Adult:  A Glint of Steel
by Katrin Denton

a Forever Knight Story
in response to the Knife Challenge (N/LC)

Rated R for non consensual (kinda) m/m sex, some knife play (go figure <G>).  UFers, Dark Knighties and some Cousins might like this.  Some people won't.   If you are offended by rape scenes, d/s, homoerotica, please use the delete key now.

Disclaimers:
The FK vamps are not mine (damn it - if they were, they would still be on the air).  Forever Knight was created by Slan, Cohen and Parriot and is owned by Sony / Tristar / Paragon.  No infringement of copyright is intended and I am writing this completely for the pleasure of it, in expectation of absolutely no profit.  In fact, I would probably faint if someone offered to pay me.

Archiving:
Permission granted to Crossed Swords (http://members.tripod.com/~StormBorn) and the JADFE archieves.  Posted to the UF mail loop. Anyone else, please ask first, I like to see where my children wander off to.

Notes:
cf the "Spin Doctor" flashback for Nick's career as a college prof.  cf the "Blood Money" flashback for a look at the rapier.  The main gauche in the story is one of the shorter ones, closer to a 12 inch blade than the standard 16-18 inches.  The original challenge called for a switchblade, but I have had my eye on this blade for nearly a year.

When fighting duels in the style of the Renaissance, a duelist would fight with a sword in the dominate hand and a long dagger (the main gauche) in the other.  Either blade could be used for attack or defense.  The rapier is a light sword with an ornate hilt, the main gauche is a slim long dagger.  Both are sharpened on both sides of the blade, though using the point is considered more elegant.  Some of our modern foil fencing technique comes from this period.

This info from the Fencing FAC (http://www.ii.uib.no/~arild/fencing/faq/Top- view.html) and the SCA Dueling FAC (http://www.crater.com/avacal/duel.html).  If anyone wants some sites with good reproduction weapons or names of swordsmiths in the midwest, email me. (OK, I know, weaving / needlework and edged weaponry and vampires are a VERY odd combination of hobbies, but what you see is what you get. - me.)

Acknowledgments:
Thanks to Marcia Tucker for getting me started on the challenge.  Thanks to Virginia Wilcox for keeping me going and for beta reading.  They are responsible for much of the success and I am responsible for any problems.

Feedback to Kat (VladnKatrn@AOL.com).  Comments, virtual chocolates and tall blond vampires (Roman or Belgian) happily accepted.  Flames will be forwarded to the dragon living in the basement.

A GLINT OF STEEL

Time:  January 1954  Place: Chicago

The professor was exhausted.  Finals were over, his student's papers were graded.  {Why does the average undergraduate's grasp of the English language slip more with each passing decade?}  He pondered this question as he walked back to his office after sliding the forms with his student's grades under the door of the department office.  To a casual observer, the professor did not look to be old enough to be making such a cynical statement.

{This time each semester I'm glad that I only teach these two night classes.} Generous donations from the de Babrant Foundation to the Anthropology Department of the University of Chicago ensured that Professor Nicholas (deBrabant) Girard could set his own schedule of archeology classes and *never* had to attend daytime faculty meetings.

Nick wearily keyed open the door to the tiny cubby that was his office.  Nearly asleep on his feet, he reached for the light switch.  He later blamed his exhaustion for everything that followed.

A cold hand grasped his wrist and slammed it into the wall.  The assailant's other hand grabbed the lapel of his jacket and pulled him into the room, slamming his groin into the corner of his desk.  Bright shards of pain lanced through him as the door slammed shut behind him.  As his mind began to clear from the pain and his body healed, that familiar loved-hated voice purred into his ear.  "Nicholas, how *nice* to see you again."

"LaCroix."

"What?  No 'Hello, father?'  No 'What have you been doing for the last decade?' "

"What do you want?"

"That's *slightly* better.  I want *you*.  For all 750 years of your vampire life, I have wanted *you*.  I have been patient with your foolish pursuit of this semblance of a mortal life for long enough!  You are mine, you shall return to me."

Nick felt the coil of tension in his belly.  There were few things in the universe he feared; this man, his sire, his master -- vampire since the days of Imperial Rome -- was chief among them.  And yet, twined around the fear were other emotions.  This was the being to whom he owed his existence.  Without LaCroix, Nick acknowledged, his bones would have been dust centuries ago.  This was also the man to whom he owed a personal allegiance.  Though chivalry was outmoded in the modern world, at heart Nick was still the Knight of the Crusades that he had been in his mortal life.  He remembered kissing this man's hand, pledging LaCroix a feudal sovereignty over him, body and soul.

Nick's hands moved upon the desktop as he braced himself up on his arms.  Beneath his hand he felt a cold hardness. An affectation, his colleagues thought, using a museum-quality Renaissance main gauche as a letter opener.  Little did they know that the matching rapier hung on his wall at home.  He had carried them both in a past life.  The blade snicked from the sheath and steel glinted in the light from the window as Nick whirled around.

The knife was across LaCroix's throat in less time than it takes a mortal eye to blink.  The tip of the blade pierced the pale skin and the scent of the older man's blood flooded the room.  Nick grabbed a handful of the other's shirt front and forced him a step back, against the wall by the door.  "Old man, " Nick hissed, "you never *owned* me, ever!  Be silent!  This will be on *my* terms this time."

There was more than enough light coming into the room from the window for the vampires' enhanced eyesight.  Face to face they stood, eyes locked together.  Nick lowered the knife, a feral gleam in his gaze, brought the bloodied tip of the dagger to his lips and licked the flat of the blade clean.  LaCroix's eyes widened at the sight of his son.  For so long Nicholas had denied the Beast within himself; seeing even this small acceptance thrilled LaCroix.

"And what are your terms, Nicholas?"  A ragged edge had crept into the normally smooth tones of the elder's voice.  "Now that you have me, what do you propose to *do* with me?"

Nick laid the dagger against his sire's cheek, the tip a scant finger's breadth from the man's eye.  "Whatever I damn well please."

Nick felt LaCroix's body tense beneath his hands.  He knew the older man hated not being in control.   {Tough, I have danced to his tune long enough.  His blood tastes of desire for me.  I have not so much as shared blood with him in nearly half a century, and he *dares* come to me, unannounced and unwanted, for sex.  If it is a rape he wants, then he shall have it.}

Nick ran the razor sharp blade of the dagger down LaCroix's cheek almost gently, still the edge raised a thread-thin line of crimson in it's wake.  "Take off your coat."  He pulled back the knife enough to allow the other at least a minimum of movement without injury.

The elder obeyed slowly, his eyes narrowing.  {This could be too much of a good thing.  We both know that he can't hurt me *permantely* with that toy, but that doesn't mean he can't hurt me *temporarily*!}

Nick ran the blade down the big tendon at the side of LaCroix's neck, resting the point in the hollow of the throat.  He leaned forward with agonizing slowness to lick the drying tendril of blood from his sire's cheek.  He felt a shudder of pleasure course though the other and tasted reluctant compliance.  He pulled away just slightly, concentrating his attention back to the blade.  "Stand still,"  Nick's voice was deeper, aroused.  He ran the tip of the knife under the top button on LaCroix's shirt and cut through the threads holding it in place.  The knife inched down to the next button and the next.  As each one popped off, they flew into the dark corners of Nick's office.  With each tiny patter, their arousal grew.  LaCroix's breath was coming faster, nearly at a mortal rate.

When the blade was at LaCroix's belly, Nick finally consented to touch the elder with his hands.  Placing the blade in his own teeth to free both hands, he quickly undid LaCroix's belt and fly.  He pulled the dark slacks and briefs down to the other man's ankles in a single swift gesture. LaCroix's impressive erection sprang forth.

He rose, lightning quick, to stand face to face with his sire once more.  Placing his hand on the hilt of the dagger, he drew it from between his teeth, deliberately cutting his tongue -- the coppery taste of his own blood filled his mouth.  His free hand curled around the back of LaCroix's head; the short cropped hair didn't afford much purchase, but he pulled the other man's mouth down on his own.

LaCroix moaned deep in his throat as Nicholas' blood filled his mouth.  Desired above all others, this -- his favorite child -- bright fire of denied love, dark passion long suppressed.  LaCroix tasted it all.  {He still wants me, he still needs me, he just can't admit it.  I have been patience this long, gods grant me the patience to continue.}  He tried to put his arms around the younger man, but Nick pulled back.  "NO, don't touch me."  The elder's wrist was captured in a vise-strong grip as Nick darted around to his back.  That arm was pulled up behind him as he was propelled forward -- against and over Nick's desk.  He began to resist in earnest.

"It's this or nothing."  The voice in his ear was icy and furious.  "You have had me like this often enough."

LaCroix's jaw clenched as he pushed his answering pride and rage down.   He and Nicholas had been intimate many times.  In the happier centuries, they had explored the limits of vampire sensuality.  He had been filled by his son's passion, but never by his rage, never like this.  {Only for you, Nicholas, would I do this.  Any other being in the universe I would have already rent to pieces.  Only and forever you.}

LaCroix deliberately relaxed in Nicholas' grip.  The steel stung the side of his neck and his son's hungry mouth closed over the wound.  Pride in his creation, strength reined by an adamant will, passion and a darkly incandescent desire flooded into Nick on his sire's blood.  And one more thing, surrender.  Just this once, in this moment, LaCroix would allow himself to be mastered.  He bent forward over the desk, pillowing his head on crossed arms.

Nick's blade kissed the nape of his sire's neck.  Then it trailed down, skipping back and forth along the spine, Nick ran the fingers of his free hand through the blood trails and massaged the moisture into the crack of the pale ass before him.  His own erection was painfully hard against the cloth of his trousers, so he paused a moment to release it from its confines.  He ran his blood slick hand down the engorged shaft and gathered the moisture from the tip.  The penetration of his fingers into the tight channel of the elder's ass forced a quick intake of breath that was not *quite* a cry from the prone man.

Nick abruptly kicked at his sire's ankles, spreading his legs apart and positioned himself at the opening, rubbing the tip of his anxious cock around it, but not penetrating.

"Deus mea, Nicholas!  Damn you, take me, mon coeur."   The inarticulate pleas in a bastard mix of languages were accompanied by an over-the-shoulder glance, fangs flashing and golden eyes.  With an answering gleam of ivory snarl and feral red-gold eyes, Nick sheathed himself within.  Hands grasped hard at slim hips, the hand with the blade scored a shallow slice on a pale hipbone.   The scent of fresh blood drove both men over the edge.

Nick pulled his sire up and back against his chest, biting deep into the joining of neck and left shoulder.  Nick's right forearm, hand still holding the knife, snaked around the elder's neck and slammed into LaCroix's eagerly awaiting fangs.  He grasped it like a drowning man and slashed deep into the big vessel near the elbow as Nick's left hand reached around to his groin.

As Nick stroked LaCroix's straining cock, he felt his own orgasm approach.  He had never felt so much power, though he knew the basic dynamic of their relationship had not changed.  He slammed into his sire's ass and felt the answering twitch in the cock filling his hand.  {NOW, now,} echoed down his link to LaCroix.  {Yesssssss, mon fils} came the faint answer back as he felt his sire's seed spill into his hand.  His own passion was triggered by the resumption of their link, however weak, and LaCroix's orgasm felt through it. He came, throbbing, a silent scream of completion.

Sated, Nick lay, quiet, across the elder man's back for long moments, then he carefully pulled his fangs from the side of the other's neck and gently kissed the wounds, licking at them to encourage them to heal.

The hand that held the dagger trembled every so slightly as he slipped from the other's now unresisting body.  LaCroix moved to rise.  "Stay, don't move." Nick's tone was no longer furious, but still firm.  The tattered remnants of LaCroix's shirt, dampened with water from the pitcher Nick kept for his plants, gently cleaned the remains of their shared passion from the elder's body.  His son's hands, cool and gentle, swept in a possessive caress down LaCroix's spine from the base of his skull to the curve of his buttocks.  Nick moved softly though the office; there was a whisper of fabric.  The door opened and shut.  The master vampire was alone in the office, bemused by the glint of steel he had witnessed in his son.

{finis}     It takes an iron hand to wield a whip, and an iron will to endure it.