This story follows the events in the episode Sons of Belial. It was originally published in the 1999 charity fanzine The Unnamed Faction Pillow Book.

Possession

It was happening again.

"I don't know, he just rubs me the wrong way. Do you guys think I'm crazy?" Tracy asked as she straightened the top of her desk.

He noticed her throat as she swallowed; the skin was pale and beautiful. Nick leaned forward on his elbows and looked at his partner, trying to force himself to concentrate on what she'd just said. He slowly shook his head and settled for staring at a file on top of his desk. Fears and questions raced through his mind.

These spells of heightened need had been hitting him for the last three weeks, coming faster and harder each time. It had only been a few hours since the last time this dizzying bloodlust had hit him. Four-and-a-half hours the time before that. How soon before he'd be walking around in a constant state of desperation?

"No, you're not crazy," Natalie said. She perched herself on a corner of Nick's desk and gave him a curious look. "Maybe he's just not the guy for you." Natalie turned to Tracy and shrugged. "Nothing wrong with that."

Nick ground his teeth together and closed his eyes. As Nat and Tracy chatted away, he tried to follow the conversation to distract himself from the boiling sensation building in his gut, but their voices became nothing more than a high-pitched buzz. The only thing he heard clearly was the beating of both their hearts. He willed them to go talk somewhere else, anywhere else, away from him.

Natalie was the closest, and her heartbeat literally pounded through his body. Tracy's pulse echoed hers, its volume only slightly less intense. Despite his efforts to shut it all out, in a matter of seconds he was acutely aware of the heartbeat of everyone in the area, and he felt as if he were about to lose his mind.

"Nick? You OK?" Natalie looked at him, concern clear on her face.

"No offense, Nick," Tracy said, "but you don't look so good."

"I . . . I'm okay." Nick looked first at Natalie, then Tracy. He fingered the file on his desk and tried to smile as the two women studied him. Feeling like a bug under glass, he said, "I'm fine. Really." Nick stared intently at the back of his hand. Please stop, go away, leave me alone.

"Tracy?" Joe Reese called as he walked out of his office. "You have the Sanchez report?"

"Yeah, Cap." She rifled through a stack of papers she'd just straightened. "It's right here, somewhere."

Nick felt a tiny breeze as the Captain walked by, but he didn't look up. Another thundering heartbeat to contend with.

"Owwow," Tracy said, shaking her hand, then sucking the tip of her index finger into her mouth. She handed the report to Reese with her free hand, rummaged through her top drawer, and pulled out a small elastic bandage. "Papeh cud."

Nick's mouth opened. The moment her blood hit the air the scent of it wound around his insides, rippling his body with the urge to feed. He slowly placed his hands on top of his desk, fingers splayed, and exerted as much pressure as was safe, trying to somehow physically hold himself in place. Biting his tongue, he swallowed, fighting the urge to lunge across their desks and take Tracy's finger into his mouth. To take Tracy's neck--

"Nick!" Natalie yelped as she placed a hand on his forehead, surreptitiously covering his eyes at the same time. "You really don't look good at all." The nervousness in her voice jangled Nick's already frayed nerves.

Nick closed his eyes as he turned his head away from the heat of Natalie's hand. He forced the golden tinge to disappear, and when he opened his eyes they were their usual blue. They focused on Natalie's throat.

"Nick?" Natalie leaned in, her voice tight. "I think you're coming down with something. Don't you?"

"I . . . I . . ." Imperceptible to humans, the lightly throbbing pulse-point on the side of her neck mesmerized him. She was too close. Her heartbeat, her blood, her heat were drowning him. As he licked his lips, he felt her hand shake his shoulder.

"Nick," Natalie whispered, lightly shaking him again, this time drawing his attention to her eyes.

"Maybe you're coming down with that nasty bug that went through here a few weeks ago," Tracy said. "Almost everybody got sick. Maybe it's finally caught up with you."

Natalie gave him a knowing look, her hand still on his shoulder.

"She's right, Nick," Reese said, as he turned to head back to his office. "You look like hell." When he reached the doorway he called back, "It's slow around here. Why don't you book off sick, and take another day or two if you need it. We'll call you if we need you."

Nick looked at his Captain and after a brief pause, he nodded. "Maybe you're right."

"Now I know you think--" Reese stopped, a look of shock on his face. He raised his eyebrows, and put one fist on his hip. "Okay. All right, then." He blinked twice, nodded and closed the door.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to block out the sound of their heartbeats, the smell of blood, the warm hand on his shoulder. The lovely, cherished neck within striking distance.

He had to get out of there.

He snapped his eyes open, then forced a slight smile as he stood.

"You know, if you're really coming down with something . . . why don't you let me drive you?" Tracy said, as she moved to rise from her chair.

"No, no. Thanks. I'll be fine." He nodded at her and Natalie, and started for the door.

"Okay, if you're sure. Feel better," Tracy called after him.

Natalie caught up with Nick before he reached the exit. Pulling him to the side, she spoke in a whisper. "Nick, talk to me. What's going on? You've been more and more distracted since that night at Vanderwal's, and now your eyes." She shook her head. "Tell me--"

"Nat!" Startling himself with his angry tone, Nick looked around and lowered his voice. "I told you. I haven't craved human blood this way in a long time. It's just, it's getting to me, that's all." Did she have to stand that close to him?

"Tell me what to do, how I can help you." Natalie's eyes pleaded with him to let her in.

"There's nothing you can do." Nick immediately regretted the sound of his words, especially the unintended emphasis on 'you,' when he saw pain flash across Natalie's face. "Time, Nat. I just need time." He squeezed her warm hand and forced a smile before he hurried away.

Nick drove too fast, paying too little attention to the road. The moment he flicked on the radio he realized that it wasn't the right time for LaCroix' show and he flicked it off again without hearing more than a burst of sound.

The frustration of spending time among mortals after his experience with the demon was proving to be too much.

He had to get home, away from the lure of human blood. He'd been lucky until now; these bouts of severe need and hunger had hit while he was alone and hadn't lasted nearly this long. This time, his need was exacerbated by the presence of humans, the very availability of blood. Even isolated in his car he was much too aware of the heartbeats of the other motorists and the blood coursing through their veins.

He looked up just in time to see the light. Cursing himself for not paying attention, he managed to stop reasonably close to the white line. A lone figure standing on the sidewalk jerked around to see the source of the squeal before turning back toward the building.

Her rapid heartbeat stood out, a high staccato above the muffled tympani of the drivers'. She was a tall girl, probably homeless, maybe a runaway, standing under the awning of the corner building. Her back was to Nick, and she seemed to be looking at something through the storefront's window.

Her thin, tan jacket whipped in the breeze. She wasn't dressed nearly warm enough for the crisp November night, but probably had nothing warmer. Probably had nothing but what was on her back.

So many runaways ended up thieves or prostitutes, either for money or dope. Their lives were wasted away, spent searching for the next scrap of food or the next fix. Maybe she had no family, no one to wonder or care why she was on the street so late at night, alone. As her jacket billowed, whipped by another gust of wind, Nick flipped the heater switch, thinking she might appreciate a warm ride to wherever she must be going. To where no one probably waited, and no one would miss her if she never arrived.

He watched her back as she peered through the window. She may be planning to steal whatever it was she was looking at, adrenaline causing her fast heartbeat. She was probably a thief. Maybe worse. She may lead a horrible, desolate life. Might eventually die a horrible, slow death.

But he'd be gentle, wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't frighten her. He'd strike quickly and cause as little pain as possible.

He'd sacrificed for so long, hadn't he? No human could understand the lure of what he'd so long ago given up. But now he needed it, needed her, so bad. Just this once.

Just one.

As he stared at her, the fantasy played out in his mind with startling reality. He could feel her warm flesh under his hands, her lean neck against his lips. The hot blood spilling down his throat was sweet and young. She gasped and shuddered in his embrace as his pull deepened. Nick moaned as he felt her long body go limp in his arms; he sobbed, nearly choking, as he drained the last drops of her life away.

The woman looked down the street behind Nick, frowning, then turned toward the Cadillac.

"No!" Nick pounded the steering wheel with his fists and tore his glowing eyes from the woman. The light blinked from yellow to red as he became aware of the angry honking behind him. Speeding through the red light, he barely cleared a little yellow hatchback he'd forced to a screeching stop in the middle of the intersection.

"No, no, no, no, no, no . . . ."

Nick jerked the car into the first opening he saw and stomped the brake. The driver who'd been behind him at the light laid on his horn as he passed the alleyway, leaving its echo ringing between the buildings. The rearview mirror reflected a pair of molten eyes he barely recognized.

He'd never make it home this way, there were too many temptations, too many easy marks on the street. And even if he did get there without ripping out someone's throat, what would he do? Tease himself with the flat taste of cow blood while his body screamed for something else, only to have this bloodlust flare again in a matter of hours, or sooner? He was afraid that next time it struck, he'd lose control and kill for it. Like he just almost had.

He needed human blood that wouldn't cost him any more of his soul than he'd already bartered away.

Nick hopped out of the Caddy as if the seat were on fire. As he slammed the door he looked around to be sure he was alone and found that, mercifully, no one could see him. Looking up, he thought flight and was instantly speeding through the Toronto sky toward the Raven.

Nicholas landed in an empty side-street next to the club, the smell of blood reaching him before he was even near the doors. He inhaled the sweet, coppery smell; the unique tang made his mouth ache for it. As he maneuvered himself across the dance floor, he thought every writhing body in the building somehow managed to rub up against him. A few of the women, human and vampire alike, tried to drape their arms around his neck and he impatiently threw them off, ignoring the curses that followed. The heartbeats of the mortal club-goers, mixed with the too-loud, thrumming music, tempted him to throw his hands over his ears. What if this were a mistake? So many mortals in the club tonight, so much blood . . . .

His need almost unbearable, he stalked up to the bar and leaned against it for support.

"Ah, Nicho--" Miklos' smile disappeared as he focused on Nick's face. For a few seconds he said nothing as he examined his latest customer. Finally, he motioned toward a glass. "The usual?"

"No." The word came out low and harsh. Miklos kept bovine blood in stock for Nicholas' infrequent visits, but cow blood hadn't eased his escalating craving in the last few weeks, and at this point it would be as sensible as giving a starving man a rubber steak.

Miklos raised an eyebrow and stared at LaCroix' son. When Nicholas didn't waver, he shrugged and produced a bottle. Nick tried to breathe slowly and calmly while the bartender poured the one thing he thought might stop him from going insane. Nick took the full goblet, threw his head back, and downed the contents in one swallow.

Not enough. Instead of soothing the burn, this first, thick taste only stoked the fire. As he shoved the empty glass toward Miklos, the stem cracked in his shaking hand.

"Nick, maybe you should--" Miklos was cut off as Nick lunged and swiped the bottle out of his hand. Before Nick had raised it to his lips, Miklos grabbed his arm and lowered his voice. "You seem to have something in your eye, my friend." Miklos' lips curved but he didn't smile.

Understanding, Nick willed his eyes back to blue and felt panic surge through him as it dawned on him how many times his eyes had changed tonight with his barely noticing. He fought to keep the beast at bay but he couldn't purge all of the gold from his eyes. After what seemed like minutes of internal struggle, Nick finally had the vampire marginally under control, at least enough to fool the mortals in the club.

"Maybe you should enjoy your drink in the back, eh?"

Nick held the bottle tight to his chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that Miklos had held on to him and waited patiently while he regained his composure. Nick wanted to thank him, but he didn't trust his voice. He simply nodded and dashed toward the back of the club.

LaCroix, who had been watching the entire exchange from a distance, approached the bar and grimly eyed the broken glass. He looked at Miklos and raised his eyebrows.

"I don't know, LaCroix." Miklos dropped the ruined glass into the trash and wiped at the bar with a fresh rag. "He's not drinking his usual." The vampires exchanged a look. "And he's very thirsty."

"Really? Then I'd best take him an adequate supply." He took the two bottles Miklos produced from behind the bar and, smiling, headed for the back rooms of the Raven.

As LaCroix stepped into one of his private rooms, Nick spun, growling, ready to pounce. His eyes were more red than gold, and a thick line of blood ran from each corner of his mouth. Only one small lamp burned in the corner, its dim halo not quite reaching the far side of the room. An empty bottle lay on the floor.

LaCroix held out one of the replacements he'd brought and Nick grabbed at it, nearly knocking it from his benefactor's hand. He tore out the cork with his teeth, spat it away, and gulped down the rich, sustaining, human blood.

LaCroix sauntered across the room and casually seated himself on the edge of his bed, waiting for Nicholas to sate his thirst. He watched as his son tossed the empty bottle to the side where it clinked against the wall and rained bits of glass onto the carpet. As Nick snarled and lunged for the last bottle, LaCroix calmly pulled it out of his reach.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Nicholas. Mes-sy." He regarded the broken glass on the floor, then looked at Nicholas.

The elder vampire stood, and slowly offered the bottle to his impatient son. Nick yanked it from LaCroix' grasp and downed over half its contents before he stopped. Wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked at the tall, black-clad figure in front of him and immediately regretted his decision to come here.

LaCroix was enjoying this.

Nick had seen this smile, this expression, so many times. LaCroix' usually blue eyes seemed tinged with smoke as they regarded him from beneath heavy lids. The vampire's tongue appeared and slid over his full bottom lip. His smile looked slightly dangerous, completely sensuous, and totally smug. But most of all, it looked hungry.

That simmering smile planted a matching hunger in Nicholas, a sharp desire to devour the mouth before him and to feel his rattled nerves explode against LaCroix' smooth flesh. He wanted to drink the heady blood that had once formed his being, to revel in its healing essence and its ancient power. Nicholas fought against that desire, but like the need for human blood just moments ago, he was defeated before he began.

Nick tried to slow his breathing, tried to calm the too-obvious quiver in his every movement that LaCroix had, no doubt, already noticed.

"Better?" LaCroix asked, sounding amused yet genuinely concerned.

Nick nodded his head, sucking in air through his flared nostrils. "Mm hmph." He wanted nothing more than to run away and hide. It was bad enough that LaCroix had seen him weak and helpless with his need for blood, but for LaCroix to know that Nick's sexual need for him was twisting his insides . . . .

LaCroix shook his head, his smile disappearing. "I've warned you about such things, Nicholas, time and time again. I suppose this little occurrence is the result of starving yourself?"

Nick's eyes were drawn to the perfect, milky column of his master's throat.

When Nick didn't respond, LaCroix sighed and continued. "You were not meant to survive on cow's blood. You are not a carouche, after all. They don't, they can't, appreciate blood the way we do."

As LaCroix spoke more rapidly, his neck muscles moving in tandem, a surge of excitement rippled through Nicholas.

"Part of the feeding is feeling the life in the blood. Through the blood. The person's passions and loves, talents, desires, dreams, fears, even despair. The sensations are more intense when you drink directly from the person, much more so than from the bottled variety, but they are still there." A righteous anger built behind LaCroix' eyes. "Knowing this, how can you expect to get any kind of fulfillment by drinking from a cow?"

Nick had stopped listening and was now intrigued by the very slight flush that crept up LaCroix' neck and face. His master grew more animated by the second.

"What is it that you feel while drinking bovine, after all? Farmer Brown pulling at your teats while you graze and fill the air with methane gas?" LaCroix laughed humorlessly. "Oh Nicholas, it's no wonder you're at a breaking point. There's so much more to feeding than just not being hungry. It's the total exp--"

Nick threw himself into LaCroix, wrapping one hand around the back of his father's neck and circling a frantic arm around his waist. Impacting with the wall, LaCroix grunted, then cried out as his head was snapped to the side and Nicholas struck, viper-quick. His son sucked greedily, muffled sounds escaping from his throat between swallows.

LaCroix' blood filled Nicholas, its intoxicating richness and power quickening his body and his mind. The thick liquid coursed through his veins, lighting every nerve on its path, warming every spot of flesh. His skin tingled and pulsed as his deprived body demanded its due.

Nick heard LaCroix' sharp intake of breath as he released his waist and roughly cupped the pinned vampire's hardening crotch. He slowed his drinking, finally only lapping at the dark wounds, as he rubbed and pulled at the bulge in LaCroix' pants, grinding his own stiffness against his master's hip.

Nick licked up the length of LaCroix' neck and circled behind his ear before he nibbled and sucked at the earlobe. He felt LaCroix pressing his restrained erection forward, even harder, against his hand. As his heavy breaths puffed into LaCroix' ear, he was rewarded with his master's low growl of approval.

"Ah yes, Nicho--"

Nicholas cut him off, covering LaCroix' mouth with his own, sucking at his master's lips and tongue, all gentleness cast aside. His need was raw and electric, orchestrating every move and sensation. He felt LaCroix' tongue twist back with equal force and a surge of pleasure jumped down his spine, driving his passion higher. He bathed LaCroix' chin and jaw, and suckled the front of his master's throat.

"Oui, mon fils."

Nick froze at the words, the realization of what he was doing, and why, extinguishing his fire. He lurched backwards away from LaCroix, half-sobbing, shaking his head in shock and horror.

"No! What am I doing? I'm sorry, something's wrong."

LaCroix looked as shocked as Nicholas felt. He swallowed and straightened himself, the frustration apparent on his face. "Wrong?"

"This isn't . . . I can't control it. It's not me."

LaCroix' expression turned grim. "Well, then. Isn't this familiar?" He brushed at the front of his shirt and spoke slowly. "If it isn't you, who do you suppose it to be?"

"The demon."

"The demon? Ah yes, the demon." LaCroix took on a long-suffering look and sighed. "Nicholas . . . ." He looked as if he were going to continue, but then the corners of his mouth turned up and he laughed--a hollow, harsh sound. When he stopped, the grim expression returned.

"This demon was exorcised, was it not?"

Nick nodded. "Yes, but part of it's still within me."

"Demonic," LaCroix raised both eyebrows and slightly cocked his head, "residue?"

Nick brightened. Maybe LaCroix would understand after all. "Yes! Or--or--or a fingerprint of sorts. Part of it's still here," Nick tapped his chest, "and I can't control its influence over me. I'm thinking, doing things, that I don't want to do."

"Really?" LaCroix sounded highly amused.

"I almost killed tonight." Nick watched LaCroix' expression turn serious, the elder vampire's jaw muscles working underneath the pale skin. "She was just standing there, and it would have been so easy to get her alone. And imagining it was more vivid than a real memory."

LaCroix lowered his head and looked up at Nicholas from beneath hooded lids. "So that's what I felt coming from you."

Nick nodded and looked away. "I could feel her heat, and her blood in my mouth as if it were happening, and it--" Nick's voice cracked as he fought tears. "I almost convinced myself--I almost took her."

"Yessss," LaCroix said. As Nick looked at him, confused, the elder man whispered, a dark edge to his voice: "It was exquisite."

Nick wanted to strike out at LaCroix, but he couldn't muster the energy. "No, you don't understand."

"I understand perfectly. You think, in essence, that the devil made you do it." A bitter smile graced LaCroix' face. "Oh, Nicholas. You're more human than you allow yourself to believe."

"I had--I had control before. It's the demon's influence, LaCroix! I didn't feel this way until the demon came into me." Nick took a few steps backward and collapsed into a plush chair.

"Yes." LaCroix stepped forward, stopping directly in front of Nicholas. "You did."

Nick shook his head and avoided LaCroix' piercing blue eyes.

"It was always there, Nicholas. You know that. It's been there for almost 800 years."

Nick stared at a spot directly above LaCroix' right knee, trying to think of a counter argument. "I've been able to control it for so long--"

Calmly, LaCroix continued. "Desire, missed opportunities, needs you've neglected, all stacked on top of one another for so many years. Now a," LaCroix pressed his eyes shut as he said the word, "demon has come along and toppled your little tower of denial. It didn't leave anything that wasn't already there; all it did was bring your own needs and desires to the fore, Nicholas. They're yours. The only difference now is your inability to deny yourself of them."

LaCroix paused, then grabbed Nick's chin, forcing their eyes to meet. "Why did you come here?"

"You know why." A beat. "I needed bloo--"

"I know this demon has fueled your natural need for blood. That much is evident. But why did you come here, to my room? My office affords privacy, a couch where you could rest, a vintage supply. If you came here only for human blood, why not go there?"

Nick tried to jerk his chin free of LaCroix' gasp, but the older vampire held tight. Nick had no answer.

LaCroix released Nick's chin and brushed the back of his fingers up the side of his son's face. "Because this is what you desire." He ran his thumb over Nick's lips. "And you can only allow yourself the pleasure as long as you're convinced it really isn't your doing."

Nick gasped as LaCroix' fingers twined in his hair, jerking his head to the side, as he bent over and tongued the length of Nicholas' neck. Nick's cock hardened instantly from the unexpected caress, but as quickly as it happened, LaCroix released his grip on his son's hair and stepped back.

"See?" LaCroix regarded the bulge between Nicholas' legs. "We need what we need, Nicholas. You've had your fill of human blood just now, yet you still feel out of control. And given your recent behavior, it's obvious that you can't go on feeling this way." LaCroix' face softened and he offered his hand. His voice came out in a low whisper that sent chills through Nicholas.

"You must have some sort of release."

Nicholas looked at LaCroix' outstretched hand for several tense seconds. Finally, his eyes met the cool blue ones that looked down at him and he hesitantly clasped his father's hand in his own. LaCroix helped Nicholas rise from the chair and led him across the semi-dark room to his large bed, his eyes barely leaving Nicholas' face the entire time.

LaCroix swiftly pulled back the thick covers and, almost as an afterthought, he smoothed the sheet with his hand. He positioned Nicholas between himself and the bed and gently pushed down on his tight shoulders until his son was seated before him.

"And I insist on providing it."

The old vampire met no resistance as he relieved Nicholas of his clothes and encouraged him to lie down. Nick's movements were a bit jerky, as if he'd been rolled up in a ball for too long and his limbs kept trying to spring back into an old, familiar position. He wasn't offering any help, but despite his obvious reluctance to participate actively, at least he wasn't fighting it anymore. Nicholas scooted himself to the center of the bed and reached for the edge of the sheet that LaCroix had neatly gathered at the foot.

Anticipation zipped through LaCroix' groin as he decided that a long, slow massage might help to soothe his tense offspring. He stepped into a small room just off the sleeping area and set about deciding which bottle would be the most appropriate. LaCroix perused his small but varied collection, searching for just the right potion. Though this occasion called for something extra smooth and luxurious, he didn't want to use anything that might overpower Nicholas' own masculine scent.

His crotch tightened as, feeling every bit the proud Roman general, he selected an ornate flask of olive oil and returned to his sleeping room.

LaCroix' breath caught in his throat as he entered. In his day, wars were fought for less a prize than that which was now laid out before him. His son's pale form was stretched against the dark maroon sheet: a beautiful study in contrasts. Nicholas would have been immortalized in stone, in oils, in clay and virtually worshipped by the sensualists during LaCroix' lifetime. Most men would have killed to spend time with him, and women would have betrayed their valiant husbands for a chance to be near him.

Nicholas' arms rested at his sides and his head was turned to face the opposite direction. Lean, muscled legs were spread slightly apart, one knee bent casually. His impressive penis lay to one side, his scrotum hanging full and heavy amidst a growth of thick, dark-blond hair. Nicholas had obviously changed his mind about covering himself. LaCroix smiled. Not participation exactly, but a promising start.

The aroused vampire walked around the bed and placed the flask of oil on his bedside table. While he undressed, he found himself immensely pleased that Nicholas' golden eyes never left his body. As a thought occurred to him, and old memory, he smiled and headed back into the little closet-like room. After searching through three drawers he found what he was after and returned to his waiting son.

Flinching as he struck the match, LaCroix lit the fat candle he'd found and placed it on the table. Nicholas watched him intently as LaCroix held up the match, slowly and seductively pursed his mouth into a small 'o,' and puffed out the flame. The old vampire took a deep breath as Nick's fully erect cock twitched.

"Roll over, mon fils." LaCroix slid his hand behind Nick's shoulder and turned him, noticing, remembering, how candlelight played off Nick's features, accenting the blue-gold of his eyes and the shine of his hair. How it shimmered on his preternatural skin. LaCroix picked up the flask and crawled onto the bed.

He straddled Nick's well-formed ass, loving the feel of the flesh so malleable beneath him. Squeezing Nick's hips between his thighs, he rocked slightly, his son's smoothness intensifying his arousal.

Nick's body tensed as, without warning, LaCroix poured the thick oil directly onto his skin. As he rubbed both of his hands into the pool that formed in the curve of Nick's lower back, Nick's muscles unclenched a bit and the tense vampire sighed.

LaCroix coated Nick's entire back with oil, rubbing the slick skin slowly but firmly, paying special attention to his shoulders and the back of his neck. The old Roman slid himself down past Nick's thighs and, parting them with his hands, knelt between them.

Nick moaned as LaCroix' ministrations moved to his thighs, his master's fingers kneading first their backs, and then their sensitive inner area. The backs of his knees were gently rubbed, and LaCroix turned to one side, then the other, to fully massage Nick's muscled calves.

LaCroix slowly pulled an oiled hand up the back of each limb, only stopping as he reached the inviting buttocks of his horseman son. With leisurely strokes he manipulated and squeezed each mound of flesh in a symmetrical pattern, his slick thumbs delving into the long crevice between them with each back and forth motion.

He could hear Nick's breath coming fast, an occasional soft growl escaping from his completely aroused son. Running his hands up the strong back and sliding on his knees to Nicholas' side, he whispered, "Nicholas."

LaCroix' desire spiraled as Nick rolled over and turned ruby eyes on his maker. His fangs had dropped and his mouth was wet and full from licking and biting his lips. Everything about him looked sexual and inviting.

LaCroix picked up the flask and reluctantly stood. He took up a spot at the foot of the bed with Nicholas' eyes following him hungrily all the while. Forcing himself to move slowly, he pushed the piled bedclothes out of his way and poured the golden oil over Nicholas' feet, eliciting a soft snarl of excitement from him.

The elder vampire smoothed the oil between his son's toes, over his instep, around his ankles. Impulsively, LaCroix leaned down and traced his tongue in wet circles over the bottom of each foot before firmly rubbing the shining oil into the soles of his son's feet. Nicholas shuddered at the touch of his master's tongue and began slowly rolling his head from side to side. LaCroix gasped in desire as Nick's hips bucked forward and his hands twisted the sheets.

Finishing with his feet, LaCroix moved to the side of the bed and knelt next to the beautiful, writing body of his son. He rubbed down the front of Nicholas' thighs and calves as efficiently as he'd done the rest, and had to force himself to ignore the straining manhood that was almost literally under his nose. The musky scent of Nick's arousal wafted up around him, making it difficult to concentrate on the movements of his hands.

Nicholas moaned and reached for LaCroix' cock only to have his hand pushed firmly away.

Skipping the part of Nick's body he most wanted to tend, LaCroix spread his oiled hands across Nick's stomach, secretly thrilling at the fast up and down movement of the pale chest as his son panted in his arousal. The ancient vampire lowered his head, dampening first one taut nipple, then the other, before his sure hands slid over them, pinching and teasing them into even tighter points.

"Ah, LaCroix . . . I can't take anymore, please." Nick moaned as LaCroix splashed the silky oil over his neck, allowing it to pool in the hollow at the base of his throat. Nick reached for LaCroix' cock, then his own, but his sire again firmly pushed his hands away and back to his sides. As his skilled fingers massed his son's neck, his urge to bend down and drink from this magnificent creature was almost unbearable. He slid his hands over Nick's broad shoulders and down his arms, pressing and squeezing as he went.

Prying each of his son's fists from the sheet, LaCroix used the pads of his fingers to massage the back of Nick's hands while he moved his thumbs in a firm, circular motion over the palms. As he slowly stroked the length of each finger in turn, Nick clamped his hands over LaCroix' and tried to pull him closer.

"LaCroix?" Nick's voice rumbled with need, his hands tight around his master's. Smiling, LaCroix pulled free and resumed his crouch between Nick's legs.

Knowing he should give in, but wanting to prolong the delicious tease as much as he could, LaCroix squeezed the sides of Nick's hips, thrilling with each desperate thrust and wriggle of the body beneath him. He admired his son's cock, straight and thick against his belly, hard enough so that it barely moved with each of Nick's squirms. LaCroix pressed his palms in circles on either side of the gorgeous member, thoroughly massaging his entire lower-stomach and pelvic area.

The old vampire gently spread the oil over the tight sac between Nicholas' legs and was rewarded with his frenzied son arching off the bed in pleasure. As he concentrated on the small strip of flesh between Nick's anus and scrotum, Nick let out a strained whimper which quickly turned into a full force growl. LaCroix slid two satiny fingers into his son's body before finally rubbing a friction-warmed, slick hand down the underside of Nicholas' cock.

"Oh!" Nick's hips thrust forward, pressing his erection into the too-gentle stroke, simultaneously squeezing around the longer fingers in his ass. As LaCroix took the base of Nick's organ in his hand and started a slow, upward movement, Nick cried out. "Oh, faster . . . please, I can't . . . . "

"Shhhhhh, shhhhhh." LaCroix slowly and gently massaged the swollen head with the tips of his fingers, calmly shushing his son's occasional pleas for release. As he squeezed the head of Nick's cock, he slowly moved his fingers in and out of the quivering body that was now so completely at his mercy. After a few minutes of this slow foreplay, aware of his own almost painful erection, he gave in to his son's throaty pleas.

He wrapped his fist around the tip of Nick's cock and slowly slid it down to the base before falling into a slow pumping rhythm. Nick's panting was interspersed with long moments of holding his breath and growling low in his throat.

"Yes, oh god, LaCroix." Nicholas voice dripped with passion as he encouraged his lover's attentions. "Ohhhh, yessss . . . ."

As he increased the speed of his strokes, LaCroix turned up his other palm, spinning his fingers around inside Nicholas and curving them upward in a "come here" motion. As his fingertips pressed upward, finding Nick's sacred spot, his son's back arched violently and he heard the sheet tear in Nicholas' grip as he cried out.

He moved his fingertips in slow circles against his son's prostate, his other hand now working furiously up and down on Nick's erection. The tight flesh around his fingers contracted erratically, and his son's already unbelievably hard cock became silk-encased steel in LaCroix' hand.

LaCroix continued the swirling pressure on his son's prostate and pumped his fist down the delicious cock with abandon. "Yes, Nicholasssss."

The tightening around LaCroix' fingers intensified, and Nick frantically bucked into his hand, completely lost in sensation. As the younger vampire's orgasm exploded through his body, he threw his shining head back and let out a full-throated, male, sexual growl that nearly caused a spontaneous orgasm in LaCroix.

As Nick's orgasm reached its apex, LaCroix threw himself over his son's body, his erection rubbing against Nicholas' pulsing cock, prolonging the stroking sensation. Nicholas' arms wrapped around LaCroix and he ground himself against his master's hard flesh. As LaCroix turned his head to the side, moaning at the sensations this exquisite creature was giving him, Nick sank his fangs into his father's neck, drinking deeply of the sex, the pleasure, the power that only LaCroix possessed.

As his passion slowed to a luxurious crawl, Nick held to LaCroix, rotating slow sips with licks and kisses spread the length of the Roman's neck. He let his kisses trail over LaCroix' jaw and chin, finally covering the full mouth with his own. The elder man returned the kiss wantonly, lightly moaning around Nicholas' probing tongue.

Slowly, LaCroix slid off Nicholas and stretched out on his side next to his son. His cock was still hard, and he instinctively pressed it against Nicholas' hip while his hand traveled in slow, soothing circles over Nicholas' chest.

Nick was exhausted nearly to the point of unconsciousness, yet he rolled onto his side, reaching for LaCroix' hardness and seeking out his master's mouth. LaCroix had been so patient, and he needed his pleasure, as well.

LaCroix captured the groping hand and chastely kissed his son's face. "Non, mon fils. Non," he whispered. "Your needs tonight, Nicholas. And now you need rest." Within minutes, Nicholas had fallen into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, the first since his possession.

As dusk approached, Nick woke and found himself, to his surprise, completely alone. He thought for a moment, then grinned; LaCroix knew that facing him the next day would be hard for Nicholas. After LaCroix' selflessness last night, giving Nicholas his release while never achieving fulfillment himself, the simple added act of giving him this space touched Nick deeply.

Although, he thought, LaCroix may have assumed that Nicholas would be horrified and remorseful about what had happened. Maybe he was simply sparing himself yet another of his son's rejections. Nicholas surprised himself by realizing he didn't feel horrified or remorseful. The thought that he ought to regret it entered his mind, but he quickly swiped it away. For the first time in quite a while he felt . . . at peace with himself. Almost.

Nicholas showered and dressed. Once the sun disappeared completely he headed out of the Raven, not surprised to find his master nowhere in sight.

"When we went out I told him I liked him as a friend, but there was nothing beyond that. I think he took it pretty well."

Nick changed lanes, then looked at Tracy. "That's good. No big scene, huh?"

"No. Thank goodness." The pretty blonde smiled, then looked ahead at the road. "So, you're looking better. I thought you'd be off for at least another night."

"I'm . . . good." Nick smiled, and realizing the time, he clicked on the radio.

As the rich timbre of the Nightcrawler's voice oozed out of the speakers, Tracy rolled her eyes and grunted, shaking her head. "We've got to find you a new station." She grimaced. "Oldies, maybe?"

Nick laughed. Then, as he listened to LaCroix' show, he sobered, his body instantly answering his father's question.

"I'm here, listening--won't you tell the Nightcrawler just what it is that you desire this night?"