Shelia - 1997

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Disclaimers: This is a long disclaimer. <g> This is an ADULT story. If adult stories annoy or offend you, please go away, as it is my wish to not inadvertently displease. This is a Nick and Nat story. If stories involving Nick and Nat in adult situations annoy or offend. You go too. Now if there is anyone left. This story deals with what some may consider 'odd' sexual behavior. If that annoys or offends...well you get the picture. <g>

Nick and Nat do not belong to me. They belong to a whole bunch of other people who are defiantly not me and this is not meant to infringe on any of their copyrights.

Permission granted to archive at and the JADFE archives. Anyone else please ask. Chocolate is always good. A big thanks to Kim for encouraging me to post this.

wake up dead man

can't you see I'm starving ... holly mcnarland

The Nightcrawler's voice entranced his listeners, how could it not, being at once gentle in it's uncompromising tone, unforgiving in it's compassionate words. A voice that alternately soothed as it stalked, shocked as it seduced.

"Blessings or curses. Lifes' little ... 'inconveniences' are all a matter of perspective, are they it not? And what is your perspective? Tell me, is it torture or pleasure? Have you placed yourself in a glass cage, alone, licking your wounds, so anxious for the next one? All the while observing the world through your narrow window." He paused, and the music shading his voice was bitter, sweet.

"Does the reflection on the glass frighten you, ma enfant? Or does it ... thrill you, as you gaze longingly through the window? Are you strong? Are you strong enough?" Again the music underscored his words; the ancient stringed instruments' soul vibrating in exquisite agony.

"Or...are you helpless? Helpless against the inevitable shifts of time. And in those shifts, those ... 'cycles', do you perceive possibilities or pitfalls? Damn your denial or your delight? Do you see everything in it's proper perspective my child? Are you crying out for more pain than what you have; embracing the burden, shunning the gift. Tell me, do you even know?"

The Nightcrawler's laughter, dancing with haunting music, was mocking, indulgent. And to the listeners of CERK; his faithful followers, and to the ones he seduced quite inadvertently; fate's hand in a careless twist of the radio dial, the aria was positively terrifying.

His nostrils flared and he grew instantly hard at the smell. Nick shifted in his chair, unconsciously trying to relieve some of the pressure on the front of his jeans. His supernatural hearing caught the sharp click of a heel -- 'her heel!' -- on tile and his head snapped up, predatory, turning in the direction of the sound. Nick caught himself before he snarled and through half lidded eyes he gazed around the bull pen. Everything was washed in a golden glow and she would be here at any moment. He took another sharp breath and his mouth watered. Oh god, how he wanted her, 'needed' her, wanted so much to bury his face in the source of the sweet scent, tasting, breathing--

He felt his fangs drop. Nick abruptly stood and snatched his leather coat off the back of his chair, causing Schanke to look up. A questioning frown started to form on the mortal detective's features. Nick held his coat in front of him and smiled tightly at his partner, leaving as fast as he dared, probably faster than was sensible, in the opposite direction of the exquisite smell.

He didn't trust himself. Couldn't trust himself and he only half heard his partner's complaint of "Knight--where--?" and then Schanke's long suffering sigh of "Coffee--Okay?" trailed somewhere behind him.

Natalie walked up and sat on the edge of Nick's desk, smiling at Schanke as he looked up. "My, my aren't we all nice and tan?" Don gave a low whistle, leaning back in his chair, eyeing a a length of a firm tanned leg.

Natalie smacked him with the file she was holding.

"Down boy or I'll tell Myra!" Nat scolded, then laughed. "Here's the Avery case, compliments of Grace and--" she reached down, inadvertently exposing a inch or so more of leg and picked up the large shopping bag she had carried in with her. She absently tugged at the hem of her skirt and then started pulling out wrapped packages, placing them on Nick's desk. Seemingly satisfied she deposited three of them in front of Schanke.

"For moi?" Don asked, placing his hand over his heart, smiling. He straightened up in his chair, reaching for a box.

"For Myra and Jenny--" Nat had to suppress a small smile at his crestfallen look, "And you." She did smile as Don picked up a box, read the tag and shook it before starting to open it.

"I thought you weren't coming back 'til the end of the week," Schanke had finished ripping off the plain blue paper and was starting on the box itself.

"Well, you know. Just wanted to come home." 'Wanted to see Nick,' she corrected herself. She swung her leg, lightly tapping the side of Nick's desk with the back of her shoe while she watched Schanke pull out the tropical shirt she had picked up for him. It was ghastly, bright purple with large multicolored toucans and palm trees scattered insanely over the material. The instant she saw it she knew it was just the thing he would like.

Don beamed as he stood up, holding the shirt to him. "This is great! Thanks Nat!" He leaned over and placed a hearty kiss on Nat's cheek. He pulled off his suit jacket and shrugged the shirt on over the one he was wearing. A couple of patrolmen passed, staring at the demented shirt, shuddering as they walked by.

"Cool, Huh?" Schanke called after their rapidly retreating forms. He turned back to Natalie, "Their just jealous. Did you get Myra one too?" He ran a hand over the material, musing, "Myra'd look great in one of these, ooh!-- and those hipwaders I got her for Christmas last year--" Schanke's voice trailed off.

Nat didn't want that picture in her mind so she asked what she really wanted to know in what she hoped was a normal, ordinary tone of voice, "So, where's Nick?"

"You just missed him, he ran out just before you showed up." Schanke suppressed a knowing smirk as studied her. Nat's face gave nothing away, yet paradoxly, just like Nick's, it did. The slow, tension filled, careful tempo they danced to was obvious. To everyone. Except maybe themselves.

'The games those two play with each other,' Don thought as he shook his head and shrugged, "You know 'him'. Maybe he'll show back up sometime tonight."

Nat stood up and averted her face so he wouldn't see her disappointment. "Well," she picked up Nick's gift and replaced it in her bag, "I'll catch him later, but for now-- I'm going home. Hot bath, it's too damn cold here after sunny Florida." Nat smiled as Don gave her a quick hug. She hugged him back then walked away, "Give my love to Myra and Jen, ok? I'll catch you later."

"Thanks again, Nat. Hey, come over for dinner this weekend, Myra'd love to see you. I'll invite Nick--" he called after her.

She waved at him as she answered. "Call me," then pushed through the door.

Nick sat in the Caddy trying not to think of Natalie and the way her unexpected scent had assaulted his senses. She had been gone, on a combination vacation/forensics convention in Florida, for over a week, not due back for three more days. And he had missed her terribly, hell he had missed her so much he had taken to calling her apartment a couple of times, okay, numerous times over the past few days, just to listen to her voice on the answering machine. Calling just to hear her warm voice, wash, caressing over him.

Nick closed his eyes, wondering just how beautiful her heart-shaped face would be when he next saw her, her smooth skin now brushed golden by the sun, her lips, soft, kissable as she smiled at him, her hands, warm and heavy on his thighs--

He drew in a sharp breath and gripping the Caddy's steering wheel, shuddered slightly. 'No!' Nick thought, trying to ignore the sharp ache in his groin, the dull throb of his exposed fangs. Maybe if he went home, drank a few bottles of blood, he could then talk to her. Pretend he didn't smell her, smell her blood, pretend he didn't want to bite into that smell. Pretend that he didn't want to possess her, 'fuck' her, over and over and over and--

Nick shifted in his seat and groaned his frustration. He glanced around and quickly opened the Caddy door, slamming it closed as he launched into the sky.

Nat unlocked her door and dragged her suitcase inside. Sydney was at the pet boarders and even though she missed him, she didn't really feel like picking him up this late. Tomorrow was soon enough, besides she felt like shit. She had started her period on the plane, 'oh joy of joys', and had that vague crampy feeling that only a good long hot bath would help. 'Or a good long--', she started thinking, then Nat rolled her eyes at herself, walking towards the kitchen.

Momma Lambert's nasty little daughter always, always got horny when she was menstruating. She could still remember the look of horror on her college roommate's face when she confessed that little tidbit about herself one drunken night. Icky or not, it was the truth. The problem was that it was even more so now, than it ever was back then. The scientist in her scolded her to be clinical, conceding to the relaxation of the cramping muscles in orgasm, asking Natalie not to think about--

About how she was so very aware of Nick's reactions to her. How he knew, even before she did, smelling the first beginnings of blood, mixing with her natural scent. How he became somehow even more skittish, more dangerous around her. She could tell he fought the hunger harder when she bled, but sometimes, when he thought she wasn't looking, Nick would loosen that edge of control and Nat would catch that freedom in a reflection, in a mirror or on a curve of a glass, his eyes, tinged sometimes with red, sometimes with green, but always golden, always hungry. It scared her. It 'thrilled' her and she knew he could smell her desire, sharpening his. Sharp like his fangs--

Frustrated, she poured herself a glass of white wine, walking towards her bedroom to undress. It was ironic, really, her heightened desire at this time of the month, considering who, considering 'what' she was hopelessly in love with. Natalie sighed as she kicked off her shoes. Her lips curled slightly and she took a healthy sip of the wine, before setting the glass down, the cool liquid flowing down her throat as she unbuttoned her blouse. Oh, how she wanted him, wanted him touching her with his cold hands, wanted to feel the sharpness of his teeth grazing along her skin. She shuddered, feeling her nipples grow uncomfortably taut in her bra and the rush of desire flood her sex.

Nat smiled wickedly, what the hell, she was alone, and stripped off her bra and panties. She glanced at the crimson stain on the pad as she tossed the silken material aside, thinking of a really bad joke about vampire snacks. Which in turn made her think of him again, of course. Nat picked up her wine and took another drink before impetuously holding the chilled glass against her left nipple, causing it to pucker and a vague ache to return in her belly. It was probably a good thing he wasn't here right now, because she didn't know if she could have kept her hands off him. Of course it was hard enough to keep her hands off him anyway because--

Because she loved the silken feel of his hair as she ran her fingers through it, tousling it. Loved the defined, cool musculature of his shoulder, 'Oh, god how she loved his shoulders.' It was horrible, yes, truly horrible, but she had to admit it. She loved it when he got shot. Loved it when he came to her, looking so much like a guilty little boy, asking for her help. And then he would take off his shirt.

Natalie couldn't resist touching him at those times. So 'very' unprofessional, but he was... perfect. It was corny as hell, like a description out of something called 'Fangs of Dark Desire', but the only thing she could think of was ... satin encased marble. So smooth, so cold. She loved the feel of him, his taut, unthinkably powerful muscles loosening under her fingers--

She emptied the rest of the wine into her mouth and set the glass down, reaching up to run the palms of her hands over her breasts. She inhaled sharply and felt a warm trickle of blood start down one of her thighs as her sex began to swell with the longing to be filled. 'By him, oh god, yes, by him.' Nat shuddered and ran her hand down over her belly, stopping before reaching the apex. She briefly considered the bedclothes, blood stains were hard to get out, but--

Cow blood tasted like shit. Grimacing at the foul taste in his mouth, Nick slammed the bottle on the counter and leaned his hands on the sink. He closed his eyes. LaCroix would laugh at him, denying himself so and Janette, his beautiful, sensual Janette, would pity him. Even though he knew he would see it in the sad cast of her blue eyes, Nick thought briefly of calling her. Janette would help, she understood his needs, the uncontrollable urge to bite, to possess completely --

But he didn't 'want' Janette. Of course he loved her, how could he not, the centuries they spent together were the only bright spot in a dismal existence he had carved out for himself. Until he had awakened on Nat's morgue table. Hell, it had taken all of his strength not to rip into her beautiful throat right then, and when she reached her hand out, so brave, so curious, it was in that crystal clear moment that he had fallen in love with her. He almost did take her then, but had grabbed her wrist instead, pulling her closer, placing the back of her hand against his cheek, fighting the desire.

"You're so cold," her hand was hot, burning against his skin.

"I'm dead," he confessed.

"No!" she contradicted, "No you're not. You're not dead."

He had tried to hypnotize her, make her forget what she had seen. But she was resistant, and when he had followed her, telling himself he was only testing her, to see if his mesmerism had worked, Natalie confronted him, professing to be unafraid, unafraid despite the rapid beating of her heart, of what he was. She promised to help him, help him find his way back to the sun.

He groaned slightly, thinking of how so very beautiful she was. Thinking, if he could only see her, see her with sunlight streaming over her body--

Nick's hands tightened on the rim of the sink. God help him, as much as he tried to fight it he wanted Natalie, needed Natalie. The beast roared inside him, demanding that he take her, stop this foolish denial of himself and consummate this yearning, this need for her, this need for her rich, hot blood. He could easily imagine her gasp as he bit into her, her blood flowing, surging, into his mouth as he thrust into her, so hot, so tight--

Nick pushed away from the counter. 'Flying. Flying always took energy.' He leapt to the roof access door. He wanted to pretend that he wouldn't go and had almost convinced himself he wouldn't, when his heart raced, beating twice in quick succession. The beast wasn't fooled for a moment.

Nick shot into the sky, searching for the oblivion of the night air. Hoping against hope that the beating of hearts of the city would drown hers out. Drown out the smell of her that tortured him so. He loved her, and told himself he wanted nothing more than to just hold her, but he was too afraid, too afraid to dare for even that. Afraid of the need, afraid the overwhelming need would possess him, blind him, drive him--

He found himself standing on air, hands on either side of her bedroom window as he leaned in. Nick shuddered once, shaking at the scene before him, his fingers digging into the concrete facade of the building.

Natalie lay back against her pillows, again caressing her breasts, pulling hard at her aching nipples with her fingers, wishing her hands were his, as she closed her eyes, imagining his cool lips closing over the hardened tips, tugging, pulling incessantly at her.

It was easy to imagine, easy to slip into the forbidden fantasy of Nick making love to her. Easy to imagine his eyes, hungry, golden, watching her, watching the helpless reactions of her body as he kissed her hip, tracing his fangs over her skin--

She gave a soft moan and moved her hand, softly stroking the slippery wetness of her pleasure center. Truly caught in the fantasy, Natalie stroked harder, pulling her legs up and moaned deep in her throat as she slipped first one, then another finger inside herself. She wanted him so bad, needed him, cool, hard in sharp contrast to her soft heat, grinding, driving into her--

Nat held her breath as her orgasm built and the exhalation of her breath carried a name as she climbed, higher and higher, crashing into the wall of perfect pleasure.

Nick's fangs dropped instantly and he growled deep in his throat, shuddering again as Natalie climaxed and with his heightened senses he could hear the name she whispered. Her heartbeat pounded furiously against him, but her sighs were soft in his ears as she traced her hand up over her belly, marking a wet bloody trail to the treasure of her breasts.

Nick pressed against the glass, such a fragile thing, really, to keep him, to keep the beast at bay. To keep him from--

He growled softly as her hand moved ever upward, leaving a faint smear on her chin, on the corner of her open mouth as she placed her fingers across her lips, her tongue snaking out, licking the blood 'he' wanted, tasting it herself.

A rush of cold air caressed over her body and Natalie opened her eyes, looking straight at the window. She frowned slightly, 'Had the window been open?' A faint taste of her blood lingered in her mouth and there was nothing to see but the night. She closed her eyes sleepily and smiled as she imagined the rasp of a cold tongue, sucking, pulling at her fingers and if she continued this fantasy she could really feel his hair, soft, silken against her hand.

Natalie didn't dare open her eyes. Why destroy the illusion, why push away the lips that brushed over her breasts before opening, opening to release the cool tongue that slowly licked the drying blood from her skin. Why ignore the sharp teeth that teased, tracing welts on the very same skin.

Natalie moaned, arching her back, offering herself upwards and her fingers tightened in his hair, hair the color of the sunlight that he was denied and if she looked, she knew his eyes would be gold, the same molten gold as the sun--

He tasted her fingers, shuddering at the flash of vision that accompanied the blood. He felt her other hand tighten in his hair as he bent and licked the blood from her flesh and Nick could taste the sun on her skin, taste flashes of her laying on tan sand, sand gritty and rough against her sun warmed body, and he could feel the sound of the tides, crashing in waves, he could hear the scent of the air, heavy and sleepy. He licked the blood off her chin, his tongue tracing the blood off her mouth, her breath hot as he claimed her mouth, parting her lips effortlessly, sliding his tongue in, dueling with hers. He felt the swirl of her tongue across his fangs and he growled, pressing her down, his body covering hers.

She could feel his growl vibrate through her, his weight covering her as she played with the sharpened points of his canines, feel his stab of pleasure mingled with her pain as she impaled her tongue, feel him sucking greedily at her offering. Feel his hand on her hip, cold and trailing down to her sex to cover it and plunge two or was that three--

She didn't care, her hips lifted, allowing him easier access and she groaned as she felt his thumb, pressing, teasing, circling her clitoris as she pushed his head down, down--


He shifted, resting his head on her thigh as replaced his fingers with his mouth. His tongue dove in, tasting, worshiping the feel of her, the scent of her passion, the taste of her love as he nipped at her with his fangs, savoring her shudders before pressing his face in further, hungry, so hungry. The universe was comprised of Natalie. Her scent, her blood, her hands at the front of his jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping them, pushing them down, releasing the sweet pressure--

He was hard in her hands, cool, fleshly steel that she kissed, kissed before opening her mouth to cover him, taste him, teeth scraping along, ever downward, embracing, demanding his moan and his instinctive rhythm. Her own cries were faint in her ears as she felt his tongue leave her as he pulled away--


Her blood screamed at him as he felt her build, ever upward as she took him, swallowed him and he almost lost himself in the rhythm of her heartbeat, 'their' heartbeat, her hands as she caressed him, her mouth as she took him ever closer--


She opened her eyes, staring, begging, demanding relief, relief that only the creature that looked up could give. His chin, his cheeks were bloody, his eyes glowing, his teeth bloodstained and sharp, sharp enough to cut the air with his growl as he turned and pulled her hips up to meet his in one hard perfect thrust--

'Hot, tight, slick and encompassing. Filling, burning, cold and hard. Drowning, surfacing, blinding light and illuminating dark. Piercing, sweet. Razor sharp pain. Two hearts, one beat, two souls, one body. Offering, begging, taking, and giving. Demanding, pleading, dancing, fighting. Unbearable, impossible, pleasure. Pulling, flooding, coursing. Sharing, taking, living, dying, rebirth and death. Rising, swelling, running, racing, embracing. Dark, light, dark--'

Pale fingers caressed the marks in the concrete as ancient, glacial blue eyes stared through the window. And as they stared, stared at the lovers, a trace of a smile curled upon the tall, slim figure's cold lips. Lips that moved slightly, whispering. Blessings or curses, what did it matter, weren't they all the same?


Comments, critiques, chocolate--


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