(I hope this looks better.)
Happy Father's Day, Unnamed Faction!

Written by:Shan ( aka TrickEMalk@aol.com)
Disclaimer: If only I DID own these guys! Unfortunately, Pariott and da gang at Sony/Tristar
have more to say about what is done ( or as it seems the case) what isn't done with the guys
than do I.
Warning: N/LC, male/male explicit sex, language,  blood sharing, with a pinch of mush
( OK,.. ALOT of mush), not terribly unbelievable<snicker>, any problems should be
addressed to a Mister Lucien La Croix ( who doesn't seem to have minded his activities last
night<G>).
Extra Warning: Not proofed or beta-ed ( I wanted to get it out today), forgive me.
Permission to archive to: JADFE and  www.fkfanfic.com
 

Saturday June 20, 1998   about 11:30 PM

     LaCroix stormed into the Raven. Exhausted from an argument he had just engaged in
with Natalie Lambert, he wasn't in the mood to see the bartender rushing up to talk to him.
     She had called in during his show and stomped on just about every idea he had expressed.
This kind of viciousness was uncharacteristic of ANYONE who spoke to LaCroix, even the
acerbic-tongued doctor.
     He had ended the call-in session and popped in one of the tapes he kept for just such an
occasion.
     When he arrived at the Coroner's office to continue his briefing of her on the finer points
of Roman-style parenting, she had a list of topics to bitch at him about. Up to her challenge,
he got ready to dig in.
     She had kept him arguing for two hours.  One hour into it he had realized that her topic
switching and badgering of little details was hiding an ulterior motive.  However, he was too
hot under the collar at that point to end his participation in their discussion.
     Before he got riled up enough to make a meal of her, she had let up and made an excuse
about her work load.  She bade him good night.
     LaCroix wasn't used to being dismissed by others, but saw that she wasn't going to be
anymore fun, so returned to his establishment. Besides, he needed to check up on the club.
     After descending the steps from the entryway, he was greeted by the newest of the bar
staff. The black haired Gregor, stepped in his path. At least this young Adonis was
something to look at, if not a little foolhardy, thought the ancient.
     "Sir, your son is here . In your quarters. He asked that I make sure the bar runs without
you tonight. And that I make sure to send you to him immediately."
     Eyebrows levitated at the sudden barrage of information. LaCroix decided to go along
with whatever this was all about; if for no other reason than to amuse himself. He could use
this new stimulation.
     He would never admit it, but he _was_ enjoying his argument with the unofficial general
practitioner of the Toronto vampire community.  Damn her workload!  He would just have
to visit her another time.
     Opening the door to his apartment, he was yanked into the room to the sound of a door
being slammed and locked in place.
     His senses were assaulted by the calm in the room: the sweet smell of burning copal,
George Michael's _Listen Without Prejudice_ playing on the stereo, soft hands guiding him
to the sofa.
     He looked into the tempestuous eyes of his most perfectly begotten and allowed himself
to be guided to the huge sofa. LaCroix watched as Nicholas knelt before the sitting form of
his creator and quickly began removing his shoes and socks.
     The old Pompeiian allowed first his shirt, then his trousers and undergarments to be
removed, amused at how his progeny maneuvered him with such care and grace. The
finesse exhibited made him proud of such a creation.
     Muscular arms went behind his back and knees as he was effortlessly lifted. Glacier met
sky as LaCroix' eyes met the other's.  He lifted a finger to graze his son's soft cheek.
     Well placed candles in the bedroom allowed them full view of each other, but drew both
into an even more surreal state.  Neither of them was willing to talk, should the sound break
the spell.
     LaCroix was lain onto a bed covered with more pillows than he remembered owning,
much less having on this bed when he'd left.
     Instead of removing his arms, his son followed him onto the bed.  Embracing him with
one arm still around his back, the other now brushing his lips.
     The weight of the knight pressed LaCroix into the mattress as he was covered by his
love.  He groaned as their arousals ground against each other.  Tiny pink drops from each
already blending between them.
     Both gasped and grasped the other tighter, trying to gain satisfaction merely from the
friction between their bodies.
     LaCroix felt a large hand suddenly around his engorged cock, smearing the combined
fluids along his length.  The insistent grip which remembered the exact pressure he
preferred slowly stroked the painfully erect member.  LaCroix would endure torture and
insanity just to be allowed this touch from his beloved.  And torture is what it was on his
flesh. Insanity is what he suffered at the cold hand and fiery eyes which caressed him.
     De Brabant captured LaCroix' lips in his own. The tongues danced savagely together
and bodies mashed into one another.  The golden son slid his tongue roughly against his
master's distended eyeteeth.
     The only image LaCroix captured from the blood was "love".  He growled an angst
filled cry.  The emotion from his child overwhelmed him.
     Nicholas silenced his cry with his lips softly kissing where seconds before they were
bruising.  The calm sea in his gaze transfixed LaCroix.
     The ministrations on LaCroix' now pulsating erection ceased.  One of the most
beautiful sights he had dared dream of played in front if his eyes as the hard body
straddled him.  His son's ass being teased by the cock lobbing at it from behind.
     He allowed his son to take his wrist to his mouth and bite into it.  Crimson dripped
from the lips that had not swallowed, but had raised his own wrist to his mouth and
repeated the gesture.
     Nicholas grasped the bleeding wrist with his free hand, and bound their wounds
together.  Their eyes met, and understanding filled each other's gazes.
     They were one.  They were together.  For this one moment in time, they were
equal, loving partners.  Damned be time and eternity.  Damned be any soul who would
dare interfere with them.  Damned be their own conflicts.
     Emotions washed over him as LaCroix watched his son take their wrists behind him
and allow them to bleed over his manhood.  Crimson lubricant oozed down the shaft.
     Nicholas raised himself over it and slid down its length gently.  Their cold bodies felt
at once warm at their connection.  They basked in its glow as the younger one guided
them through their dance.
     LaCroix felt himself plunging into the depths of his son by the child's own doing.  He
felt the tightness that surrounded him and finally began to take his own action.  He began
to pump into the familiar territory, feeling the lines of the body offered to him.
     His hands slid along the well developed chest and shoulders, down the arms, and
brought well manicured hands to his lips.  He licked clean the remains of their joint
contribution to the easing of their movements while his hips strove to meet his son's.
     LaCroix trailed his hands lazily along the broad chest again, them more insistently
brought them to his lower abdomen.  He gazed at the beautiful organ which had so
enchanted him centuries ago and took it into his hand.  He teased at the foreskin for
awhile, but not as long as he usually preferred to.  Gripping the shaft deftly, he began
stroking it now to get them into synch.
     It did not take much, as Nicholas cried out at the touch of his elder.  He felt fire
along his own shaft where his father expertly caressed.  The gallant knight caught up
with his father and then some.
     His son began to ride him harder and faster as LaCroix watched through half lidded
eyes. LaCroix felt himself about to burst, and his son along with him.
     Blinding light fractured the passion in their link into a billion shards as their mutual
climax arrived.  Floating through the paragon of their lust, each felt the other's fangs on
his neck.
     The light seemed to disappear after a few minutes of their immersion into each other's
blood.  Their link the most powerful, their orgasms the most fierce they had ever
witnessed.
     They lay in each other's embrace, neither willing to release his beloved.  They slept
like that through the day.  The Sunday and the Solstice leaving them to their slumber.
     LaCroix woke thirty minutes after sunset to a note on the bed next to him, and a
wrapped package.
     The note said "Happy Fathers Day, Father!  With all my heart, Nicholas"
     LaCroix tore into the packaging like a small child at Christmas with an expectant grin
on his face.  Eager for any gift from the one who before only rarely appreciated the gift
he was given of life.

Sunday June 21, 1998   about 9 PM
     Nick slid unnoticed into the middle of one of the ugliest autopsies he had ever seen
Natalie perform. He wasn't sure she really needed to do any cutting on this one, as it
seemed pretty mangled to him to start out with.
     Being the brick-head that he usually was, he couldn't resist the temptation. He grabbed
her from behind with both hands, shouting "Gotcha!!!"
     She took the nearest empty pan and popped him one on the head.
     "OW!!!! Nat!"
     "That'll show you. Next time it'll be a scalpel in the thigh. Classical conditioning, Nick.
I'll have you trained in a couple of years." She grinned evilly, as most mad scientists are
wont to do.
     "Okay, okay, I can take a hint..." but secretly knew he would get the scalpel sometime
this week  "forgive me, madame."  With that, he brought her fingers to his lips.
     She couldn't wait. "So....... how did it go? Did you have enough time?"
     He knew she would bring it up before he could.
     "I had just enough time. You were perfect!" He kissed her on the cheek.