Title: Glimpse of the Abyss
Author: Amy
Email: wings@midsouth.rr.com
Website: http://members.freespeech.org/wings_of_imagination
Fandom: Forever Knight
Pairing: Nicholas/LaCroix
Type: slash
Rating: NC-17
Status: New, complete
Archive: List archive, others please ask
Disclaimer: Unless daydreams count, the yummy men aren't mine.
Damn.
Summary: LaCroix strikes at a low point in Nicholas' life. Will
it result in tragedy?

Nicholas sat heavily on his couch and stared dully into space.
Hunger was an annoying buzz on the edge of his consciousness but
apathy stilled his limbs. He'd dropped his coat and keys by the
door, not bothering to retrieve the items when they landed on the
floor. Exhaustion gripped him, sending tendrils of dizziness,
heaviness, and despair throughout his body. He'd never have
believed it was possible to function when grayness stole all the
color from life. He was so tired: tired of living, tired of work,
tired of this city, tired of fighting, tired of everything.

Lifting his gaze a bit, he eyed the open metal shutters and the
windows beyond them. The faintest signs heralded the coming dawn,
a barely perceptible lightening on the horizon. Only someone
attuned to the coming day and wary of its deadly nature would have
noticed them. The remote control that closed the shutters, making
the loft a haven against the outside world, lay within inches of
his motionless hand. Contradictory impulses fought within him,
the need to have it end, to face the sunlight and finally end his
hellish existence and the fear and knowledge of his damnation.
Seconds passed into minutes before his hand crept slowly forward
and he pushed a single button. Faint scraping sounds echoed as
machinery whirred, ending in a dead silence that he shattered with
a harsh laugh and a bitter smile. His face creased in torment
that had worn into edges around his eyes.

What had made him think he could face crossing over today anymore
than he could eight centuries ago? He had been a coward for
longer than mortals could ever imagine and that fact wasn't likely
to change anytime soon. Weary, heartsore, he laid his head back
and closed his eyes trying not to think, trying to simply exist.
He attempted to gather enough strength to force himself out of his
sprawl and into the kitchen to feed. Normally, the beast, the
vampire, would be clawing and snarling in the back of his mind,
trying to take over in order to survive, but almost constant
hunger had beaten it into exhausted submission.

The foul nutrient shakes that Natalie constantly forced upon him
barely fed his craving, touching only the barest edges of his
hunger, leaving him weak, with a growing lethargy stealing through
his veins. He recognized the sluggishness as one of the first
heralds of starvation. In craven apathy he was coming closer and
closer to the final death. However, he had neglected to tell the
good doctor that the only effect her remedies had was in causing
his slow, eventual demise. Tiredly, he cursed the cowardice that
could face death in slow eventual stages rather than a single
moment of bright glory. He wondered sometimes why no one saw how
close to the precipice he walked, constantly teasing himself with
glimpses into the abyss, getting closer with each pass. Then he
remembered that he had had decades, centuries, to perfect his
masks, his shields. He had worked for the sake of his sanity at
building walls between him and the world. Although, he wondered
at times if the walls had saved his sanity or provoked his
inevitable slide into the abyss. Did he have any sanity to
protect anymore?

The walls served their purpose though; even LaCroix could only
delve so far into his mind now. Since their estrangement, he had
successfully kept thoughts, plans, and actions from his creator so
many times that he had lost count. He had shut them behind an
inviolable door deep in his psyche, rarely to see the light of
day. It was even possible, he had discovered, to briefly shut
their link down completely, but he saved that for rare occasions
because it sent LaCroix into a rage.

Knocking on his door brought him out of his apathy, forcing a
despairing groan from his lips. Not now, he thought hopelessly,
please not now. He sent a desperate plea to whatever merciful
power would listen to the damned and was not surprised when he was
ignored. Minutes later the sound of a lock turning echoed in the
silence and Natalie's concerned voice sounded through the loft.
With an effort, Nick slid his masks back on but he could not force
any feeling into them. Emotionlessly, he watched as the human who
had worked for years to cure him of his curse moved closer.

She was beautiful, without a doubt. Long, soft, tumbled brown
hair, large caring eyes, pale flawless skin, and a lithesome
graceful body. She was kind, idealistic, passionate, and he
wished with weary fervor she would go the hell away. Even beaten
into submission his beast stirred at the hot, enticing smell of
prey and the possibility of gushing, sweet blood. Her scent
curled delicately around the room and the beat of her heart
sounded thunderous causing his teeth to ache.

"Nick, are you all right?"

The words floated to his ears, seeming to pass through layers
before finally becoming meaningful. Natalie was sitting beside
the couch and frowning at him in concern, she reached out and
gently touched his shoulder causing shudders of reaction
throughout his body. Soft skin, such sweet smelling skin, he
thought absently. Catching her hand before it made contact again,
he stared silently while her heart began to speed up and the
faintest wisps of fear began to emanate from her tense body. The
scent was so sweet, seeping deep into his mind, curling around his
hunger, tempting him towards the beast, the bright need. Just one
taste, it whispered, and scarlet life would flow over the pain
deep within, blunting the painful burning.

"No," he answered simply, curbing the urge to kill her with the
last of his waning control. "Natalie, I need you to leave."

"But Nick--," she protested.

Not having the strength of will to bear a long argument, knowing
if she stayed, she would be dead within the hour, he rose from the
couch, drew her up, and escorted her out. Even weak with apathy
and hunger, his strength easily outmatched hers. Leading her to
the entryway, he gently plucked his key out of her hand, and shut
the door, ignoring her sputtering protests. The thunk of the
closing door prompted a despairing whimper from the beast clawing
and whining within him.

"Nick!" She yelled through the wood as she pounded on the barrier
between them, the barrier that unknowingly saved her life.
"Please, let me in. Tell me what's wrong." Protests, pounding,
and pleas continued for several minutes, even as he ignored them.
Eventually, she gave up and silence returned to the hushed
darkness of his abode. The silence echoed like the screams of
despairing voices and he stared for a minute at the refrigerator
and the sustenance it represented before returning to the couch
and his boneless sprawl. Closing his eyes, he shut out the world
and glided along the edges of the abyss, looking down at the faint
gleams that represented madness and recognizing scattered shards
of his psyche. Maybe it was time, he thought with the barest
sliver of a smile.

Before he could fall, the abyss receded minutely and he felt a
whisper of cool presence. The smell of sweet human blood and
tart, fruity wine scented the air nearby. Moaning silently, he
knew exactly what he would see when he opened his eyes. The first
item he saw was a goblet of rich, red, thick blood-wine that spoke
to his beast and sent it feebly clawing at his barriers, wailing
in need. His gaze traveled from the goblet to the pale strong
hand holding it, and further up into the fierce, stern face of his
master. How had LaCroix known to strike tonight? How had he
known that Nicholas was at the end of his endurance, with little
fight remaining? He had the link locked down tight; he was not
leaking any of his emotions. Of course, he thought resignedly,
even without the link LaCroix was a predator with a finely honed
instinct of knowing when the prey was weakest.

He had not a hope in hell of evicting LaCroix as he had Natalie.
Even at full strength, the battles between them could go in either
direction. As it was now, he stood a better chance of surviving
daylight than overpowering the other vampire. Not now, he thought
despairingly, he had finally decided on the abyss, only to be
pulled back by his master's bright presence. His only chance lay
in the willpower that was scattered around him in tattered shreds.
He had to get through this, one final confrontation and he could
end it. With a will forged in centuries of conflict, he slowly
began piecing himself together only to gasp as LaCroix roughly
grabbed the back of his head and entwined long fingers in his
hair. Fingers tightened and pulled his head back, arching his
neck painfully.

The blood-wine poured directly into his mouth before he could
recover enough to shut his lips. Wild sweetness danced over his
tongue and he swallowed involuntarily. His beast howled and
battered at the bars of his cage demanding release. The rich,
enticing smell filled the room, tempting and tormenting him
causing him to groan and with the last echo of his will he tried
to turn his head away.

"No," LaCroix said harshly, "this has gone on long enough. You
will drink this if I have to chain you to the wall and force feed
you."

Nicholas stared into fierce, pale blue eyes tinged with worry.
His eyes traveled over the sharp planes, full lips, and soft white
hair of his master. Vaguely, he tried to remember why he was
resisting this. His mind felt cloudy, but he was sure that there
was a good reason for defying LaCroix. Frowning, he tried to
bring the reason to mind. Because it was human blood? Because
LaCroix wanted it? In the hazy depths of his mind, he could make
sense of neither excuse. Reality existed on the whisper of a
shadow and bright blue eyes burned his world.

"Nicholas." A rough shake broke him from his reverie. "Drink."
LaCroix brought the cup to his lips and almost involuntarily, he
opened his mouth, allowing the thick liquid to cascade down his
throat. Rich, hot, tormenting fire exploded through him carrying
strength and life in its wake. He shook as the dead heaviness
that had afflicted him for so long began to lift, replaced with
tingling life. A strong hand held the back of his head as LaCroix
fed him cup after cup of pulsing life. His blood soared and
burned and he shook as if dying again.

The wine and human blood lifted the dead heaviness but he was
almost as dazed as before, so that it was several minutes before
he noted that LaCroix had moved beside him and was slowly stroking
his cheek. "Mon fils, why do you do this to yourself?" The
seductive, husky voice whispered, "Why do you do this to me? Give
up this useless search for humanity."

Confused and dazed, he shut his eyes, hoping the world would go
away. Wearily, he searched for the abyss. Wasn't it enough? He
had broken a centuries old vow to never drink human blood again
and found that the severing of the covenant left him empty.
Shouldn't it hurt more, shouldn't he feel something beyond weary
relief? The beast within him was stronger, roaring in triumph,
wanting full release, wanting to revel in the night. Pausing, he
tried to remember why he wanted to be human again. It had been so
long, he did not even know what human was anymore.

Damned either way, he thought bitterly. The abyss beckoned,
floating closer and he smiled as he looked into the depths. He
realized in that direction laid madness. Insanity and peace both
held an equal appeal, he moved a bit closer and peered over the
edge watching the colors swirl. Neither death nor life, but a
means of escape, the coward's way, but he was so tired. He craved
the blessed blackness, reaching out he strained to touch the
swirling shadows, only to jerk away as he registered sensation.

Bemused, he tried to pinpoint the feeling: soft sliding wetness.
Moisture and texture imbued with a feeling of faint comfort. A
tongue, he realized dimly. Opening his eyes, he saw translucent
skin move in front of his face. Soft, white hair slid past him
and a wet, cool tongue licked gently at his neck before the lips
moved upward and brushed over his cheeks and brows before settling
over his mouth. Delicate nibble, soft gliding touch, wet sucking
possession. The abyss began to fade as the touch anchored him to
reality. Sighing in bemused pleasure, he started to slide into
the sensations before he registered their meaning. LaCroix, his
master, his creator, was reclaiming him. All his efforts would be
for naught if this happened, he would not be able to find the
strength to pull away again. He had nearly destroyed himself
gaining his independence the first time; he could not go through
that again. Never again would he find the will to unravel the
twining of their minds, to separate his existence from LaCroix's.

Moaning in denial, he ripped their mouths apart and tried to
wrench himself away from his destruction. Only to find himself
pinned and looking into furious, demanding eyes. "Enough,
Nicholas. You belong to me and it is time you relearned it."
Fingers bit into his arms; incalculable strength promised him no
mercy.

Dismayed, he stared upwards for a silent instant before he began
to struggle in earnest. This could not be happening, please let
this not be happening, he thought incoherently. Cold lips
returned to his own, ignoring his efforts, kissing him almost
brutally, a harsh grinding deliberate possession. Gasping for
unneeded air, he tried to detach himself from what was happening,
only to lose the battle as the world tilted crazily. The next
sensation he registered was a firm mattress along his back and a
heavy weight pinning him down.

Blindly, hopelessly he fought to get away. LaCroix simply held
him in an iron embrace, subduing his struggles firmly. It was
several minutes before the low, husky whispers penetrated his
frantic mind, "Shhh, mon amant. Mon fils, it will be all right."
The soft, seductive voice filled his ears and mind, whispering of
days gone by, of possession and mastery, of dark nights filled
with sharp cries and sensual pleasure. Exhausted from fighting
himself as well as LaCroix, he slowly stilled, wild tremors
shaking his body. The inevitable had happened, he realized with
dreadful certainty. His master had struck at his weakest moment
and he did not know if he had a single shard of resistance within
him.

LaCroix hummed his approval and loosened his hold slightly before
kissing his brow gently. Nicholas breathed in the sharp scent of
copper storms and lightning that unmistakably marked his master's
power and age. He stared into implacable blue eyes and shivered
with the unmistakable intent shining therein.

Swirling eddies of power rippled through the room and seemed to
settle on his skin as LaCroix ghosted white fingers across his
face. He could barely feel the touches and yet they seemed to
burn, sensitizing his body, sinking into what was left of his
soul. The mesmerizing touches continued as LaCroix removed his
shirt and smoothed gentle, burning swirls on his bare skin. His
master stroked every portion of his body softly until he was a
mass of nerve endings, throbbing in the open air, begging for a
closer stroke, a longer touch.

His tremors faded, replaced with shudders, as he was reacquainted
with the drugging, pleasurable, consuming force of his master. He
gave no resistance as LaCroix removed his pants and the rest of
his clothes. Reality barely existed, subsumed to the bright
burning pleasure that hummed down to the edges of his tattered
soul. The silk of the sheets felt cool and slick along his back.
The gentle strokes continued all along his body, no part was
untouched, every portion was reclaimed. The process sent him
smoldering even as it was oddly soothing.

"So beautiful, mon fils," LaCroix said quietly, bending to lap at
his chest.

Pointed canines drew along his skin and shivering, he moved
slightly away only to stop at a sharp glare from crystalline blue
eyes. Retreat was no longer an option for him, and while he could
still see the bare edges of the abyss in his mind, it was
retreating into the distance. LaCroix drew all of his attention
and perhaps it was only by accident that the gentle licks began
smoothing the jagged shards of his tattered psyche.

Just when he thought his body could not become any more sensitive,
LaCroix shifted him with strong hands onto his stomach and began
the process over again on his other side. A slightly rough tongue
licked cool wetness on his back and legs. The air tingled where
it encountered the damp moistness. Long strokes, wet licks,
almost soothing but with an edge of danger shown with slight
pricks of sharp fangs. Sighing, he melted into a languid tangle
of sensation as waves of care whispered over his bare skin.

He did not realize he was moving until the silk sheets slid along
his skin in a rough caress as he opened himself to deeper touch.
LaCroix hummed his approval and petted him with long languid
caresses. The cool touch branded every part of his body and he
sighed with need and moaned as a dark voice whispered promises.

"So beautiful, mon fils, my bright child. I've waited ages to
reclaim you."

He trembled as a long finger stroked inside him where only his
master had been centuries before. Need trembled in its wake and
he shook as one hand held him still while the other pierced him.
The slight pressure against the barriers in his mind went almost
unnoticed but the scraping tickle from inside body and mind
increased in tandem. He had ceded over full control of his body
and will, now his master demanded nothing less than his entire
soul.

Suddenly afraid of what his master would find, he again began to
struggle. He could not bear to disgust LaCroix. His mind was not
a quiet place but filled with consuming guilt, tearing anguish,
debilitating shame. How could his master care for him after he
saw how low he had sunk? Blind panic tore through him and fueled
his fight in the battle for his sanity. However, the struggle was
useless before it even began and an implacable strength held him
still as the fingers burning in him increased and stretched him
and the pressure against his mind and barriers increased.

"You're mine," LaCroix whispered in a husky voice of dark, rusted
iron. "Struggle if you need to, mon amant, but it will make no
difference in the end."

LaCroix bent over him, blanketing him with his body. The hair on
his back whispered with sensation as smooth skin rubbed against
him. Strong thighs nudged his legs further apart and bright
terror merged with agonizing anticipation. The first slow
movement, inexorable in its possession nudged him and he felt
himself spread and filled. The thrust was concurrent with a dark
spear on his inner defenses and flayed beyond imagining, he
surrendered.

A bright, cool essence filled him and seeped into every edge of
his consciousness. His master followed every twist of his mind,
re-learning everything except his most fiercely guarded secrets.
Feeling buffeted through the edges of insanity by the stress,
Nicholas sobbed as LaCroix caught and held him with damning
tenderness. Every impulse and thought that cut him with jagged
condemnation smoothed as LaCroix entwined himself through almost
every particle of his being.

"Mon fils, my dearest child," LaCroix's dark voice was hushed with
limitless sorrow, "What have you done to yourself?"

He felt the sharp prick of fangs at the skin of his neck and did
not know if he could manage another sensation added to the rest.
It was only the whisper of LaCroix's presence in his head that
prevented him from fragmenting into shards. Shuddering, desire
spiraled through him as the fangs bit him and his master drew his
blood. He shivered with an agonizing need and an arm appeared
with invitation in front of him. Latching on with desperate
haste, he bit down and moaned in unparalleled pleasure as his
master's rich dark blood flowed down his throat and sparked
through his body. His master surrounded him, nothing else existed
as the sparkling vintage of age and dark history flooded his
existence.

He barely noted when LaCroix began to move but soon the thrusting
pleasure began to build upon the blood high and sparks of ecstasy
exploded in random pleasure though his seared nerves. Each thrust
coincided with an assault on the last bastion of a barrier between
their minds. The shared blood cycled between them in sparkling
waves and forged a deeper connection each moment as his walls
began weakening.

"Let me in, mon amant," LaCroix's voice whispered deep within his
mind. His voice echoed through Nicholas' entire body, hypnotizing
him with waves of longing and need. Buffeted on the building
storm, he had never felt safer, held within the presence of his
master. The storm built to conclusion and he shattered into
pieces. The last barrier between them dissolved and LaCroix
flooded into every crevice of his mind. Floating mindlessly, he
felt his master thrust one more time into his body and the cool
wetness that filled him matched his own ecstatic release.

Bonelessly pliant, he curled into LaCroix when his master shifted
minutes later. Owned, cherished, and loved, he knew that his days
of freedom were no more. Feeling the strong arms wrapped around
him and the buoying presence in his mind, he could not bring
himself to regret it. Every part of him body, mind, and soul
reverberated with the feel of LaCroix.

In the aftermath of pleasure, he could almost see his master
sifting through his mind and memories. LaCroix reacted with anger
to the memories of the time Nicholas had locked him out and
concealed events from him. LaCroix saw the frantic search for
humanity and Nicholas' growing disenchantment in the very thing he
searched for and his despair as he tried to find a meaning to his
life. Cool arms tightened almost frantically around him as the
memory of the abyss floated between them.

Ironically, Nicholas found himself in the position of reassuring
his master. "You're stronger than the abyss, LaCroix," he
whispered.

"Never again, mon amant," LaCroix said fiercely in his ear, as he
smoothed a soothing hand down his body, "you are no longer alone.
You will never be alone."

The abyss disappeared without regret and Nicholas curled into the
cool presence that defined his past and once again his future. He
no longer had the will to push LaCroix away and no longer felt the
need. Long centuries of loneliness had taught him the pain of
rebellion. The love and possessive care that reverberated along
their link soothed him. It had taken him eight centuries but he
had finally learned that absolute freedom meant absolute
loneliness. Wrapping his master and lover's presence around him
closely, he drifted into the first peaceful sleep in centuries.

End