Summoner's Tale

I do not think he knows the power he has over me. Surely he must not, for if he did he would not call me like this. Or perhaps he would, and this is his way of tormenting me. Perhaps he knows, and does not trust his power.

I won't tell him, dare not hardly think of it much less speak of it. I simply come when called-- and hide my feelings in a torrent of disguises. My bitter words hurt him, I know that. But what else can I do? He calls, my heart answers and I can do no more but follow his whim. He would not call it whim, he would call it... what does he call it? His well-thought out malicious tidy plans? Does he really have these plans, or does he, as I am wont to believe, merely take what life brings him and reacts so cleanly and so smoothly that it appears as though he's been expecting it for months?

I would envy him that poise, if it were not for the fact that he uses it so well to his advantage over me. I cannot help but hate him for that-- despite the fact that I would never recant my need for him. I cannot, it is as much as part of me as anything else I might be. Perhaps more. I do not know what I am, some nights, when I stand here under the moon high above even the highest rooftops and gaze about me. What am I? Monster? Saviour? Lover? Friend? A creature of the night, but that tells me nothing.

I am his. I know that, at times that is all I need. It gives me a comfort of a kind, to know that my being has a name. His. When I feel the need to ask more invariably he calls to me; perhaps he knows, and that is why he chooses that moment to call. I wonder what I would find if he did not call, some night when I found myself searching for my own answers? Would I find the answers that he has already given me? Or would I find something else? What would it be?

I dare not think I would find anything delightful-- there are too many black holes in my life to think there is any substantial lightness left. I won't tell you he fills those holes with his presence-- but he fills something. The spaces between those holes in my heart. He fills me so completely I cannot help but doubt it is accidental. He must know what it is he does. How can he not, when I come so readily when he calls?

Certainly I twist about, trying to turn things into my own advantage, making it look as though I deigned to come only because I chose. He knows better, I've seen it in his blood, when I've tasted it... when he lets me taste his blood and all I am is filled with the flavour and essence of him. Oh, but what I would give for that taste now. I daren't even think it, else give myself away.

But of course I've already given myself away, to him. But my mind must remain mine, at least in my illusions. Otherwise I'd go insane... or I'd go to him and stay at his side forever. I cannot abide that, cannot admit defeat even though I've admitted it thousands of times over only to have him leave me behind, or toy with me so cruelly I think I must be mistaken about his intentions and I flee him.

He loves me. He'll say so, when the time is right and he thinks all is going just the way he's planned. As if he made plans. But at the first sign that I might return the love, or that I might even sincerely acknowledge his... I learned quickly to keep such thoughts to myself else it drive him away sooner than any fight we ever had. I love him, but he doesn't believe me. He can't, because he owns me and my loving him would ruin that.

Assuming, always, that he knows. How can't he know? He lords it over me readily enough, although carefully couched in words and phrases that anyone could interpret as loving or forgiving, tolerance or anger. He doesn't forgive, I knew that when I first tasted him. But I once hoped love was enough. I was foolish, of course, but that didn't stop me from being lost to him.

It doesn't help... and yet it does, that he leaves me nearly as often as I've left him. It confuses the matter greatly, until sometimes I find myself alone again and don't know why-- if I am the one to apologise or is he. Not that either of us ever apologises. Too close, those words are, to saying what we feel. Much easier to fight again and grudgingly accept the other's presence in our life. Much easier to wait until the separation cannot be abided and he calls to me and I come flying.

I readily admit I do not understand this hold he has over me. I resent it, and make no pains to hide it. I resent him, what he's done to me, even as my body screams at me to take him and my mind yearns for his touch. I laugh when he speaks of what he owes me, or I owe him. How can either of us owe anything when I am bound so much in him? I give him everything, let him take it after putting up what can only be called a token resistance. Perhaps it lasts years but for vampires it is nothing. I always return, and he knows that. Why then does he treat me this way? I only want him, I need him, and anything he asks of me I'll do. Eventually. I only fight to let myself pretend I might say no. I've never been owned before, and after 800 years I still cannot get used to it. I wish he'd let me go... no I cannot say that. I cannot wish he'd release me, for then I might not hear him call me. I might not know when to come to him. It is better this way, when I can live my fantasies of escaping him and listen, ever waiting for his whisper.

He has called me tonight, and here I am in the rooftops waiting. Not for a second call, for that will never come. He's never needed it and I intend he never will. But I mustn't go too quickly, I must delay until he is as enraged as I and his first words will be biting, sarcastic, cutting me as I would cut myself if I could only properly hate myself for being this way. But the thought of his skin, the taste of his blood, the echoes of his mind captures me and I go. I must go. I need him, I love him.

Nick looked at Lacroix from across the room. Neither vampire moved, neither spoke. For long moments the only sound was the moaning of the wind high in the rafters; the upper windows left partly cracked open against the nighttime storm. The storm was slight in actuality, but the angle of the pane was such that the wind twisted as it thrust inside and moaned in such delicate tones that it would have aroused shivers in a mortal's ears.

These vampire ears heard but did not acknowledge it, too much engaged by the other who stood here, staring. Nick moved first, away from Lacroix. He headed for the kitchen; whatever he might have wanted was forgotten as Lacroix moved to stand in front of him.

Nick would have asked what he wanted, but that conversation had been finished an hour ago. Now they were simply waiting, for one or the other to make the next move. They both knew it was coming, and though it was no competition to see who could hold out before the other said anything, neither was eager to say it first. Had he been asked, Nick would not have been able to explain why; Lacroix suspected that he knew, anyway.

Lacroix rested a hand on Nick's arm, and looked into his face. Still saying nothing, his expression asked the question. Knowing that silence could answer as well, Nick made no move away. Something in Lacroix' expression changed, as if he read the capitulation and knew it for what it was. He removed his hand from its grip on Nick's forearm and instead took Nick's hand; he did not entwine their fingers, though he was startled briefly by the realisation he had intended to. He gripped Nick's hand firmly, and pulled the younger vampire after him.

In the bedroom Lacroix dropped Nick's hand, shutting the door behind them and twisting the lock into place. Nick's mouth twitched, a smirk showing his amusement at this sudden and useless gesture. Should he chose to leave it would not be a brass lock that would hold him here. He said nothing, though, and stood easily until Lacroix was again before him.

"What do you want?" The question was an echo, one neither needed to speak or hear. It was brushed aside in acknowledgement of such, and Lacroix took the moment to remove his cloak.

Nick responded by shedding his own jacket, followed in turn by his shoes and slacks. His shirt he left on, only opening the top two buttons. Lacroix had not stopped, and stood naked in front of him. Nick waited, knowing, and Lacroix did not disturb the routine of this seduction. He came forward, slowly, indulging in the sight of his fingers going to the open neck of Nick's shirt and caressing the skin there. Nick inhaled deeply as those fingers touched him; he'd fought long and hard to get himself here, and knowing that tomorrow night he could forget it all allowed him to relax and savour the touch tonight.

Lacroix moved his hand lower, until the still closed shirt impeded his way. Casually he flicked one button undone and let his hand continue downward to the next. Here he stopped and let his fingers travel upwards again, along his lover's neck and onto his face. With one finger he traced the curve of Nick's lips, seeing how silently and patiently Nick waited for him. He did not move faster at that, knowing Nick would wait as patiently as he demanded. He touched the lips again, staring this time into Nick's cool blue eyes.

Lacroix leaned forward and kissed him, keeping his own lips closed. Nick never moved, neither towards nor away. When Lacroix leaned back Nick was still watching him. There was no need to think he was totally unmoved, however, they could each feel the arousal in them both. The needs of the night, however, demanded it be endured for now. Lacroix opened another button of Nick's shirt, and used both hands to caress the skin now bared.

He pressed his hands against Nick's ribs, rubbing back and forth. He gave in to a moment's weakness and placed one tarrying kiss just below the hollow of Nick's throat; when he moved away he returned to his caresses as if nothing anomalous had taken place. Soon he had the shirt completely open and his hands had the freedom to touch all over.

He indulged in that touch, staring intently at the path his fingers traced, watching when Nick's stomach trembled in response to a particular touch or when muscles tensed at another. Then, as if with great care lest he shatter the moment with undue haste, Lacroix removed Nick's shirt. Now almost naked, Nick began to move. He brought his arms up to draw Lacroix to him, clasped behind his head he drew the elder's face closer and in for a kiss. This one was open, as the other had been nearly chaste this one was ragged in suppressed passion. Nick licked the roof of Lacroix' mouth, rubbing his tongue hard against the palate.

It was only when Lacroix let out a moan that Nick stopped, and pulled himself free. But it was only move lower, as he began to lick Lacroix along the collarbone towards the neck and then away again. Pulling skin gently into his mouth as he worked his way across Lacroix' chest and farther down, Lacroix stood absolutely still. His eyes fixed upon an unseen portrait on the far wall, Lacroix felt his lover's mouth upon him, everywhere, sucking at his body and tasting his skin. He longed to feel the teeth pricking his skin and drawing away his blood but would never ask. But it didn't matter for Nick was standing before him again and taking his mouth, licking again underneath his tongue and inside his cheeks.

With a quick pull at Nick's tongue, Lacroix stepped back and let his hands fall to the waistband of Nick's shorts. Nick stilled, and let the other pull them down, stepping out of them as they were dropped to the floor. Lacroix' hands were on him again, caressing and questing around Nick's hips, down the flanks of his thighs, back up along the inside. He lightly pressed a hand against his genitals, cupping them in his hand before moving away to touch his stomach.

Lacroix continued the motions, tracing pale skin around and behind, kneeling before his lover to touch and reach, stopping only when the trembling of Nick's legs became noticeable. At that he stood, and would have taken Nick's hand to lead him to the bed when Nick stopped him.


Lacroix froze, uncertain, sudden fears telling him he had lost tonight. He heard a desolate voice in his mind wondering if he had enough time before sunrise to leave this place.

Nick smiled, tilting his head. "I would like something different, tonight. If you wouldn't mind."

It was a moment before Lacroix could trust himself to speak. "What... what is it, Nicholas?"

"I want..." the younger vampire hesitated, and Lacroix was disconcerted to see him chew at his lower lip. He stepped forward and took Nick in his arms. Nick looked at him calmly, and asked, "I would like for you to take me, tonight. You never have, before. I want... I would like you to."

Lacroix said nothing. The request was... both totally unexpected and totally unsurprising. He nodded, not trusting his voice. Nick smiled so suddenly Lacroix was reminded of the first passion he'd felt in this man's arms, and let himself be led to the waiting bed. Nick lay down, pulling Lacroix gently after him.

After a moment's hesitation, Lacroix moved towards him, leaning down on top of him to kiss him again. He moved slowly, his body rubbing the entire length of Nick's, laying kisses up and down the side of Nick's throat. Nick let his head roll back, arcing his back just enough to increase the pressure of his torso against Lacroix'. Pressed so tightly against him, Nick shivered; Lacroix responded by pushing his hands beneath Nick, holding him close.

His arousal could not be ignored, now, and he pushed one hand down to Nick's left leg, pulling it up. Nick complied eagerly, lifting the other as well. Without showing his hesitation, Lacroix leaned back onto his heels. He reached down to touch Nick, and saw the trembling resound throughout his lover's body. Moving forward, he leaned closer, using one finger to feel his way.

It was obvious Nick was ready for this, Lacroix did not let that knowledge change his action. He moved slowly, one finger at a time, until neither could resist any longer. Lacroix took him swiftly, then, penetrating deeply and seeing, with some surprise, the widening smile that flashed before the gasp twisted the smile away.

He pushed again, and Nick moaned, and pulled at Lacroix with his legs. Lacroix took the silent command and began to push in rhythmical motion. He watched Nick's face, almost transfixed by the sight if he hadn't been nearly overwhelmed himself by the sensation. Nick nearly writhed beneath him, and it was so unexpected that Lacroix felt himself about to come, hours before he had any reason to expect to.

Nick must have known it, for he pulled Lacroix roughly down and bit into his neck, just as Lacroix felt himself slipping, losing control. Holding his lover by the shoulders, Lacroix pushed himself down as the rush took hold; the touch of fangs at his throat and the body surrounding him were too much and he let everything go.

The blood taken, as was the orgasm, and for a split second he existed only inside Nick. It was a feeling so unlike the one he'd dreamed of that he lost himself gladly. Watching it ebb away, he felt no concern. When he was himself again he would, but for now, for one precious moment it did not.

When he did come to himself again and saw Nick's flushed face inches from his he did not move. Nick's eyes were closed, and Lacroix watched the relaxed, enraptured expression fade. He would have kissed him, he would have taken his leave. But Nick opened his eyes and looked at Lacroix, gaze saying nothing Lacroix could read.

Nick brought his legs down, to lie again beneath Lacroix. He kept his hands on Lacroix' arms, watching the frozen expression on the other's face. Then he smiled, sadly, and pulled Lacroix down to lie on top of him.

Lacroix said nothing, but rested his head on Nick's shoulder. He heard the heart beat, and knew that through Nick's veins coursed his own blood. It gave him some consolation, before he had to leave. He had given Nick what the other had never- 'til now, requested. What that meant he would not know for he would not ask. He closed his eyes to remember the feel of his lover lying with him; when the moment was too close to avoid speaking of it, he rose and went to gather his clothing.

Nick watched him, and for a moment said nothing.

I knew he loved me, I knew he wouldn't say it. I hadn't expected him to; but then I never expected this night to proceed the way it had, either. I didn't understand what had happened, and I knew I would never ask. Asking too much of him was a risk I was rarely prepared to take. I had too much to lose by making things too uncomfortable. Tonight had probably demonstrated my limits and I was afraid he'd realised that.

If he knew how much I really wanted, he would destroy me. He already has the means to, why he doesn't I'll never know. I can only hope that I can maintain a fevered balance, pushing and pulling just enough to keep him feeling as if he is getting what he wants without... without having to say it.

He owns me, he loves me. And I love him, and must take care never to let him know.