From the Ashes

From the Ashes



This story is set just after “Ashes to Ashes”. “The Human Factor” never happened.



Thanks to Cousin Shelley for her wonderful beta reading! She also suggested the title. Make sure to read her great stories if you haven’t already.



Disclaimer: Not mine. Big surprise, eh?







LaCroix returned less than an hour before sunrise with a cooler containing 34 units of blood. Unfortunately, most of that was expired blood from local hospitals. LaCroix grimaced at the thought. But it was food. And at least Nicholas was willingly drinking human blood, so he didn’t have to visit a butcher to feed him. Not that he would have anyway.



He put the packets in the freezer, putting in a few in the refrigerator to begin to thaw. He headed downstairs.



Nicholas was reading Plato’s “Republic”. The Spaniard was tucked into bed, wearing a terrycloth bathrobe, deeply asleep. Taking a breath to speak, LaCroix paused as he picked up the scents in the air. Strongest, of course, was blood. Soap, water. Mint…toothpaste? And under all of that, the faint scent of sex, a mixture of sweat, blood, and spilt seed. Nicholas was also suspiciously relaxed. He fixed his gaze on his son, seriously displeased. Nicholas looked up from his book, looking apprehensive. “LaCroix, did you have any trouble?”



“Oh, no, mon fils,” his voice a menacing purr. “No trouble at all. And you? I hope your evening was…uneventful?”



“It was—um—fine. Everything was fine. He seemed pretty lucid. Maybe the worst is over?”



LaCroix searched his son’s response and expression, looking for something he could be legitimately pissed about. Nicholas had turned him away for over a century—except for a few times during the Second World War. And now he and this uncouth peasant were down here rutting while he was out fetching sustenance.



Nick, meanwhile, sensing his father’s growing ire, slowly rose to his feet. LaCroix stared at him, his face stony, his eyes golden.



The book fell to the floor as LaCroix paced menacingly towards him. Nick backed up until he hit the rough brick wall. LaCroix planted a large, pale hand on either side of him.



“So, while I was out running errands, you two…frolicked.” LaCroix’s voice was dangerously neutral.



Nick swallowed. So that was why his father was upset. He scrambled for a way to salvage this before aggravation turned to anger.



“Ah, well, yes…he woke up, the Beast was in control, you know how it is, and I didn’t want to beat him unconscious, so I—um—well…” Nick’s babbling trailed off.



“I see.” LaCroix was still looming at him, staring down with those golden eyes.



“I…you see….well, dammit, it’s all your fault!” Nick clamped his mouth shut.



A pale eyebrow raised. “*My* fault? Pray tell, how is your atrocious choice of bedmates *my* fault?”



Nick managed to stop himself from defending Vachon. This wasn’t about him, and they both knew it.



“Yes, *your* fault! You come onto me like that, get me all hot, then you just…” Nick clapped a hand over his mouth, mortified at his outburst. LaCroix’s tight-lipped, stony expression became a smug smile.



Nick clenched his eyes shut, and mumbled into his palm, “I can’t believe I just said that.”



LaCroix ignored that. “I got you all…hot, did I? Then left you unfulfilled. My apologies.” LaCroix leaned in, his earlier ire turning into something much more pleasant. He ran his hand down Nick’s chest, leaning forward to breathe in his ear. “I played with you, and left you…needy. Aching. How cruel…” fingertips slipped into the waistband of his jeans, then moved around his waist. LaCroix slid his right hand into Nick’s jeans, cupping that delicious ass, pressing the trembling body close. “Please, allow me to correct my error.” His tongue darted into Nick’s ear. Nick gasped, then moaned when LaCroix ground luxuriously against his aching loins. “My, my… I suppose young Vachon just wasn’t that…satisfying.”



Nick managed to gasp out, “Don’t be catty, LaCroix.”



“Yes, of course, how petty of me.” LaCroix trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down Nick’s neck, his hands opening Nick’s jeans. Nick’s knees nearly buckled when LaCroix’s large hand cupped him, caressing him through his boxers.



Nick’s eyes snapped open, and he shoved at LaCroix. LaCroix refused to be moved. “Really, Nicholas, playing the coquette. A bit late for that, don’t you think?”



“LaCroix, stop it…” Nick tried to pull LaCroix’s busy hand out of his jeans.



“Doesn’t this feel good?”



“I…oohhh….”



“You want me, don’t you?”



“Yes…oh, yes…” Despite his earlier release, Nick’s body was more than ready for another round. “LaCroix, not *now*!” He managed to wrench himself away.



“Oh? And why not, pray tell?” LaCroix’s voice was getting dangerous again.



“Why not? Vachon’s *right* *there*, for pity’s sake!”



“So? Between his injuries and your….attentions, he will not wake for some time.”



Nick was flabbergasted. LaCroix’s casual attitude towards sex still shocked him. “Well, it’s…it’s just *tacky*.”



LaCroix raised an eyebrow, obviously amused by Nick’s scruples. “Well, my shy one, then I suggest we adjourn upstairs.”



“He might need us…” Nick gulped at the expression on LaCroix’s face.



LaCroix trailed a fingertip down Nick’s jaw. “Either you come with me upstairs, or I’ll take you right here on this floor. Your choice.” LaCroix smiled lazily at him.



Nick’s desire surged hotly at his master’s words. Though he’d always resented LaCroix’s domineering attitude in every other aspect of his life, his treacherous body craved this kind of dominance.



LaCroix shoved Nick towards the narrow ladder, not waiting for his response. In the past, he’d occasionally lured Nicholas into a little exhibitionism, but frankly LaCroix wasn’t interested in sharing any more of his Nicholas with Vachon. Nick stumbled up the ladder, nearly falling onto the hardwood floor as he emerged into the parlor. LaCroix closed the trapdoor and set the bookcase back into place. He noted, with some amusement, that Nicholas had refastened his jeans. His son was staring at him, those remarkable eyes wide and uncertain. LaCroix could have thrown him to the floor and taken him then, hard and rough. Nicholas would have enjoyed it. But with the beast’s emergence, that would have been Vachon’s approach. LaCroix was going chase every thought of the grubby Conquistador from Nicholas’s pretty head.



So, he gently took Nicholas’s hand and led him upstairs, like a parent leading a child. Or like an accomplished lover leading a virgin. Nicholas had been able to resist LaCroix for so long in part because of the cow blood he drank. It had sapped his strength and curbed his libido. Now, with human blood in his veins again, his body was reawakening to other needs.



LaCroix opened the door to the master bedroom. He turned back the snowy comforter to reveal blue silk sheets, and gently pushed Nick onto the bed. He nudged Nick’s knees apart and stood between them, gently cupping that angelic face in his hands. Nick’s eyes were half-closed, his master’s slow, gentle touches mesmerizing him. LaCroix kissed his forehead, his eyes, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips. His hands slid around to cup his son’s neck, thumbs caressing the line of his jaw. His hands drifted down, until he reached Nicholas’s waist. He tugged the t-shirt over Nick’s head. He covered his son’s face and neck with slow, languid kisses. Nick’s hands began unfastening the buttons on LaCroix's silk shirt, fumbling in their haste.



“Shh…calm yourself, little one.” Though his voice was soothing, inwardly he gloated at Nicholas’s need.



Nick growled and muttered, “You’re a condescending bastard, you know that?”



“Mmm…indeed.” He ran his hands in feather-light caresses up Nicholas’s ribs, over his collar bone, his fingers grazing over the pulse-point on either side of Nick’s neck. The boy’s griping dissolved into a soft sigh. He gently pressed Nicholas down on the bed, his lower legs still dangling off the edge. He removed his jeans and underwear slowly, his index fingers trailing down the newly bare skin in a delicate caress from his waist down. He paused at Nicholas’s knees, stroking the hollow behind his knee, his tongue trailing over Nicholas’s upper thigh. Finally, all of the boy’s clothing lay in a heap on floor.



LaCroix tossed his own shirt into the heap, and stood looking down at his son. When he’d bought these sheets, he’d fantasized about Nicholas like this, his golden hair spread across the blue fabric, his golden-hued skin against the dark silk. Though his son usually wore black, blue was really his color.



After a few moments of appreciative observation, LaCroix tossed the rest of his clothes to the floor and crawled onto the bed. He lay on his side, gently caressing his precious son. He sat up briefly, swinging Nicholas’s lower legs onto the bed. He covered Nicholas’s slim body with his own, kissing him tenderly, savoring the taste and feel of him.



Nick sighed as his master’s body blanketed him. LaCroix’s larger body wrapped around his reminded him of being a small child sitting on his father’s lap. He’d never tried to explain the feeling to Natalie; in her human view of relationships she would have found this blend of paternal comfort and carnality repulsive.



He opened his legs, drawing up his knees, cradling his master between his thighs. LaCroix began to move against him in a slow, sweet rhythm. Nick pressed himself closer, grinding his own aching arousal against his master’s.



LaCroix’s desire sharpened painfully when Nicholas spread his legs for him. It had been so long. The master vampire in him relished his triumph as his childe submitted; the lover in him rejoiced at his reunion with his beloved.



They lay nestled together for long, delicious moments, touching and savoring this long-missed closeness. But lust and need eventually eclipsed tenderness, and Nicholas wrapped his legs around his sire’s waist, grinding his hard cock against his master’s.



“Lucien, now! Please, now!”



LaCroix kissed him savagely, cutting Nick’s lips and tongue on his fangs and hungrily licking up the spilt blood. He forcefully pried his son’s legs from around his waist, and trailed razored kisses down his chest. His fangs slashed through Nicholas’s right nipple, making the boy clutch at his shoulders, his body writhing upward. He licked at the blood trickling down his son’s body, his tongue delving into the shallow cut.



Nick howled as the mixed pleasure/pain cut through him. The smell of blood and the feel of LaCroix's fangs cutting his flesh almost made him come. He arched his back, pressing the bleeding nipple into his master's mouth, sharpening the pleasure and sweetening the pain. While LaCroix worried the right nipple with his tongue and his fangs, his fingertips caressed the left one with feather-light touches, so light that Nicholas could hardly feel them. He could only feel the pleasure that coursed from the tight bud through his nervous system, not the touch that engendered it.



LaCroix finally pulled away, deeply thrilled by Nicholas's state of quivering need. He pinned him down, watching as Nick struggled against his hold, trying to wrap his legs around his waist, trying to get closer. Instead, the only points of contact between them were LaCroix’s hands pinning his shoulders to the mattress, and LaCroix’s knees pressed into his thighs, holding his legs still. His hands clawed at the pale back bent over him, trying futilely to press his master closer. LaCroix just stared down at him, his smile cruel and triumphant and unbearably sensuous.



“Be still,” he commanded harshly.



Nick’s hands fell back to the mattress, his aching body quieting at that command. Desperate mewls escaped him as he stared pleadingly up at his master.



LaCroix eased away, and Nick forced his body to remain obedient to LaCroix’s last command, not to fling himself on his master.



LaCroix watched him intently, smiling when he remained still. “Good boy,” he murmured softly. “You wouldn’t want me to leave you here like this, would you?” He licked Nick's blood off of his lips.



Nick shook his head, barely stopping himself from grabbing his master to prevent him from leaving. LaCroix was more than capable of walking away, leaving him aching and desperate.



“On your knees,” LaCroix commanded, his voice deliciously brutal. Nick complied hurriedly, rolling over, his forehead pressed to the mattress, his ass lifted instinctively to the perfect height for his master. LaCroix opened the drawer in the nightstand, removing something. Nick smelled olive oil scented with a droplet of sandalwood. The mattress shifted as LaCroix knelt behind him. One large hand, satiny with oil, grasped his erection, smoothing the oil onto Nick’s hard cock and the tender pouch hanging behind it. The fingers of his other hand slid into Nick’s tight entrance, gently stretching him. Nick quivered and squirmed, trying to simultaneously drive the fingers opening him deeper into his body while pressing his aching cock into the slick hand fondling him. LaCroix chuckled softly. Nick bit back a curse in response. Perversely, his need seemed to strengthen LaCroix’s calm control. At times, LaCroix had played with him like this for hours.



LaCroix slid in a third finger, rotating them slowly. “Ready, then?” he asked solicitously, well aware of Nick’s current state of desperation.



“Yes! Yes, oh please…”



LaCroix knelt up behind Nicholas, gently spreading his legs a bit wider. The thumb and forefinger of his right hand formed a tight ring at the base of Nicholas’s cock as he slowly pushed himself in. He paused for a moment, running his left hand down the well-muscled thigh. Nicholas circled his hips, slowly working the hardness inside him, encouraging the hand wrapped around his own sex.



He moved in and out, Nick eagerly meeting each of his thrusts. Nick snarled a curse when his orgasm was forcibly prevented by the hand tight around his cock. LaCroix laughed softly, and said, “Not yet, mon petit. Be patient.” He gave Nick’s nearly painful erection a brief caress, squeezing his scrotum before once again clamping a tight hand around him.



LaCroix moved faster, his large hard cock slamming into Nick. Snarling, he slashed at Nick’s back with his fangs, his tongue slicking over the cuts. While his right hand remained clamped painfully tight around Nick’s shaft, his left hand raked down Nick’s chest, giving each nipple a hard twist.



Finally, LaCroix’s left hand grabbed a handful of golden curls, wrenching Nick’s head to the left. LaCroix sank his fangs into the pulsing vein, giving one last thrust into Nick’s welcoming body. Nick screamed as his master’s cold seed flooded him, icy heat burning through him as the hand clamped around him continued to deny him release.



LaCroix’s fingers tightened in Nick's curls as pleasure burned through him. He shuddered as the last spasms passed, draped limply over his son. LaCroix continued to sip from him lazily, seemingly oblivious to his desperate whimpers and thrusts against the cock inside him. Finally he withdrew his fangs, licking at the tiny wounds. He savored his triumph a few moments longer, gently petting Nick’s sweating body. Nick nearly sobbed as LaCroix's gentle caresses soothed his arousal enough that he wouldn't come the moment the grip on him loosened. Finally those long fingers released him, trailing over his belly and resting on his hip. Nick couldn't stop shivering as the still-hard cock begin to move again, now unbearably slow. Both large hands settled on his hips, holding him still when he tried to move against his master. He was forced to endure as his master moved in and out of him, his hard cock moving over that pleasure spot inside of him with agonizing slowness.



“Now, my sweet one,” LaCroix murmured, his tongue darting into Nick's ear. He thrust harder, his hand expertly pumping the hard shaft. Nicholas wrenched LaCroix's left hand out of his hair and tore into the wrist, shuddering convulsively as he came. Nick’s strength gave out and he collapsed onto the bed. LaCroix pulled out of him gently, and then rolled him over, drawing him close. Nick placed a soft kiss on the pale, sweat-slicked chest under his cheek, and heaved a contented sigh.



They dozed briefly, recovering some of their spent energy. Nick was the first to recall their duties, and reluctantly sat up. LaCroix reached out and stroked his bare back.



“I’ve missed you,” LaCroix murmured, surprising himself with the sudden confession.



Nick looked away. “You mean you’ve missed this. Not me.”



LaCroix was bewildered by the flash of sadness he felt from his son. “What do you mean?”



Nick slid out of bed and gathered his clothes. He studied the wadded bundle in his arms, not looking at his master. “Because when we’re not screwing, you’re ashamed of me.” He left, closing the door behind him before LaCroix could formulate a response.