Standard disclaimers apply; this little ditty is dedicated to Javiette/Rae.

Boy's Night Out

by Molly Schneider

Copyright 1999

Vachon wandered moodily into the Raven, a good couple of hours before the

place got moving. What the hell; he needed a drink--maybe several. Even

though he had a decent supply at the church, drinking alone wasn't going to

help his mood any.

He slid onto a stool at the bar before he fully registered that both Knight

and his master were already there, already drinking, and both sporting the

same glum expressions he could feel on his own face. The three vampires

looked at each other. They looked into their drinks. They sighed.

"Women," they chorused in unison.

"Janette," hissed LaCroix.

"Janette," agreed Nick, "*and* Natalie..."

"Your women," accused Vachon, "just had to take my women shopping, didn't

they? Anybody want to explain to me just what's wrong with the way Tracy

dresses?"

LaCroix considered, quirking an eyebrow. "She is rather *beige*, isn't

she?"

Vachon opened his mouth to defend his mortal friend... and closed it. Okay,

the undead icicle had a point, there. But what about-- "What about Urs?

She's certainly not boring!"

Nick took a quick gulp of his drink and let LaCroix answer that one as well.

"No, Vachon, she's not boring. She's a tramp."

"I like her," muttered the Spaniard. The implication of this little

conversation finally dawned on Nick, though, and he turned to his master

indignantly.

"Nat's not 'beige'! And she's not a tramp, either," he declared hotly.

"Yeah, but she hasn't been able to seduce you in six *years*, Knight,"

Vachon pointed out. "Obviously she's doing something wrong."

That was true, Nick thought glumly. And even he wasn't sure it was just his

fear of losing control that was standing in the way, either. "It's got

nothing to do with her clothes," he said defensively.

LaCroix fixed him with a gimlet stare. "Fuzzy. Pink. Bathrobe."

A moment of silence fell. As one, the men shuddered, and called for another

round.

"Women. Clothes!" Vachon snorted. "Who needs 'em?"

A chuckle bubbled up out of Nick's chest and soon he was laying his head on

the bar, laughing. Obviously, Nick had gotten an earlier start than he had,

reflected the Spaniard. And so, apparently, had his master, judging from

the fiendish chortles erupting from the general. Finally Nick gasped,

"Women? Or clothes?"

A slow, wolfish grin spread across Vachon's face as he thought back to New

Year's Eve. He leaned over Knight's shoulder and, lowering his voice

sexily, said, "Depends."

Nick stopped laughing, and shot a quick glance at LaCroix. Predictable,

thought Vachon. 'Course, if he was *my* master, I'd be sure of my steps

before I took them, too. He turned, leaning an elbow on the bar and gave

LaCroix his best half-smouldering, half-challenging stare...

Elegantly unruffled, the elder raised his glass in a salute, drained it,

then gestured towards the back stairs. "Shall we, gentlemen?"

Clothes... upstairs in LaCroix's apartment clothes were hastily disposed of:

none of the trio had patience this evening for the sophisticated cadences of

seduction. Still, there was a brief moment when, naked, the two younger

looked first at each other, then at LaCroix, in confusion. "Mmmn. Very

nice," he remarked. "I think the rug in front of the fireplace will do

nicely."

Keenly aware of his gaze on them, they sank to their knees on the rug, cocks

already raising in anticipation. Deep brown eyes smiled wantonly into

wicked blue ones, then Vachon grabbed Nick and pulled him close for a wet,

openmouthed kiss... tongues plunged and probed as chests and bellies ground

together in an urgent lust. They broke apart, gasping. Vachon's hands

grasped at Nick's shoulders and biceps while Nick tangled his fingers

through the thick dark hair. With a sudden snarl he pulled Vachon's head

down to his aching cock.

LaCroix waited with a small, cool smile. After his protege's first moan of

pleasure, Nick's face turned towards his master, his lover, their eyes

locking. Nerve-searing, their sharing of this pleasure! Avidly, LaCroix

watched every nuance of arousal as it played out in his child's face, his

body. Just before Nick reached his climax he joined the pair on the rug,

tearing Vachon's face away from his beloved's cock. Face glazed, fangs

extended, Vachon could only moan as LaCroix pushed him on his back and

guided Nick's mouth to the Spaniard's erection. With a small sob, Nick

swallowed it down, working it with desperate abandon.

Stretched along his child's back LaCroix urged him on, "Yesss, Nicholas...

That's it." His voice hissed in Nick's ear like a serpent. "Suck it,

Nicholas. That's good... so wet, so hot... is it hard in your mouth,

Nicholas... is it filling you, feeding your hunger... Suck it for me,

Nicholas..." All the while his hands were stroking down his son's sweating

back to that round ass, eager and waiting for him.

"Madre de Dios," gasped Vachon, "I can't--I can't wait---"

"Then do it!" At LaCroix's command the Spaniard seized Nick's wrist and tore

into it; Nick cried out once, then again as his master's cock slammed into

him, deep and hard.

Vachon watched wide-eyed as LaCroix fucked Knight ruthlessly, hauling him

back on his knees so he could wrap his fist around the already spurting

cock. And Knight was screaming, roaring out his passion, until LaCroix gave

him his own wrist. Together their fangs closed on each other's precious

flesh; locked in an embrace beyond world and time they drank deeply of one

another, intent.

Jealously rose in him. He had never known this sort of embrace with his

maker. What he had with Urs didn't quite seem the same somehow. When at

last they disengaged LaCroix lay Nick down on the rug with a tenderness that

amazed Vachon.

Basking in the afterglow, Nick ran a lazy hand along the Spaniard's thigh.

Hesitantly--one eye on LaCroix--Vachon bent to kiss him. "Hmmn," Nick said

dreamily. "That was nice..."

Nice, huh? If that's nice, Vachon wondered, just exactly what did Knight

consider 'nasty'. Well, with any luck, LaCroix might just let him find out.

A sudden thought darted across his mind...

"The rug," he said. "What's Janette going to say about the rug?"

"Oh, that's okay," Nick murmured. "She's used to it."

Vachon flopped on his back. Used to it. "Women," he said.

FIN