Disclaimers:
*Nick/LaCroix, rated R/NC-17
*These characters belong to the creators and writers of the 
series "Forever Knight".
*Song lyrics are from "Stinkfist (a.k.a. Track1)" by Tool, from the 
Ænema album. 
*This story contains adult situations, which may not be suitable for 
anyone.
*Enormous thanks to my amazing betas, Knight Ranger and Allison.
*This story may be archived, unchanged and in its entirety, without 
permission, but please notify me (strokes the ego, you know).
*Feedback (love or hate) would be incredible: marykroll@iwon.com 


Relax, Turn Around
Mary Kroll, 2002 


Cause,
It's not enough.
I need more.
Nothing seems to satisfy.
I said,
I don't want it.
I just need it.
To breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive.



It was not unlike LaCroix to arrive unannounced nor wholly uninvited. 
It was almost expected that he should let himself in. Nick looked at 
his watch dismayed. Of course, LaCroix would foist himself on 
Nicholas at a quarter till dawn. 

"Good morning, Nicholas," he said with a smile. 

Nick tried to keep his perturbation to a minimum. "What do you want?" 
He was tired and hungry after a long shift and the last thing he 
needed was a long, heated debate with his maker. 

LaCroix settled into the black leather chair that sat perpendicular 
to the couch. "Nothing. It just seems to me that we never make time 
to sit and chat like civilized people." He was wearing that smile, 
that grin that told of the often-wicked nature of the stately and 
composed figure. "So, how was work?" 

"It's amazing how everything you do is manipulative in some way. You 
can hardly turn around without forcing your will on someone else, can 
you?" He didn't bother to look at LaCroix as he wriggled out of his 
vest and shoulder holster. 

"Decisive action makes the world go 'round." 

"I think you mean 'love'." 

"No, that's the root of all evil." 

"No, 'money is the root of all evil'." 

"Surely not," LaCroix scoffed. 

Nick just sighed. Something deep inside thought the exchange was 
funny, but the rest of him balked. He walked to the refrigerator, 
withdrew a bottle, took one long draught and replaced the cork. Nick 
walked to the stairs, pausing with his foot on the first 
step. "There's blood in the fridge and a pillow and blankets in the 
closet." He started up, bottle in hand. "Goodnight." 

"Shall I come tuck you in?" 

Nick paused only briefly. "That won't be necessary." He closed his 
bedroom door firmly, a definitive order that he wished to be left 
alone. 

LaCroix, annoyed and not a little disappointed, moved to the kitchen 
area to inspect the wares. "If I had not known better, I would think 
he wasn't happy to see me." 





LaCroix awoke sharply to the blare of heavy metal music. The loft 
apartment was shuttered and dark. A single light bulb shone down on 
the open area of the floor. Lifting himself from the couch, LaCroix 
strode to the stereo. Reading off the cd jacket, he thought to 
himself, "'Stinkfist', what a curiously unfortunate title." He wanted 
to decrease the volume substantially. He had to listen to enough of 
this jarring noise all night at work. Faint swishing noises caught 
his ear as he reached for the dial. He glanced over his shoulder and 
saw, under the spotlight, Nicholas, deeply entranced in a solemn and 
beautiful martial arts routine. He wore only a pair of well-broken 
jeans and wielded a Tai Chi sword in his right hand. His bare feet 
moved silently on the floor. LaCroix moved back to the couch, leaning 
against its back to watch. The kata was like a serene and tender 
dance, performed with all of the power of a born killing machine. 
Nick's every motion, every gesture was perfectly fluid, balanced and 
at just the right speed. LaCroix found he could not look away, even 
if he should want to. The quality of movement was exquisite. It was 
as if Nick's limbs and body fit together better than any other body 
LaCroix had ever seen. What a spectacle. Lithe, supple, agile, 
graceful, there were no words that came even within striking distance 
of Nick's natural beauty. No soldier of the Republic, no lover in his 
bed had ever held his gaze so utterly captivated. The song began to 
replay from the beginning, like a mantra. Nick's skin was the color 
of candlelight and the well-formed muscles underneath called to him. 
LaCroix stepped up to Nicholas as he reached the end of the routine. 


Something has to change.
Undeniable dilemma.
Boredom's not a burden
Anyone should bear.


Constant over-stimulation numbs me
but I would not want 
You any other way.



"It would be a sin to let that body grow old and weak." 

"I'm trying to relax." 

"Please, relax." LaCroix stood very close to Nick. 

"Please back up." 

"I love your body. I always have." He lightly drew a single finger 
down the center of Nick's chest. 

"LaCroix, I don't -" Nick began drifting back, but LaCroix stayed 
with him. 

"Let us talk about your body. You deny yourself proper food, yes? You 
chose to associate with mortal women, yet you deny your body their 
carnal pleasures as well. What have you left for yourself? Have you 
anything in your life that truly rejuvenates you, fulfills you, 
brings you ... release?" 

LaCroix positioned himself so that his cheek nearly touched Nick's 
and their bodies were separated by only a handbreadth. His nearness 
was at once off-putting and enthralling to Nick. He steeled himself 
against the longing that began to smolder deep in his chest, the urge 
to submit his will and seek intimacy with this man he consciously 
despised. 

"We were many years together, you and I. Long days replete with the 
splendor of sharing ourselves and fulfilling the deepest needs of the 
other. No amount of time or distance can diminish that. Tell me. In 
your soul-searching, do you regret 'everything' you did in your life 
with me? Do you regret ...us?" LaCroix kissed behind Nick's ear. "Do 
you want me to stop?" he breathed against Nick's skin. 

"Yes." Nick held his breath as LaCroix kissed and lightly sucked a 
path from his ear to his collarbone. "You're not stopping." 

"No, I'm not." 

LaCroix moved his thin, deft fingers to Nick's pectorals and traced 
delicate circles around his areolas. He pinched a nipple tentatively 
and was pleased to hear Nick draw a sharp breath. 

"Why aren't you stopping?" 

LaCroix reached between them and gently squeezed Nick's growing 
erection. "Because you don't really want me to." 

The truth of that statement was undeniable and added to Nick's 
arousal. He grabbed LaCroix abruptly by the back of his neck and 
kissed him hard. The older vampire relished in the feel of their 
tongues exploring each other's mouths. 

"I hate you," Nick whispered during a breath. 

"I know." 

LaCroix pressed the length of his body against Nicholas, forcing him 
against the wall, as their mouths mashed together. The cold, rough 
bite of the bare brick against Nick's back was a beautiful contrast 
to the smooth silk shirt of the man seducing him. This was happening. 
There was no mistaking it and no denying it. Nick grabbed for 
LaCroix's fine shirt and tore it open. The buttons gave up easily, 
skittering and pinging away. Their hands roamed each other's bodies 
fervently. 

"Let me show you that I'm not entirely self-serving," LaCroix 
whispered, looking Nick deeply in the eyes. LaCroix began to kneel 
down and the anticipation made Nick's erection surge. Deftly, he 
undid Nick's jeans and slid them down over his thighs. His hardness 
stood out, straining and throbbing. LaCroix whispered something soft 
and lyrical in Latin. Nick shivered slightly at the feeling of his 
master's breath on his organ after so many years. LaCroix ran the tip 
of his tongue along the underside from the base of Nick's penis 
almost to the corona. He did this again, and a third time, letting 
Nick's eagerness build. Quickly, he took Nick halfway into his mouth, 
sucking as he withdrew. Nick reflexively put both hands on LaCroix's 
head, though he was able to restrain himself from guiding LaCroix's 
movements. LaCroix, sucking, licking, and stroking Nick with expert 
familiarity, was doing fine on his own. Nick could feel his much-
deprived body already gearing towards climax. LaCroix's skill, and 
his own need, would surely push him over the brink in a matter of 
moments. Nick moved his hands to grip LaCroix's shoulders for balance 
as his knees began to weaken. 


I can help you change
Tired moments into pleasure.
Say the word and we'll be
Well upon our way.


Blend and balance
Pain and comfort
Deep within you
Till you will not want me any other way. 


Nick pulled on LaCroix to bring him standing again. He dove for 
LaCroix's nipples, nibbling and sucking as his hands went rather 
frantically for LaCroix's belt. He began to kneel down, trailing 
sucking kisses down LaCroix's flat stomach as the buckle and the 
button beneath gave way to him. 

"Wait." LaCroix drew him up. "Here," he said gently and led Nicholas 
by the hand to the couch. On his knees like a willing penitent, 
Nicholas removed his creator's boots, socks, pants, and briefs 
carefully, with an explicit purity of purpose. LaCroix sat on the 
edge of the cushion. Nick was immediately between his thighs, rubbing 
eager hands over the other's body. The scent of arousal was thick in 
the air as Nick took LaCroix's fine weapon into his mouth slowly. 
With his lips covering his fangs, he began a series of maddeningly 
slow strokes, pausing at the end to lavish the head with licks and 
gentle sucking. LaCroix ran his fingers through the cotton-soft 
golden curls of his lover's hair. That tender, loving touch made Nick 
moan. The vibrations of Nick's soft palate made LaCroix grab hard on 
Nick's shoulders. He fell back against the couch as Nicholas added 
one strong, gentle hand to the ministrations of his mouth. The other 
hand lightly stroked the soft skin of LaCroix's sac. LaCroix groped 
for the remote control on the arm of the couch and managed to turn 
the volume of the stereo down. He did not want to be distracted from 
splendid oral stimulation by prosaic aural stimulation. 

Nick paused for breath, maintaining the gradually quickening stroke 
of his left hand as the fingertips of his right hands caressed 
LaCroix's perineum. LaCroix drew in a long breath and spread his legs 
wider. Nicholas wet one finger with saliva and pressed just the tip 
inside his sire. He lingered on the tight ring of muscles as LaCroix 
sighed raggedly then slid his finger to that sweet spot. LaCroix 
moaned breathily. Nick seemed to remember everything. His touches 
were as flawless and skilled as his kata had been. Nick stroked 
LaCroix inside with two fingers and outside with one deft hand. It 
was astounding to LaCroix how Nick could arouse him so. In one swift 
motion, Nick took LaCroix into his mouth again and drew on him hard, 
pumping his fingers faster at the same time. LaCroix thrust his hips 
from the couch and moaned loudly. If the ecstasy Nick lavished on his 
throbbing staff and the gentle inward touches were each full fires, 
the combination of the two was surely a strafe of napalm. There was 
no doubt in his mind that Nick could easily make him climax like 
this. 

LaCroix pressed his palms flat against Nick's shoulders, urging him 
gently to stop. They kissed hard and deeply again. There was an 
implicit understanding between them as their lips parted and they 
moved to the floor. LaCroix slid a throw pillow from the couch under 
Nick's hips as he laid himself prostrate on the lush rug. He ran his 
hands from Nick's shoulders to the backs of his knees. 'What a piece 
of work is man, truly,' he thought as he crawled along Nick's body to 
forge another course of kisses, this time from the tip of his 
hairline to his tailbone. He trailed the tip of his tongue down the 
sweet divide there. Nick shuddered unabashedly as LaCroix's tongue 
found and lingered on his opening. Simultaneously and separately, 
each wondered how long it had been: LaCroix since he had lavished 
such affection and attention on his skilled novitiate, Nicholas since 
he had shared tender intimacy with another man, let alone his master, 
and not just physical acts to idle away time. 

Nick looked over one shoulder at LaCroix. "Please." The entreaty came 
as much from Nicholas' soul as from his body. The desperate sound of 
that word, free of resentment, antagonism, or subterfuge, drew 
LaCroix in, almost overwhelmingly. He could have taken Nicholas at 
that moment, hard and fast, and been glad for it. Gently, his 
fingers, one then two, caressed and explored his paramour, exciting 
and preparing him. Nick's breath came raggedly as he thrust in short 
motions back against his master's hand and forward against the fine 
grain leather of the pillow. LaCroix stretched out along the length 
of him and rubbed his cheek tenderly against Nick's temple. There 
were so many days when Nicholas would have given his soul a second 
time for a kind word or gentle touch from his master. 


How can this mean anything to me
If I really don't feel anything at all? 

I'll keep digging till
I feel something. 

Elbow deep inside the borderline.
Show me that you love me and that we belong together.
Shoulder deep within the borderline.
Relax. Turn around and take my hand. 


Unhurriedly, LaCroix began to enter Nicholas. Nick grabbed double 
handfuls of the posh rug they lay on as pressure threatened to become 
pain, but instead melted into incredible pleasure. It was LaCroix's 
turn to shudder, as he was finally ensheathed within his lover's 
body. He held still for a moment, savoring the tight yet yielding 
flesh. 

"Oh, Nicholas." LaCroix held the backs of Nick's hands, interlacing 
their fingers as he slowly began to move. He had to draw heavily on 
his power of self-control to keep his strokes adagio. His tempo 
slowly increased and Nick moved smoothly underneath him. LaCroix 
reached under Nick's hip and wrapped his slender fingers around the 
hardness he found there. Nick reached down to guide his master's 
hand. They felt like new lovers again. Was it possible for the two 
embittered enemies to make love so? 

Nicholas could feel the coil of passion tightening in him and knew by 
LaCroix's progressively urgent thrusts that he felt it too. LaCroix 
had shifted his supporting arm so that his elbow bore the weight and 
his wrist lay in front of Nick. Nick scraped the pale skin with his 
teeth and lapped at the tiny rivulets of blood it produced. In his 
blood, Nick could taste the heady vintage of years, the power, the 
lust, the trickery, the anger. Underneath it all was a feeling 
Nicholas could not avoid, though he tried: "Nicholas, my precious, my 
most beloved." Nicholas latched onto his wrist and bit down. Blood 
poured into his mouth and across his mind. LaCroix's practiced mouth 
found his jugular and their release was upon them. LaCroix pumped in 
time with the spasms of gratification as the allegory of his son 
filled his consciousness. Confusion, hatred, betrayal, love, and hope 
in the unique amalgam that was Nicholas. They parted after a 
lingering moment, spent of seed and sated with blood. 

Keeping their bodies close together, LaCroix rolled them onto their 
sides. Nick cast the soiled pillow away as LaCroix moved a lean arm 
to cushion Nick's head. He wrapped his other arm across Nick's chest, 
spooning against him. Nicholas closed his eyes and listened intently 
to LaCroix's breathing, slower than a pant and infinitely more 
impassioned. 

It was Nick who finally broke the fragile silence, "This can't last." 

"No, it can't...but it doesn't have to. It's nice enough for right 
now." 

Fin