Standard disclaimers: The Forever Knight universe, with its background,
locations and characters, are the property of James Parriott and
Sony/Tristar. No infringement is intended. This fiction is for
entertainment purposes only.
Permission to archive to: www.fkfanfic.com; JADFE
Comments in the form of a nice Beluga and some champagne to
stormborn@prodigy.net. Criticism's accepted, too, but if you want to flame
me you gotta bring your own marshmallows, I'm on a diet (there's a rubber
dress out there somewhere with my name on it).
Note: This is a challenge between myself and the utterly depraved Cousin
Mary, founder of the CERK Perks, who just refuses to believe that Uncle
would never bother with Tracy--he's already got a blond!
Warnings: m/m explicit sex; m/f/m explicit sex; vulgar language. And this
is pretty extremely explicit, folks.
Chance Encounter
By Molly Schneider
Copyright 1999
Tracy shifted in the seat of the Cadillac with a bored sigh. The old boat
was comfortable enough, she had to admit: those bench seats were big enough
for an orgy. She bounced a little just to feel the springs, then blushed.
What *are* you thinking, Vetter? If anything had happened in this car it
was long before Nick had owned it, she was sure. Not that he wasn't
gorgeous, but he clearly wasn't a 'player'. Poor Dr. Lambert, she mused.
When she found herself thinking that the rearview mirror might actually look
good with a garter belt or a pair of fuzzy dice, she scrambled out of the
car and slammed the door. Nick had gone into the Raven over half an hour
ago to meet with a source. "What the hell is he telling you, Nick? His
life story?" she muttered as she headed across the street.
A Friday night, and the place was packed with bodies: leaning against the
bar, clustered in the booths, grinding on the dance floor. No Nick, though.
No Vachon either, she noticed, as she pushed her way to the bar. Leaning
over she shouted at the bartender, "Seen Nick Knight around?" He was a
darkly handsome man with a pantherlike build; slowly his mouth curved in a
wicked smile. He jerked his head toward the back. "With Himself," he said.
Himself? The owner, this LaCroix guy? His staff called him 'Himself'?
Brother! She headed down the hallway, not noticing that a score of
speculative smirks watched her go.
She rapped on the door. "Nick? You in there? Come on, buddy, we've got
other things to do tonight!" No answer; she tried the knob. It turned in
her hand and the door swung open. "Nick--"
Two pairs of glowing eyes glared at her; identical snarls rose from two
throats. My God. *Nick* was a vampire! And LaCroix . . . And, omigod,
they were *naked*! She stood frozen for what seemed like an eternity,
brought to herself when her partner said, "Tracy? The door?" Automatically
she shut it behind her; when she turned back the 'detective' side of her
brain had taken over.
They weren't really naked, but Nick's t-shirt was pushed up under his
armpits and his jeans were undone. LaCroix's jacket was off and apparently
Nick had been working on his shirt; it gaped open, exposing a finely
sculpted chest as smooth and pale as marble . . . Tracy gulped. Tearing her
eyes away she looked up at them. Nick's eyes had reverted to their normal
celestial blue but they still held a trace of anger. The other's eyes,
though, were coolly amused. "I meant, close it behind you," Nick said
hotly.
"Oh, I don't know, Nicholas. Shouldn't your new partner be getting to know
you a bit better?"
"You bastard--this isn't funny!"
"On the contrary, mon fils, I find it very amusing indeed."
Tracy was doing a little fuming of her own. "That damned bartender--he sent
me back here--he knew!"
Nick sighed. "Jack's idea of a joke."
"And you! You left me waiting out there in the cold while you're in here
*screwing*!" To her surprise, LaCroix started first to snort, then to laugh
outright. "Oh, you poor thing," he gasped. "Nicholas, where is your
precious chivalry?" And then Nick started to chuckle, too.
While she stared at them in total disbelief, Tracy came to another
realization. The bartender had probably shared the joke by now with a
number of the other patrons, who were no doubt waiting for her to scurry out
in some sort of virginal shock . . .
"Hmmn, yes." The rich voice startled her from her reverie. "Well,
Detective Vetter, the choice is yours. You may leave, if you like--through
the bar, which, as you surmised, is no doubt eagerly awaiting your
departure. Or you may stay and save yourself a great deal of embarrassment.
Either way--" he looked down at the man in his arms, "--Nicholas and I are
busy."
His voice softened on the last words and he cupped Nick's face in a gesture
she found poignantly tender. Her partner gazed deep into those pale eyes as
their lips met. That kiss made her knees weak. It was as if they'd been
kissing like that for eternity, and as if they were kissing for the first
time. Richly sensuous lips met softly mobile ones, exploring, caressing.
They sucked at each other first gently, then with increasing ardor. . . lips
parted in desire . . . she could see the ripe wetness of LaCroix's tongue as
it slid into Nick's waiting mouth. Unable to take her eyes away, she groped
for a chair and sank into it, aware of her nipples hardening against her
sweater.
A low moan rose from Nick's throat. His arms went around LaCroix's waist,
under the hanging shirt; she could see his hands stroking the long muscles
of the other man's back. LaCroix's own hands were working on Nick's chest,
rubbing the hardened nipples in a deliberately slow, circular rhythm. It
was obvious who was in control here: one of Nick's jeans-clad thighs was
climbing LaCroix's leg, pressing against him. Finally they broke from the
kiss so that LaCroix could shrug off his shirt and pull his son's t-shirt
over his head. Tracy almost whistled.
Nick's chest was dusted with fine golden hair; his skin glowed like a wax
candle. Finely made, he could have posed for a sculptor. But LaCroix
already was a statue, hard and pale as marble. Fascinating: she could see
the ripple of muscles in that stonelike flesh . . . The large hands were
tugging down Nick's jeans; he caught one wrist and darted a glance toward
Tracy. But LaCroix put a finger under his chin and turned his face towards
him, capturing his attention with his eyes. Nick released his wrist. The
jeans went to the floor, as did a scrap of black underwear. (Nick wears
black bikinis?, she thought. Who'd have guessed . . . )
Tracy shifted her position on the chair, her breath quickening as she
watched LaCroix go to work. Strong hands and sensuous mouth moved in a
dance of arousal that showed just how familiar he was with Nicholas' body.
Fingertips fluttered teasingly across Nick's chest and down his abdomen . .
. sweetly sucking kisses followed the line of the collarbone . . . a tongue
circled lingeringly in the hollow of the throat as those hands gripped the
round buttocks, kneading them firmly.
Tracy crossed her legs and folded her arms, chewing on her knuckles. Her
partner was writhing under the older man, harsh moans rasping through his
exposed fangs. His face was glazed with arousal. LaCroix, on the other
hand, had the serene face of a monk practicing his faith. He leaned over
Nick, and delicately drew his tongue along his throat as he wrapped a hand
around his lover's cock. Nick cried out savagely.
Omigod, she thought, her clit and labia throbbing uncontrollably. Migod,
what is he going to do to him?
What LaCroix did was to draw back slowly, all the while working Nick's
erection. "Please," the younger man sobbed, reaching out for him.
"Shhh, mon fils. Easy. Tell me what you want."
His eyes fluttered open, fixing on his master. "You," he breathed.
LaCroix chuckled, and did something with his hand that made Nick gasp.
"Gratifying, my love. That's not what I meant, though."
"LaCroix! Please . . . "
LaCroix let go of him with a soothing gesture, and sat back on his heels,
still holding Nick's gaze with his own. "Come here." The other scrambled
to his knees, facing him.
The striking composition they made burned like a brand into Tracy's mind.
Her partner, golden-eyed and feral, the reddish sheen of his sweat glowing
on his vibrant body--facing the marble-cool LaCroix, a composition in ice
and fire. Casually he undid his own trousers and got out of them. Again
his hand traced his lover's cheek. Softly he asked, "And how do you want
me, amant?"
She was going to explode. She was just going to lose control of herself,
right here, right now, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.
As if reading her thoughts, Nick cast a quick another glance at her, then
buried his face in LaCroix's shoulder. The other embraced him, rubbing his
back soothingly.
"Easy, now. It's all right, Nicholas." Nick shook his head. "Ah, but
look--" another quick glance-- "you see how our passion arouses her? Share
it with her. Revel in it!" LaCroix looked at Tracy. His eyes were nearly
colourless, fangtips glinted from his mouth as he spoke, that velvet voice
roughed only slightly by the vampire. "My son is beautiful, is he not?"
Almost dazed she could not help but answer, "Yes. He is. And so are you."
Oh, wicked, that sharp and gloating smile. She felt a rush of longing for
him as acute as it was unexpected. His gaze lingered a moment, then he
returned his attention to his son. "How do you want me, Nicholas?" he asked
again. Nick's eyes met his and a wanton smile slanted slowly across his
face. He cupped LaCroix's erection in his hand and kissed him roughly.
"Fuck me," he said.
She gasped out loud at that, and Nick turned that grin on her. "Well,
Tracy? Adds a new meaning to 'getting to know your partner', doesn't it?"
It wasn't a friendly grin; it was downright evil. Maybe that was what made
it so damned exciting . . . "Go on," she said. "Do it."
After that she abandoned any pretense of disinterested observer. She undid
her own jeans, and shoved them down to her knees, propping her feet on the
desk. Her fingers probed her swollen cunt as she watched LaCroix lay Nick
back down and push his knees back. Nick braced his bare feet against the
other vampire's chest and opened his mouth to suckle the fingers LaCroix
held out to him. She could hear the wet sound as Nick lapped at them. As
the fingers were pulled out of his mouth a string of saliva clung to them .
. . oh, she moaned, ohhhh . . .
And Nick was sucking in his breath sharply, as LaCroix pushed first one,
then another finger into him. His lover was easing that tight passage,
opening him up for penetration. His hips flexed; Tracy's ground in the same
rhythm as she rocked against her own fingers. LaCroix drew his fingers out
and licked the palm of his hand, using it to lubricate the shaft of his
cock. Then he drove into Nick, and Tracy drove her fingers into herself.
LaCroix listened to the joint cries and chuckled. It was nothing to him if
Nicholas' young partner watched them at sexplay; he was a Roman, after all.
As far as any embarrassment it might cause his son went . . . well, hadn't
Janette joined them on several occasions? What did it matter? He looked
down at the thick cock in his fist. And certainly Nicholas had nothing to
be embarrassed about . . . Aroused even further by the sounds and smells of
arousal coming from the other two, he thrust deeper and faster into his
beloved, his golden one . . .
It was good, but it wasn't enough, thought Tracy, watching the scene on the
couch through lust-slitted eyes. Not enough; she wanted what Nick was
getting. Or, hell, what Nick *had*. Only the deep-seated instinct that
intruding would get her killed stopped her from joining them.
LaCroix was hissing French endearments, bent over his son; Nick's hips were
bucking under him, driving upwards. Then his back arched and his head
turned to one side; his face twisted in desperate longing. Nearing her own
peak, Tracy realized with a sudden clarity what that look meant: he
wanted--no, *needed*--LaCroix to bite him.
When he did, it was like the strike of a cobra. Tracy cried out at the same
time as Nick did, came even as she saw his bloody come spill over LaCroix's
fist. She saw Nick bury his face in LaCroix's throat, the spasms of his
climax rippling through his body as he fed . . .
Molly/StormBorn
UF/FKPagan/Cousin/Inn-mate/NA/Ravenette/Seducer/Dark Trinity
stormborn@prodigy.net
http://members.tripod.com/~StormBorn/index.htm
Uncle knows best. Uncle *always* knows best.
See disclaimers and warning in part one; comments to stormborn@prodigy.net.
Cousin Mary made me do it!
Element of Surprise (02/02)
By Molly Schneider
Copyright 1999
Through blurred vision, she saw LaCroix lay Nick back gently on the couch.
There was blood on his mouth and his throat, his eyes were closed . . .
Tracy stared, stricken. He looked for all the world like a murder victim.
Then LaCroix turned his head towards her.
The elegant and cultured man had turned into a sinuous demon, death white
and luminous. His eyes glowed; the vampire rictus pulled his lips back from
his teeth . . . there was blood on his mouth, too. Nick's blood, she
realized, and swallowed. He stretched an arm out to her, and even if she
hadn't wanted to go him, she would have anyway.
She was drawn irrevocably to him, even as some tiny voice in her mind
screamed at her: she was a cop! She was the Commissioner's daughter! What
was she *doing*?!
Tracy dropped to her knees by the couch, drinking them in in fascination.
Sated, Nick's face was soft and incredibly sensual. She reached her hand to
trace the contours of his lips, puffy with kisses and feeding. He caught
her hand and licked the leftover blood from her fingers; a shiver ran
through him, and he smiled at LaCroix. "And what is it that *you* want,
Detective Vetter?" he breathed, as Nick's tongue scraped suddenly against
her breast.
She swayed and would have fallen but for his strong arm around her waist.
He leaned across the body of his lover and took her other nipple in his
mouth. Her skin came alive under their attentions. She didn't deceive
herself; this was pure sex, not destiny. But, damn, it felt so good! She
draped one arm around LaCroix's shoulder to steady herself while she ran the
fingers of the other through her partner's hair. A fangtip teased at one
nipple; the other was being suckled with a ferocity that brought blood
prickling to its surface.
It might have been their bond, their link, that caused them to synchronize
their movements so satisfactorily, or it may have been experience. She
didn't care. LaCroix's strong hand moved to knead her buttocks just as Nick
parted her labia to massage her clit. What was it LaCroix had told Nick?
Revel in it? A smug purr rose out of her as she rocked her hips, letting
the motion of LaCroix's hand drive her against Nick's. A little faster, a
little harder . . . Nick grinned wickedly up at her, and she smirked back at
him. "Nice, guys. But one of you damned well better fuck me."
"Me," Nick decided, then spoke to LaCroix's raised eyebrow. "It's my turn,
old man." She felt a twinge of disappointment, until the older one grasped
her hips and lifted her; neatly he spread her thighs--and impaled her on
Nick's cock. There was a mutual hiss of indrawn breath from the two blonds,
and LaCroix's low chuckle. His chest was cool against her sweaty back as he
moved behind her, cupping her breasts in his hands. Nick was growling as
she rode him; the sound sent shivers of excitement up her spine. Then
LaCroix was pushing her forward, to sprawl against Nick's chest. And then
she felt his tongue licking her, licking Nick's cock as it moved in and out
of her. "Dear God," she moaned.
The man underneath her was snarling urgently. "LaCroix!" Something must
have passed between them, for immediately LaCroix was kneeling on the floor
next to his son. "It's all right, mon fils, I am here," he told him,
spreading a hand against Nick's chest. Comforting him, or holding him back?
Tracy wondered uneasily. LaCroix murmured something in French that sounded
like a question. Whatever it was, it made Nick tear his eyes away from
Tracy's throat and turn to his lover, wrapping one arm around his hips and
drawing him closer.
>From her position on top of him she had a close-up view of Nick giving
LaCroix head with enthusiastic abandon. She waited to be shocked, but she
wasn't, so she gave herself up to the sensations . . .
. . . breasts scraping against Nick's hard and sweaty chest . . . the
delicious tension in her hips straddling his groin . . . the sheer sweet
lust of working his cock with her most intimate muscles . . .
And Nick's throat working as his lover thrust into his mouth; his eyelashes
fluttering over his red, red eyes . . . A roar burst from LaCroix; she
screamed as she saw Nick's fangs scraping the length of his cock, drawing
rivulets of blood obscenely bright against that pale flesh and Nick, Nick
was lapping it up, rubbing his face in it--! She screamed again, as LaCroix
brought his son's wrist to his mouth and tore it open, and kept screaming as
her spasms shook her uncontrollably, over and over.
Afterward she was too drained, and too frightened, to move. A hand stroked
her back soothingly--LaCroix's. Another gathered her head against a solid
shoulder--Nick's. She drew a ragged breath, and looked up into eyes the
color of a summer night. Gentle eyes. "Are you all right?"
She nodded, then the same thought struck them at the same time: "Tracy, if
you *ever*--" "This *never* happened--" They laughed at themselves, and
each other, and Tracy peeled herself reluctantly away from him. She
staggered a little, getting up, and leaned gratefully on LaCroix's arm.
"Oh, *yick*!" The emotion was heartfelt, as she looked down on her sweaty,
bloodstained body.
"Don't fret, my dear, there's a shower just through there." It was
utilitarian, but clean; she scrubbed herself thoroughly and washed her
tangled hair. She padded back to the soundbooth, where the men were talking
together in low, intimate French. She could hear an undercurrent of
amusement and she said brusquely to Nick, "Your turn, partner."
"What? Oh, Tracy--"
"No." She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. "No, I am not
covering for you. Get cleaned up, get your clothes back on, and get in that
Caddy."
He looked to LaCroix for help, saw none forthcoming, and threw up his hands.
As he padded off to the shower Tracy bit her lip. "Well, it's been an, uh,
entertaining evening . . ." What the hell was she supposed to say? Nice
meeting you, Mr. LaCroix, and your penis, too? But then he was smiling at
her and she didn't feel quite so awkward.
"Do you have any idea how old I am, Detective Vetter?"
"Um . . . really old?"
"Really, *really* old."
"Oh."
"It takes a lot to amuse me, at my age, and even more to surprise me. I
find it quite pleasant to experience both, in the same evening, at the hands
of the same person."
"Oh. Well." She was saved from having to think of a reply by Nick's hasty
reappearance; apparently he didn't want to leave them alone together for too
long.
"I'm ready," he said. "LaCroix, I'll call you."
"Good night, mon fils."
That beautiful face softened for a moment. "Good night, mon pere. Come on,
Tracy, let's go."
As they started out the door LaCroix's voice followed them. "It was a
pleasure, Detective Vetter. Oh, but--don't drop by again."
Really old, he'd said, and she shivered. Don't drop by again? Well,
LaCroix, we'll just see about that, won't we?
Molly/StormBorn
UF/FKPagan/Cousin/Inn-mate/NA/Ravenette/Seducer/Dark Trinity
stormborn@prodigy.net
http://members.tripod.com/~StormBorn/index.htm
Uncle knows best. Uncle *always* knows best.
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