Was it just me, or was that ring-kissing scene in "Dark Knight" (just
after LaCroix tells Nicholas he's a blessed man) terribly suggestive?

To celebrate the return of our favorite vampires, I'm posting a
particularly Uffish bit of Reconciliation.
Enjoy!
Mom-Ra
* * * * * * * *

The Usual Disclaimers Apply: All characters from Forever Knight
belong to Sony/Tristar and were created by Barney Cohen and James
Parriot. No copyright violation is intended, no money is being made,
blah blah blah.

My eternal gratitude to three amazing people;
Marcie, for all the great sugguestions, and catching my mistakes
Ms. Pickles, my Grammar Dom
Lyddie Starkiller, for all her support and encouragement!

This series is rated R - for sex, violence, bloodshed, language, and
stuff like that.

Reonciliation Chapter 7: 'Invitation' © 2001 by Mom-Ra

Pairing: Nick/LaCroix

Summary: LaCroix gives Nick another chance. Contains graphic m/m sex.

* * * * * * * *

Nicholas had been waiting for close onto an hour and was growing
impatient. He was pacing the rooms he'd been sharing with LaCroix,
waiting for a surprise from his master. Nicholas hoped it would be
someone literate, at least. He was growing weary of empty-headed
barmaids and field hands, nearly all one could find so far out in the
country.

There was a knock on the door, then a young woman entered. Nicholas
was pleased to see a sparkle of intelligence in her green eyes. He
saw her take in his expensive clothes and the comfortably appointed
chamber with the calculating gaze of a professional, as he walked
slowly toward her.
"What's your name, darling?"

"Rose." the girl said, extending her hand and dropping a quick
curtsey.

What a charming smile she had.
"And you must call me Nicholas." He said, and took her hand and
brought it up to his face, as he touched his other hand to her smooth
cheek.
"Perhaps I should pay you first?"

"The other gentleman-" she began, then bit her lip.

"But you should like a bit more?" Nicholas laughed gently. He told
out a few coins into her open hand, then a few more. It was more
money than Rose had ever seen at one time. She wanted to see if he
would give her more, but began to think that he might be teasing
her. Afraid he might snatch the money out of her hand, she tied the
coins up in a handkerchief and tucked it into her pocket.

Nicholas took her in his arms and kissed her. She thrust and twined
her tongue into his mouth with remarkable dexterity. She was a
lovely surprise, indeed. They kissed for several minutes, while her
nimble fingers explored as much of him as his clothes would allow.
He broke off their kiss to remove his waistcoat and untuck his
shirt. When he was freed of those restraints to her eager hands,
Rose resumed her pleasant activity.

She liked this one; he was young and handsome, almost pretty. He was
gentle and appeared to be wealthy. Thinking what a rich gentleman
might do for a girl that took his fancy did as much to fuel her ardor
as did his kisses.
"Shall I undress now?" she asked.

"No. That won't be necessary. But let's make you a bit more
comfortable, shall we?"
Nicholas took off her cap, enchanted when her long red curls tumbled
loose. He buried his face in her thick hair. It felt warm and soft,
and smelled of lavender. He smoothed it away from her neck and began
unlacing the front of her gown. Brushing her ear with his lips, he
asked, "What shall I do with you, Rose?"

"What ever would please you, sir." she said meekly, then whispered,
as if to herself, "Don't hurt me."

"I won't hurt you at all." said Nicholas, "I promise. It may feel
as if you are falling, at first." He bent down to kiss the woman's
neck and shoulders, then breathed softly on her skin.
"Do you like this?"

"Yes, Nicholas." Rose gasped, shivering.

Turning his prey around, so her back was against him, Nicholas
slipped his hand underneath her light woolen kirtle. He caressed her
soft belly, delighting in the warmth of her body through her thin
shift. Her heartbeat mesmerized him, drowning his other senses for a
moment. If he hadn't been so hungry, he would have enjoyed giving
her a tumble; her arousal was so intoxicating. Ready for her, so
ready, his fangs lengthened, and he pulled her even closer, and told
her to close her eyes. As gently as he could, Nicholas drew Rose's
head back onto his shoulder. The girl's trembling was exhilarating;
he couldn't wait any longer to take hold.
"I love you." he murmured, then let his head fall back and sunk his
fangs into her.

The blood burst from the artery in a glorious fount, the lust and
heat of her rushed down his throat, and the pleasure was nearly
unbearable. As her life tangled with his, he became inundated with
her dreams and fears, her passion and tension. He was frustrated to
learn she was not particularly intelligent, but the ecstasy of
feeding quickly overshadowed his disappointment.

Nicholas stopped and lifted his head; he wanted to wait just a little
longer to feel her die. She had nearly swooned, but he turned her
around and kissed her again. Rose flopped like a rag doll in his
arms, offering neither resistance nor encouragement. He bit into her
again and worried at her throat, tearing the wound open further. He
held her tighter than he needed to, breaking a couple of her ribs.
That was good, too; her silvery flash of pain. When he felt the
girl's heartbeat stop against his lips, he snapped her neck and
dropped her body onto the floor. He stood very still, letting his
rapture take him. Eyes closed, he drew a deep breath, then let it
out slowly through his mouth, feeling the last of his own tremors
subside. Nicholas wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looked
down at the girl, and was startled awake.

With a gasp, he sat up in his bed. His pajamas clung to his body,
soaked with blood sweat. Blood dripped from his lacerated wrist as
he stared insensibly at the oozing wound. Taking one slow breath
after another, he tried to calm down, licking his wrist until it
healed. Nick hated these dreams, he always felt edgy all night after
waking up from one.

Climbing unsteadily out of bed, he grabbed his robe and went
downstairs for a long, hot shower. After he'd cleaned up and had a
couple of glasses of blood wine, he felt a measure of control
returning. He rested on the sofa with a third glassful, thinking
about the dream, or rather remembering the kill.
"Poor Rose." he sighed and waited for his conscience to writhe with
the expected agony of guilt. A thought came to him:

Wasn't it good, though?

Yes, it had been good; the hot skin of her throat at his lips, the
sudden give of that skin against the push of his fangs, the first
gush of her blood. That was the best, better than anything. Nick
looked at the glass in his hand. Cow's blood. Cold and bitter,
without an echo of any experience, or thought, or feeling. With a
snarl, he hurled the glass against the wall, revolted by the very
idea of drinking such stuff. He felt his fangs lengthen, curving
against his lips, his transformation bringing with it the first
terrible stab of desire. Desperately hungry now, he wanted to feed
and draw the life force from a warm, living being. With a sob, he
tore into his own flesh.

It was monstrous.

It was heavenly.

It was better than nothing.

Nick felt, rather than heard, a soft swoosh and looked up to see
LaCroix standing in front of the fireplace.
"Why, Nicholas. What's wrong? You look as though you've seen a
ghost."

"Maybe I have." Nick muttered, rubbing his eyes. "It's nothing,
LaCroix. Just a bad dream."

He was glad LaCroix hadn't witnessed his solo feeding frenzy, but he
had a feeling the elder knew about it, all the same. Nick looked up
at him, expecting to see a disdainful smirk and was surprised by the
gentle concern he read in LaCroix's expression.

As was his custom, LaCroix was dressed all in black. He wore an
elegantly tailored suit of evening clothes. In place of a tie he had
a gold, dagger-shaped stickpin holding his shirt collar wrapped tight
against his throat. He cupped Nick's chin in his hand and drew his
thumb across his lips.
"I hope you've got a dinner jacket." he said. At Nick's affirmative,
he smiled.
"Good. Then, run upstairs and dress. I'm taking you out."

Nick felt a small thrill of pleasure brush away the pall of his bad
dream; he loved surprises.

Nick dressed carefully, choosing the clothes he knew LaCroix would
like to see him in. He put on a white shirt and vest, a black dinner
jacket and the onyx and sliver cufflinks LaCroix had given him, a
long, long time ago. With a last look in the mirror, he ran his
fingers through his hair, then went downstairs.

He paused at the bottom of the staircase, so his mentor could get a
good look at him. When LaCroix smiled at him, he became quite
bashful and pretended to fiddle with his cufflinks. LaCroix fussed
over him a bit, straightening his tie, brushing his curls back from
his face. He stepped back and looked approvingly at his handsome
protégé.
"That's much better. Shall we?"
He made a sweeping gesture towards the door.

LaCroix had hired a car and driver for the evening, though he
generally eschewed such a mode of transportation, rarely keeping a
car of his own. They rode in silence for a while, simply enjoying
being near one another. Nick moved closer to LaCroix, until they
were almost touching. They began talking of inconsequential matters,
gossiping and laughing.

LaCroix was pleased to find Nick in such an agreeable mood, and
relished the excitement and curiosity filling his young friend.
Nick, for his part, was more than a little anxious, hardly daring to
believe that his master might actually take him back.

Nick wondered if he should invite LaCroix to spend the day with him.
They had rarely shared a bed for more than eighty years; not since
Nick had smuggled himself aboard a ship bound for America, leaving
LaCroix and Janette behind in Paris. As if divining his thoughts,
LaCroix reached inside his jacket and brought out a gold pocket
watch.

"I believe I have something which belongs to you." he said, as he
tucked the watch into Nick's vest pocket and fastened the chain into
a buttonhole. Nick had traded the watch, a gift from LaCroix, for
his passage to the States.

"But, I gave it back to you, LaCroix."

"Yes, for Father's Day, wasn't it?" LaCroix turned to look out the
window, but not before Nick caught the petition in his eyes. "It is
my wish that you keep it."

LaCroix had never revealed how much it had wrung his heart, when Nick
had returned the watch. Nick didn't know what to say. He touched
LaCroix's hand, then took out the watch and opened it. Inscribed in
the lid was a simple declaration.

'FOREVER'

* * * * * * * *

They had arrived at their destination, a small, private club. It was
a gathering place for the Community's elders, a salon more refined
and sedate than the Raven. There was not a fledgling in sight. Nick
was surprised to find himself the center of attention. He had met
some of these vampires at one time or another, but everyone there
seemed to know him. They had come to see Lucien's willful child for
themselves; they had all heard the fascinating rumor of LaCroix's
brush with death, at the hands of this blonde angel.

LaCroix had gone off to one side and was talking quietly with a
modest looking man, dressed in a plain dark suit. What hair he had
left was greying at his temples, his good-humored brown eyes sparkled
behind wire framed glasses; the legendary Aristotle.

It was he who kept the Community threaded together. Aristotle knew
every vampire's whereabouts, and could provide any of them with a new
identity, along with travel arrangements, passport, and other
documents when the time came to move on. Even he was there, drawn
away from his meticulous record keeping, only recently aided by
computers and internet access.

"Nicholas!" he shouted affably, taking Nick's hand. "How are you?
Keeping out of trouble, I hope?"
Nick smiled and made a noncommittal reply. He was about to make a
casual reference to Janette, when LaCroix drawled, "Nicholas ..." in
a soft voice that carried a warning. Nick flinched inwardly. LaCroix
smiled benevolently and asked, "Perhaps you could find us something
to drink?"

Nick spoke to a waiter, who returned shortly with a bottle and three
glasses. Nick poured the drinks, first handing one to Aristotle,
then one to LaCroix.

"Would it be premature," Aristotle asked, "to offer felicitations on
your family reunion?" He spoke lightly, but gave Nick a piercing
look over the top of his glasses.

LaCroix arched an eyebrow and murmured, "What do you say, Nicholas?"

Nick chose his words carefully. "Since my sister denies us the
pleasure of her company, our family is still sundered. Let's drink,
instead, to absent friends." Nick raised his glass and other two did
likewise.

LaCroix was annoyed at Nick for sidestepping the question, but his
displeasure faded when he realized what was in his glass. He took a
small sip and nearly smiled.

"Amontillado. Interesting choice, Nicholas. But ... why? I thought
you preferred strong, red wine."

You know why, Nick thought. Aloud, he said, "Thinking of ... absent
friends reminded me of your preference, for sherry."

Nick felt slightly embarrassed. It was a silly, romantic gesture and
would rather LaCroix hadn't commented on it. He'd selected the
Amontillado, not because LaCroix had a particular fondness for the
wine; but rather, it was something they had enjoyed the last time
they were on good terms with one another.

Aristotle felt his company was on the verge of becoming superfluous,
so he took his leave to mingle with the other guests. LaCroix led
the way toward a small alcove, unoccupied at the moment. A small
table was tucked into it, flanked on either side by a pair of
upholstered, high backed armchairs. He sat down and motioned for
Nick to join him. Nick couldn't help but remember other evenings
they'd spent in quiet conversation and he felt a small pang of
regret. He looked down at his sire before taking his seat, and the
elder slowly raised his eyes to him. The soft lamplight reflected in
those pale eyes was not the source of the warmth Nick saw in their
depths, and he could hardly draw a breath, he was so shaken.

As always, LaCroix could, with a look, or an inflection of his voice,
cause him to fall apart; tongue-tied and awkward, utterly smitten.
Even when Nick had scarcely been able to speak civilly to him, his
master had never failed to captivate him.

LaCroix took a slim sliver case from inside his jacket and selected a
cigar. Before laying the case down on the table, he offered one to
Nick.

"No, thank you." he said, politely. LaCroix's offer was spurious; he
knew how much Nick disliked smoking of any kind. What surprised him
was that, for once, his protégé didn't object.
"You're very agreeable this evening." he smiled, "What are you up
to?"

"Nothing." Nick said with a rakish grin, and took up his glass. The
blood gave the Amontillado a deep, amber glow and the delicate flavor
of the sherry unleashed more than memory.

* * * * * * * *

Nick stood with a blanket clutched around his shoulders, just outside
the doorway that opened onto the east garden. The sun had long since
gone to the front of the house, but the fragrance of sun-warmed roses
still lingered in the yard. From the shade of the wide veranda, he
watched the clouds change from pink and gold, to purple, as the sky
deepened and dusk settled around him.

Interrupting his peaceful contemplation of the garden, he heard
LaCroix behind him, his voice tight with alarm.

"Nicholas! Come inside, at once."

"It's quite safe, LaCroix. Come and see." Nick said over his
shoulder, then looked back at the sunset. "It's so beautiful."

LaCroix barely glanced at the sky. "Yes, very pretty. Now, will you
be good enough to come back into the house?"

Reluctantly, Nick walked into the dark hallway and LaCroix shut the
door firmly behind him.

He had been distressed when he saw Nick had gone outside, before the
sun had fully set, and was exasperated to find there'd been no real
cause for concern.
"Just what do you mean by romping about in the garden, wearing
nothing but your pajamas?"

Nick didn't feel like explaining that he couldn't sleep and had felt
cooped up in the big, dark house. He looked imploringly at LaCroix.
"I wanted to watch the stars come out." He gently grasped the sleeve
of his master's heavy, embroidered dressing gown and smiled
charmingly.
"You're not really angry with me, are you?"

"And you'll not look sweet on me, just to escape a scolding, will
you?" LaCroix looked into his eyes and searched through their link.
He found nothing, save Nick's ever-present restlessness and shy
desire. LaCroix smiled, wondering if he could coax him back to bed.
"You're troubled again, no? Perhaps a drink would settle you."

Together, they went into the drawing room, and LaCroix fetched a
decanter of blood wine; a fine, old Spanish sherry. LaCroix found it
to be a pleasant change from the heavy red wine they usually drank.
He filled a glass, and put it into Nick's hand, then took another for
himself.

Nick let the blanket fall to the floor; trying to keep hold of both
it and the wineglass was cumbersome. LaCroix gave him an
appreciative glance, he thought Nick looked quite fetching in his
pale blue pajamas. His tousled hair and the blanket at his feet made
him look like a sleepy child, despite the stemmed crystal wineglass
in his hand, and the gentle, knowing light in his eyes.

"To do such things," LaCroix gestured towards the door leading to
the veranda, "serves only make this longing of yours worse,
Nicholas." he laid a hand on Nick's shoulder. "Turn away from the
sunlight, mon coeur, and be content."

LaCroix wondered if that truly was the cause of Nick's disquiet,
simply that he missed the heat and light of day. His work had taken
a turn, which LaCroix found rather unsettling; he was painting
sunrises and harsh daylight landscapes. Worst of all, because
LaCroix detested this so-called modern art, was the abstract nonsense
that was obviously supposed to represent the sun.

Whatever the reason for Nick's unease, LaCroix knew of a remedy to
restore his protégé's mood, albeit temporarily. He reached out to
brush Nick's disheveled curls back from his face, then took glass his
from him, and set it on the cherry sideboard.
"The moon is about to rise." Lacroix said quietly, "Shall we go
watch for her?"

"But I'm not properly attired for a romp in the garden." Nick
reminded him, "Let's watch Janette arise, instead." He waited for
LaCroix to follow him, and they walked down the hallway towards
Janette's bedroom.

* * * * * * * *

They sat quietly, while they revisited their last time as
companions. Those final years had some moments of rare sweetness and
both vampires chose to look back at just those, for now. They pulled
back from their remembrances when an acquaintance came over to them;
a man with a shy, self-effacing manner, an anachronism in his
Edwardian-style clothing. LaCroix rose to greet him, and Nick did
likewise.

"Ah, Felix. Always good to see you. Nicholas, you remember our
friend, Felix Twist?"

Nick almost refrained from mentioning that he and Felix had
occasional dealings; he had been in the habit of mistrusting LaCroix
for so long. Pushing the thought aside, Nick shook hands with Felix,
saying, "Of course. Felix has been of invaluable help to me lately."

Felix demurred and turned to LaCroix, "Just an interesting little
problem Nick was reluctant to bring to, shall we say, a more
conventional barrister."

Felix had a reputation throughout the vampire community for being
able to untangle the most difficult legal and financial conundrums.
He was a shrewd, almost predatory lawyer, yet one of the most gentle-
hearted people Nick had ever known. Horticulture being one of his
passions; Felix had an elaborate, indoor garden and he took great
delight in nurturing his orchids and other rare and exotic flowers.
Nick couldn't imagine this soft-spoken man as a murderer, he wondered
how Felix looked when he killed and fed.

Nick had lost the thread of the conversation, and was surprised to
hear LaCroix and Felix debating the merits of the de Brabant
Foundation. LaCroix, of course, was mildly scornful, deriding Nick
for being sentimental and foolish, throwing his money away on
charity.
"Nicholas thinks of it as blood money. Perhaps he thinks he can wash
the blood off his own hands with ... good deeds."

Felix argued the point gently, "Nonsense, LaCroix. Nicholas
understands the value of such largesse."

"Ah, yes. Noblesse oblige."

Nobility obligates, a precept Nick had grown up with. Born to great
wealth, he had added to his considerable fortune over the centuries,
but he hadn't come by all of it legally. He felt those ill gotten
gains weren't really his. Although he couldn't give the money back,
he could put it to good use. LaCroix and Felix were both wrong. It
wasn't an obligation to compensate for the atrocities he'd committed,
nor for any advantage it might give him. Nick had set up the
Foundation for the simple joy of giving.

LaCroix looked at Nick, drawing on his cigar before he spoke.
"Are we boring you, Nicholas? You were being inattentive."

"Not at all." Nick smiled, "But I apologize if I've caused you to
feel neglected."
He leaned over and took a drag on the cigar LaCroix held loosely in
his fingers. He held the smoke in his open mouth for a moment,
before letting it roll out. LaCroix wanted to smile. Nick could be
absolutely transparent, at times. Felix took it in stride; he'd
known them both far too long to be surprised by any of their games.
LaCroix turned to him, the smile still twitching at his lips.

"You'll excuse us, Felix? I shouldn't want you to start feeling
neglected."
After they'd said their farewells, LaCroix asked Nick if he'd had
enough.

Deliberately misunderstanding, Nick said, "Not yet, it's still
early. What about you?"

"Fasten you seat belt, Nicholas." LaCroix smirked, as he led the way
back into the main salon. "I'm just getting started."

* * * * * * * *

As the car pulled up to the warehouse, Nick had asked LaCroix to come
in. Curious to find out what his protégé was up to, he accepted the
invitation. Nick had flirted outrageously with him all evening,
showing off, perhaps. He usually wasn't so demonstrative, in public,
at any rate.

"Shall I have the driver wait?" LaCroix asked, as he opened the
limousine door.
There was a long pause, before Nick answered him.

"I was hoping you would spend the day with me."
He could hardly contain his excitement when LaCroix sent the car away
and followed him inside.

Nick took out his pocket watch, and laid it carefully in a small
metal box, then tossed his jacket, vest and tie over the back of a
chair before offering LaCroix a drink.

"That would be lovely." the elder smiled, and Nick busied himself
with the preparations.

"I trust this will meet with your approval." he said, handing the
wineglass to his mentor. Their fingers touched as LaCroix took the
glass, and he noted that Nick's hand trembled at the brief contact.
LaCroix took a sip and raised an eyebrow.

"The quality of your cellars, or should I say, 'fridge, has improved,
Nicholas," he smiled, "so, too, has your hospitality, I might add."

Nick was once again overcome with shyness. While they had been at
the club, he'd felt free to make advances toward LaCroix, which were
graciously received. Now that they were finally alone, he wasn't
sure what he should do. LaCroix was enjoying Nick's discomfiture,
immensely. He pretended to take no notice, but sat in the armchair
and asked Nick if he'd care to light a fire.
"I feel somewhat chilled. But I'm sure you can remedy that."

Nick got the fire started, wishing LaCroix had sat on the sofa,
rather than the armchair.
He knew he was being teased and he didn't like it.
"Well, Nicholas," LaCroix asked, "now that you've got me here, what
are you going to do with me?"

In a choking whisper, Nick told him exactly what he had in mind.
LaCroix leaned back in the chair and remarked casually, "I don't
believe I've ever heard you use that word before."
His voice took on a harsher tone, "Your memory has become rather
selective, it would seem."

"No, I remember what I said to you." Nick said quietly, and sat on
the rug at LaCroix's feet, not daring to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry,
LaCroix. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Of course you didn't. You're much too self centered to be concerned
with how your actions would affect anyone else." LaCroix waited for
Nick to apologize again, or to tell him to go to hell, but he just
sat there, tracing the pattern in the rug with his fingertip.
"What will happen to me, might I ask," LaCroix continued, "should
you start feeling dominated again?"

Nick glanced up swiftly, with a steely glint in his soft eyes.
"Do you want me to crawl?"

"No," his master smiled, "I want you to wait."

LaCroix felt a wicked satisfaction. The game had gone well; Nick was
fretting and off balance, but not deeply angry yet. Knowing how
volatile he could be, LaCroix relented. Nick would need something to
divert him for a few moments, before they could resume their mutual
seduction.

Gesturing toward the piano, LaCroix said, "It's been such a long time
since I've heard you play, Nicholas. Would you indulge me?"
Nick went immediately to the piano, glad for the distraction. He
began to play an old torch number. A few bars into the song, LaCroix
called softly to him.
"Would you mind terribly, if I asked you to play something else?"

"Not at all." Nick smiled and began to play piece by Schubert, a
sonata he knew LaCroix especially enjoyed.

LaCroix went to the carved wooden mantelpiece and stood watching the
flames for a moment.
He went to the side of the piano, so he could see Nick's face as he
played. LaCroix felt a thrill as he watched him; he looked so
beautiful, with his golden hair shimmering in the firelight. Nick
played with his eyes closed, his lips parted slightly, utterly caught
up in the music. When he finished the piece, he sighed blissfully,
and looked up at LaCroix.

His master smiled back at him, lost for a moment in his favorite
child's dark blue, shining eyes. "I'm so glad you still love to
play, Nicholas, considering all the aggravation I went through while
getting you to learn."
At Nick's puzzled expression, he explained, "You didn't find playing
the piano nearly as fascinating as playing with your piano teachers."

* * * * * * * *

The memory of another time washed over Nick. Sprawled over the
pianoforte was a dark-haired young man dressed in brocade and lace.
Nicholas leaned against him, enraptured by the man's hot blood
surging through his body, still savoring the kill. He heard
LaCroix's voice behind him, both amused and annoyed.

"Oh, Nicholas. Not again."

* * * * * * * *

Nick walked over to LaCroix. "I remember how much you enjoyed
watching me kill and feed. But I won't do that anymore. I can't."

Unexpectedly, LaCroix supported him. "Few of us can safely indulge
these days. Never mind, Nicholas. It's a small matter, at the
moment."
He led Nick over to the sofa and handed him a small gift-wrapped box.

"What is it?" Nick asked. It seemed surprisingly heavy for it's
size.

"Well, it's a gift, isn't it?"

"I meant, is it for a special occasion?"

"Just open it, Nicholas."

Nick carefully tore off the delicate paper and brought out a heavy
gold bracelet. The massive, square-cut links had been fashioned to
resemble interlocking serpents. On the inside it bore the
inscription, 'toujours'.

"Always." he whispered, as he traced the smooth gold with his
fingertip.
"It's beautiful. Thank you, Lucien."

LaCroix loved to hear Nick call him by his first name, because he so
rarely did. He put out his hand for the bracelet. "May I?" he said,
then fastened it on Nick's wrist, letting his fingers linger for a
moment on the bracelet.
"Think of this as a 'prodigal son returns' offering. You are
returning, no?"

Nick touched LaCroix's hand, and his elder sighed, "Be certain,
Nicholas. You may belong to me, but I want your heart again. Unless
you can give yourself without reserve, without fear or reproach, we
will be forced to continue as we are."

Nick had been considering all that LaCroix had given him. Not just
the endless years, but also the remarkable opportunities to learn and
explore. As a mortal man, he'd been afforded an excellent education
and had eagerly sought more experiences. As a vampire, he had been
able to devote entire lifetimes to discovering new sciences,
philosophies and art. He had loved learning how to paint and to play
music, and still threw himself into his work with joy and passion.
None of it would have happened, had he not given himself to LaCroix.

Yet, he felt frozen in time. He had been pulled from the cycle of
life. He could grow in wisdom, but he would always be looking at the
world through the eyes of a young man, eager, at the beginning of the
journey. He would never know the quiet satisfaction of the homeward
road. Perhaps this was the price, and not his soul, he had given for
life unending.

He was silent for a while, then spoke softly, "I've been trying to
make peace with myself. I've found some things about this darkness
than can still inspire delight."

LaCroix gently pulled Nick to his feet. "You cannot imagine how long
I've waited to hear you say that."
He lowered his head as if to give Nick the vampire kiss. Instead of
submitting, Nick put his fingers to LaCroix's mouth to stop the
contact. He bit his own lip and let the blood to trickle down his
chin, then wiped it off with his finger, and touched it to LaCroix's
mouth, all the while gazing deep into his mentor's eyes.

LaCroix was stirred. "Apparently your new playmate has been helping
you expand your repertoire."

"So it would seem." Nick smiled.

* * * * * * * *

In the bedroom, Nick had LaCroix stand so he could see himself in the
mirror, then removed his elder's dinner jacket and drew the dagger
stickpin from his collar. He lifted the braces from LaCroix's
shoulders, then let them drop around his waist. Nick carefully
unfastened the tiny jet buttons, and took off the soft black shirt.
LaCroix unbuttoned Nick's shirt for him, and pushed it off. Their
eyes met in the mirror and each watched the other as they
transformed; becoming voracious, erotic predators, like jungle cats
with glittering golden eyes.

Nick bared his fangs, and scratched LaCroix's shoulder, just breaking
the skin. A tiny drop of blood oozed out, and Nick swept it off with
his tongue. The icy burn sent ripples of pleasure through his body.
He bit deeper, then watched the bloody rivulets flow down LaCroix's
body, dark against his alabaster skin. He followed the streams of
blood with his lips and tongue, lower and lower until he was on his
knees. This small taste of his master's blood after his long
abstinence nearly caused him to swoon. His senses were flooded with
leather, smoky-sweet incense and damp earth; the never-forgotten
essence of his master, the lover he feared he'd lost forever.

He remained on his knees, in an attitude of supplication and pressed
his face against LaCroix's body, covering his bare torso with slow
kisses as he stood up. With a finger hooked into the waistband of
LaCroix's trousers, Nick led him to the bed, then leaned over him and
brought his mouth down, brushing LaCroix's soft lips with his own.
Nick cautiously moved his fingers to trace the strong jaw of this
stranger he knew so intimately. He knelt against the bed, one leg on
either side of LaCroix and stroked his velvety crew-cut hair, while
gently exploring his mouth. Nick had always loved kissing him like
this; he loved feeding the burn of his hunger with the slow touches
LaCroix knew just how to give him.

This was the first time Nick had ever taken the lead in their
lovemaking, and LaCroix was breathless, amazed by the change in him.
Their kisses grew feverish as they undressed each other. LaCroix lay
back, pulling Nick on top of him and waited to see what his wild
child would do next.

Straddling LaCroix's body, on his hands and knees, Nick kissed his
sire's hard, cold neck, then teased his fangs over his neck and
shoulder and down the inside of his arm, lingering where the bluish
vein showed through his skin. LaCroix began to writhe in
anticipation as Nick's slow, teasing mouth moved down his belly to
lick and bite the inside of his thigh. Using a feather light touch,
Nick described tiny circles with his fingertips along the wet skin of
his muscular legs. He brushed his cheek against LaCroix and looked
adoringly at him. He went to take him into his mouth, but the elder
stopped him with a shake of his head. LaCroix didn't like what he
was sensing from the younger vampire. Nick wasn't giving of himself,
he wasn't thinking of anything beyond his own pleasure. LaCroix
wanted Nick to be emotionally involved in their coupling. Otherwise,
he wanted no part of it; he wasn't about to be used for gratuitous
sex.

Nick wet his lips and tried again.

"I said, 'no'." LaCroix said, then smiled to soften the
rebuke. "You can't have your own way all the time, Nicholas."

"Oh? Since when?"
Before the words had left his mouth, Nick knew he'd made a serious
mistake. He shut his eyes and bowed his head.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
Nick looked up when he felt LaCroix move from the bed.
"Where are you going?" he asked, laughing nervously.

LaCroix continued to dress. Without turning around, he said, "Just
because I can't leave, doesn't mean I have to stay here."

"Wait, LaCroix. You take the bed, I can ... I'll sleep on the sofa."

"Don't be ridiculous." LaCroix said. He picked up his dinner jacket
and swirled it over his shoulders as he walked out the door.

Nick was furious. He wanted to throw something heavy at LaCroix, and
call him every terrible name he could think of. A soft chuckle came
from downstairs, reminding him how amused LaCroix would be if he lost
his temper. Well, Nick wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
"Jerk." he muttered, not sure if he meant epithet for himself or
LaCroix.

The morning dragged on and on. Nick tossed in his bed, trying to
fall asleep, using every trick he could think of. Around noon, when
he found himself counting the bricks in the wall, he gave it up, and
got out of bed. He couldn't sense his master at all; LaCroix had
closed their link. Warily, he crept to the edge of the mezzanine and
peered over the railing.

LaCroix lay stretched out on the sofa with his fingers laced over his
belly. He appeared to be asleep. Nick went slowly down the stairs,
agonized with indecision. He was reluctant to wake LaCroix, but he
wanted to talk with him and try to apologize again. Wrapping up in
his kimono, Nick squared his shoulders and went to LaCroix with an
air of confidence he was far from feeling. He sat on the floor, and
slowly lifted his eyes to his sire's face. LaCroix was smiling at
him.
"You're up early." the old vampire said.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Troubled conscience?" LaCroix sat up to make room on the sofa.
Nick sat primly at the other end, with his hands clasped together to
keep from fidgeting.
"Well?" LaCroix prompted, after a bit.

"LaCroix? I'm sorry ... everything was so nice, and I ..." Nick
stammered, looking at the rug, his hands, the walls; anywhere but at
LaCroix.
"I'm an ill-mannered brat."

"You mustn't say things you don't mean, just because you think I want
to hear them." LaCroix said with a hint of a smile.

"But I am a brat." Nick countered, in his most seductive
voice. "You've said so yourself. I'm selfish and rude," he moved a
little closer, "and spoiled-"

"What do you want?" LaCroix interrupted.

The question surprised Nick. He stopped flirting and said
quietly, "I want things to be the way they used to be."

"By 'things' I assume you mean our relationship. Quite impossible,
Nicholas." the elder said crisply, "Too much has happened."

"I want to be your lover again." Nick whispered, then his face lit
with a shy smile. "We did get off to a nice start last night."

"Yes, very nice." LaCroix agreed. Another time, he would have been
delighted to hear Nick begging for sex, and would not have hesitated
to throw it back in his face. But his dearest child, his angel was
asking to be loved again. He dare not say anything further; he
didn't think he could trust his voice not to betray his warring
emotions.

Encouraged by the faint glimmer in LaCroix's pale eyes, Nick laid a
hand on his sleeve. "We could start up from where we left off." he
suggested. LaCroix searched his face, half afraid he would see the
guarded, defiant expression his protégé usually wore, but Nick was
looking at him with undisguised devotion.

"Very well," he said, gesturing for Nick to stand with him, "We'll
make a new beginning."

LaCroix stood passively while Nick undressed him. He didn't seem to
mind that his expensive clothes were being dropped any which way on
the floor. The kimono slipped from Nick's shoulders with a soft
rustling sound.
"Hold me." he murmured, winding his arms about LaCroix's neck.

They eased down onto the sofa and LaCroix marked the pleasant
sensation of butter-soft leather against his bare skin. Nick's
gentle kisses became urgent as LaCroix opened their link. Nick heard
it whispering in his mind, and he felt a fierce joy rising inside
him. He slid off the hard body undulating beneath him to kneel on
the floor.

He looked up at his master, his lover. The vampires held each
other's gaze for a long moment, then Nick struck, biting deep into
the femoral artery. He moaned as the gush of cool, musky blood
filled his mouth to overflowing. LaCroix got to his feet and Nick
stayed latched onto him. The elder arched against his beloved,
stroking the back of his head, gently pulling his soft blonde hair.
The blood ran down his thighs, flowing from him faster than Nick
could gulp it down.

Nick held him tight, digging his fingers into the small of his back,
pressing his thumbs against the crest of his hipbones. Easing his
ferocious grip, he wrapped his arms about LaCroix's waist, then
reached up to stroke his back, sliding his hands up and down, over
and under every inch of his body he could reach while he fed. His
own consciousness was beginning to slip away and merge with
LaCroix's. Although he was tempted to loose himself in their blood-
bond, there were other pleasures he would taste first. He looked up
at his sire, licking the blood from his lips and whispered, "With
your permission."

LaCroix smiled down at him and waited for the delicious teasing.
Nick wiped the blood from his mentor's leg with the palm of his
hand. Closing his fingers loosely around LaCroix's erection, almost
touching the delicate, sensitive skin, Nick let the blood drip onto
him before he tightened his grasp. He slicked his bloody hand over
the thick shaft with slow strokes, while darting his tongue out light
and quick over the silky flesh. All at once, Nick took him into his
mouth. A groan escaped LaCroix, and Nick's deft reciprocating motion
slowed to an agonizing slither. LaCroix put his hands on Nick's
shoulders to steady himself and plunged into him. He watched his
beautiful angel take the entire length of his cock, again and again.
He felt Nick's hands slide up his thighs to gently grasp his
buttocks, and guide the speed and depth of his thrusts.

Nick was in a haze which had effectively excommunicated his mind,
leaving him awash in pure sensation; the hardness of LaCroix's
muscles shifting under his hands, the musky scent and taste of his
skin, the coolness of his rigid phallus sliding against his lips and
tongue as it slipped in and out of his mouth. But through the blur
of his sensory overload, he felt the serenity of loving and being
loved, and he gave himself to LaCroix without fear or reproach.

Only when LaCroix felt his climax was imminent, did he gently compel
Nick to stop. Shaking and gasping for breath, Nick got to his feet,
and LaCroix kissed his wet, swollen lips. Smoothing the silky hair
back from Nick's face, he whispered, "Give me your throat."

Carefully, as if he was handling something very precious, LaCroix
lifted Nick's chin and bent to take his first taste of him. Nick
shivered as the sharp fangs entered him, and he waited for the
burning of his heart to ignite his body. He let his head fall back,
then sunk his aching fangs into LaCroix's throat. As their blood
flowed from one to the other in a rich circuit, a torrent of desire
and need rushed through them in a slow-motion instant that seemed to
last for hours.

* * * * * * * *

LaCroix leaned against the headboard watching Nick sleep, curled up
beside him. They had ranged all over the loft in the course of their
furious lovemaking; from the rug in front of the sofa, to the dining
table, then on the staircase. The sun was setting by the time they
worked their way into Nick's bed for a final round.

LaCroix brushed the back of his hand against his child's disheveled
hair. The light touch woke him and he looked up with a sleepy
smile. His master, brother, father, lover caressed him again.
"I didn't mean to wake you, Nicholas. Finish your nap."

Nick snuggled against LaCroix with a contented sigh, and promptly
fell back asleep. On an impulse, LaCroix bit his own fingertip, and
watched a small drop of blood well up, then caught it with his tongue
as it dripped off. The blood sang with the quenched heat of their
coupling and the fragile threads of trust and love. He looked from
the tiny wound to Nick; his lips were parted, his face was softened
by sleep. LaCroix touched Nick's sweet mouth and left one dark drop,
which glistened in the dim light. He let out his breath, slowly.

"Welcome back, Nicholas"

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