drink, some pleasant conversation, I take you to bed and we start over, everything's all better?"

Without warning, he pulled Nick to his chest with such force, he was nearly lifted off the floor. LaCroix was venomous. "Your deep, unwavering loathing, that I've had to endure for centuries, suddenly evaporates, because you miss me and now, you want me to take you back, just like that." He held Nick tight, just enough to hurt him, just enough to remind him who was the more powerful. "I'm afraid it's not going to be that simple."

"But you told me you'd decided to take me back." Nick gasped, trying to catch his breath. "You said you would give me another chance."

"Perhaps I've changed my mind," his master said through clenched teeth. "You didn't want another chance, remember?"

LaCroix could feel the fear and excitement roiling through his high-strung, infuriating, beautiful protégé and was torn between wanting to torment him some more and just wanting him. He, too, had missed the company of his favorite consort. Being this close to him, awash in his scent, was a kind of torment for LaCroix, as well. He could almost taste him; rain-washed meadows, wood smoke and a trace of exotic spice. He tore into Nick and took him, hard.

This was not the fluid ecstasy that Nick had always felt whenever his master had taken him before. This was empty, terrifying.

LaCroix let go abruptly and Nick fell to his hands and knees, cracking his forehead on the coffee table. He felt LaCroix bending over him. "I'm so sorry, Nicholas. Are you hurt?"

Nick couldn't, or wouldn't answer.

"Nicholas, did I hurt you?" LaCroix seemed genuinely contrite. He helped Nick to his feet and fussed over him, daubing at the tiny cut over his eyebrow with his handkerchief. He cupped Nick's face in his hand, stroking his whitened lips with his thumb. Nick assured him he hadn't been hurt, not really.

He stepped away from LaCroix, speaking very softly. "You have every right to be angry with me, LaCroix. I know I'll never be able to redress what I've done to you."

LaCroix was solicitous, gentle, brushing Nick's hair back from his face. "Do you believe I did this to punish you?"

Nick looked into his master's eyes, unable to answer.

*

It was still too early in the evening for much of anyone to be at the Raven yet. The bartenders were finishing their setup and over at a corner table, a couple of the paid dancers were doing some last minute fine tuning to their hair and make-up.

Vachon usually wasn't out this early, either, but he had this weird feeling that LaCroix wanted to Have A Talk with him. He pushed back from the bar as LaCroix came up behind him. He'd always found the powerful, old vampire somewhat intimidating and he covered it up with a bravado he knew wasn't fooling anyone.

"I suppose," he said, with a defensive edge to his voice, "this is the part where you tell me to stay away from your one and only."

A chilly smile played on LaCroix's full lips. "Not at all. Nicholas has always been free to dally with whomever he pleases. I quite approve of your ... attention to him."

"Oh. Really." The younger vampire was still sullen.

"Yes," the other continued, "if for no other reason that you, unlike Nicholas, enjoy being what you are."

Vachon finished his drink. "Yeah, best thing that ever happened to me."

LaCroix slid another glass toward him and said, "I think you might be a good influence on Nicholas. He spends far too much time with his mortal acquaintances, away from the Community. You may be just what he needs."

LaCroix turned so he could look directly at Vachon. He stared intently at the dark-haired young man and smiled as though he'd just tasted something honey-sweet. His voice was soft, compelling. "I must admit, I rather like the idea of the two of you together."

In spite of his apprehension, Vachon unexpectedly felt lured by Nick's cold, seductive master. Afraid that LaCroix would touch him, yet wishing fervently that he would, he held his breath and not knowing whether he would cringe before an upraised fist, or melt against a luscious caress, he sat and waited.

END