A drabble, for those who have never come across one before, is
a collective story writing effort. However, the goal is for the
author of each part to make their contribution in precisely 100
words. Often, drabbles are quite absurd, as the writers go
flying off at 90 degree angles from one another. While this one
is not an attempt at humor, I found it an interesting display of
the mosaic of interpretations that the various members of the UF
have of the relationship between Nicholas and Lacroix.
---Les GS
(Part 1) -- Michelle A slight smile at the other. Lips against lips in an intimate gesture. The first. Deep, velvety voice. "I had thought you would not come tonight." Slightest amusement on the others. A rich, European tongue. "As you would ever doubt me." Another kiss. Then, passion. The next evening. They awake together, languid glances and smiles. Regret in the second voice. "Tonight; to work. I've been missed at the precinct." The first agrees, with the promise of the morning together. They part on their separate ways. Later that evening, delivered to the precinct, a single rose with one word. "Amour." (Part 2) -- Les Fingers lingering on the knob, he glances at the dashboard, the rose there. "....Nightcrawler. Welcome, gentle listener." Easing back, the audience smiles. "Possession.... What does it mean, possessing, being possessed?" The listener frowns uneasily. "Is it a simple matter of ownership..? What, then, if both ... lovers, yes, let's speak of lovers ... are possessed? Which then, the owner, which owned ... the master, the slave? "Two immortal hearts, blending in one rare, thunderous beat, a lightning stroke of bliss... "Whose blood runs in my veins? Whose in yours? We are possessed ... never owned." His listener blinks, stunned. "So *that's* what you mean..?" (Part 3) -- Michelle The day before. Passion thick in the air. He arched his neck, wanting his master to take him, to take in a cycle unbridled, with wild passion. Later, the afterglow calming him into a languid sleep. Feeling the other's hand lazily trail through his hair. The words softly murmured; perhaps his lover believed him asleep. "Do you not realize, my son, how you have so wholly captured me? Is it true, who am I to you? Lover? Master? Father?" "Nick?" Tracy's voice. A smile; his head in the clouds again. "Sorry." He continues the drive. As "Possession" plays on CERK. (Part 4) -- Julia After his shift he heads to the Raven. "Nicholas?" His son's eyes shine, strong hands clasp his head. His son's lips on his own. The kiss, passionate and loving. Their bodies meet. No more words: just slow, deep kisses, bites, thrusts, and blood, given and received. They lie wrapped in each other, at peace. Lacroix, recalling past such moments, asks again: "Nicholas?" Nick sits up, bends his head down to place one kiss over the elder's heart. How much dare he say? How much dare he put into words? "Free consent, freely given, Lucien." He looks for his lover's reaction. (Part 5) -- Les Lacroix gazes into Nicholas's searching eyes, then lowers his own, taking his creation's hand in his own. Palm resting against Lacroix's, Nicholas feels the faint tremor as his maker resists the impulse to close his fingers tight. "This, mon coeur, can be no other way." He lifts his eyes to stare into Nicholas's. "I want you ... willing." "The other things-" "Not here, Nicholas," Lacroix breaks in. "Not now. ...Please." He lies back, sliding Nicholas's hand to his groin. "Again..?" Nicholas smiles, roguish. "Again. And again and again and--" An avid mouth silences him. A silence better kept? Or not? (Part 6) -- Michelle "Nick," Natalie's voice asked, her eyes concerned. "What's up with you lately? You've been out of it. Tracy, Reese, we've all noticed." He shakes his head, trying to dispel the thoughts from his mind and concentrate on the latest case. "I'm sorry. My mind's been on other things." "Just... try to focus on now." But he cannot help it. He can't help thinking, about his return to his master, about his drifting away from mortal life, and about the confrontation he was dealing with. Memories of his past. With LaCroix. Free consent? Has there ever truly been any between them? (Part 7) - Kelly Another time. London. Snow. Fat snowflakes fall, a silent carpet on the cobbled street below. Above, a wrought iron balcony. He stands in utter stillness, with words more jagged than the sharpest stake impaled upon his soul. The door behind him opens. The voice behind him quiet in it's triumph: "You are free to go..." knowing that he won't. A blanket wraps around him, the other's body wraps behind his own. A gentle kiss upon his neck: he feels his master's cold, cold lips smile upon his skin. He will not leave. No words to speak, a tear, unbidden, falls. (Part 8) - Les He is turned, the tear is kissed away, savored. "Will you come in?" He does, lost again. The blanket is peeled away, as paper from a gift. A gentle embrace reveals hidden steel. Tender caresses that never quite pain, an iron shaft filling him, driving him toward a racking pleasure ... then withdrawn, leaving him empty. A shift, then he plunges into tight gripping flesh, nails scoring the pale back before him. Another's moans singing in his ears, he spills himself into the engulfing body. Screaming, he bites, craving that tumble into dark chaos, bitter passion, only one can give him. (Part 9) - Kelly Oblivion. His soul enwebbed, the other's rapture singing in his veins. So cold a fire. So hot the flame. So brittle blue the eyes that rest upon him. So hungry ... so hungry... (they are) so hungry... "Nicholas" ... his master's voice implores ... so hungry... And by the door a tiny spider spins its lonely strands... (so hungry)... A thought, unbidden, comes. "Nicholas..." his master's hands implore, caress, come creeping back for more, entwining him in dark desire, enwebbing him in passion. So cold a flame, so little time ... he shoves his master backwards. "Now *you* are free to go." Nick's voice triumphant, knowing that *he* won't. (Part 10) - Marcia 'I can consent - it is mine to give, now, at last,' he thinks, sighing, then turns to his friend. "I need to build the now on the past, as it is meant to be," he murmurs apologetically to her with a small smile. "It's hard to explain." She cocks her head at him, not understanding in the least. How could she? "You can leave the past behind. Make a new now, Nick." "I have left the past behind." But his words mean something entirely different to each of them. She is reassured, departs. Another sigh, and he turns to absorb himself, whole-heartedly this time, into his chosen work. As the papers pass through his hands, he thinks of his hands elsewhere... Touching ancient past, touching his origins, caressing the history that could have been his, that can be his now. All the pain laid aside. All the torment forced to build something fresh and new, a foundation for love. Violently disposing of the wrong to make a right for once, at last. Violence... Later. He is waiting for him. "This is not about lust." "No. It never was." (Part 11) - Marcia A glance, reining in the exultance. Lingering on the wide, sensual lips. "If not lust, then what, Nicholas? What is... this?" *This* - the trail of a finger along a vein, a breath drawn in sharply. The stance, juxtaposition of bodies. The lingering traces in their blood of the other. The link, that incredibly warm, dark, sweet ache that calls to each, whether either wills it or no. "There is no name for it - it just is," he says with a deep smile before their lips meet, fingers twining together. The passion, the physical manifestation of the complex energies forming each heart, forging their oneness - this erupts into nova-heat, a brilliant Dark that crushes not - no longer - but heals, blesses, embraces, erasing the enmity to replace it with the crashing, overriding emotion, the Ruling Wave... This violent thing called... Love. How dare it break down their walls, they laugh. But it is. It is. And it infects whom it wills, even such as these, drawing together whom it wills, when it wills, held back not even by centuries of mistrust, derision, fear, pain. Love laughs in the face of pain, doing as it pleases, and for once... Not even the ancient one minds. He is slain as surely as the knight at his side, laid bare and exposed, yielding to this greater power. For he, too, is Possessed - not by his beloved, just as he does not possess his Nicholas - but by Love, a dangerous Light that neither has will to prevent, a Light woven into their Darkness, skillful and deadly. Sweet, sweet death, this Possession. And so much pain killed at last. Eventually, bodies slick with their mingled fluids, they relax against one another, arms tight about each other. "Mon coeur - my heart," sighs the elder. "Mon coeur..." echoes the younger, eyes closed, lips against a nipple. "Forever." "Forever." (Part 12) - Michelle In his dreams there is no past, no future. Only now, the fire and guilt of the ages burnt into ashes. And there is passion, enfolding him, holding him, never letting the grip on his heart loosen. He has tried to run, but there is no running in his dreams. Dare he return to this place in his mind? It is there, inevitably drawing him, but the mortal world tempts him. He cannot have the best of both worlds, but can't he try? The events that have unfolded in these past few months have changed all. He can. But for how long?