Tortured

(Note: for the purposes of visualization, actor Robin Atkin Downes (Byron, the lead telepath in Babylon 5) is cast in the part of Thorne Severan, and Roy Dupris (Michael in La Femme Nikita) is cast in the part of Davic Ellysson.)   WARNING: Consensual BDSM and violence in this one.

The Tremere Regent landed softly and completed his transformation back into his normal form from his usual flight appearance, a golden eagle.  Approaching the other, he crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the pair awaiting him.  "That's mine," he said finally, pointing to the Gargoyle.  Hunter knelt beside the sitting man, his head on the man's knee.

"Oh, is it now?" Lucien Lacroix smirked, patting the Gargoyle's head.  "Rather large for a pet, isn't it?"

Thorne controlled his impatience.  He was likely in grave danger, but it couldn't be helped.  He had to retrieve Hunter.  And the ancient vampire was not going to respond well at all to any show of force, which is why Thorne had come alone.  "He suits me," he answered finally.  "I would like him back."

Lacroix's expression hardened.  "You were spying on me."

The Tremere exchanged a glance with the Gargoyle, who was motionless, evidently enthralled in some way, his will subjugated to the other.  "Yes," he admitted, looking at Lacroix again.  "Only to protect my own, never for offense, Lucius."

A prominent eyebrow was arched in interest.  "Ah, so you do remember me, young Tenisor.  And you appear to have matured somewhat since your days of lapping at Goriflex's heels.   Settled down, have we?"

Thorne Severan was 1045 years old and only the Founder might today call him "young."  He shifted his weight uneasily.  "I am not known by that name anymore, and Goriflex and I parted ways many centuries ago.  May I please have my Gargoyle back, Lucius?"

The vampire chuckled and gestured to the Gargoyle.  "Go to your master, creature," he murmured.

Released from the vampire's mental controls, Hunter unfroze and immediately scuttled over to Thorne, whimpering at his feet.  Thorne stooped to quiet the Gargoyle, then straightened and faced Lacroix again.  "Yes, I have settled down in many ways over the centuries, Lucius," he continued, his hand on the top of the head of the Gargoyle who leaned against his legs for comfort.  "I am known as Thorne Severan now, Master of the Tremere Order of Knives and Regent for our clan here in San Francisco."  He spoke frankly, figuring that only the truth was going to be acceptable to one such as this.  Besides, if he'd had control of Hunter's mind, he'd already know.

Lacroix nodded, having already taken this information from the surprisingly intelligent mind of the Gargoyle.  "And I am now known as Lucien Lacroix.  My son and I, along with a couple of our... friends... have just moved in here.  I hope to meet with my old acquaintance, Prince Archon, tomorrow evening, in fact."

[Whoops, he didn't get  everything from Hunter,] Thorne realized with relief.  He opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again, thinking Lacroix could be allowed to discover the change in leadership here for himself.  [Of course,] he thought, [He wouldn't have been probing Hunter's mind for the Prince's name if he already thought he knew it.]  Instead he responded, "We are newly come to the city as well.  My order is a group of scientists; the mortal world knows us by a different name, of course."

"Scientists, really..."  Lacroix glanced aside, sensing something.  Nicholas had left, driving into the city.  "Would you care to come inside for a drink, Thorne?"

Thorne smiled.  He so liked it when opportunity dropped in.  "I would love a drink, Lacroix."    

Hunter was sent home, to his dismay.  The Gargoyle protested that his master needed protection, but it was obvious that the Tremere would not be needing physical protection.  If the vampires decided to overwhelm him mentally, that could be a problem, but Hunter would not be able to help there.  And of course Thorne was not without his own resources, though after scrying earlier, summoning up substantial power could be difficult.

Lacroix ushered Thorne into a lushly but not opulently furnished study.  The old vampire went to open a cooler disguised as a section of bookcase and removed a labeled bottle, then fetched two crystal goblets from a cabinet.  "So, Thorne, are you still as much of a hedonist as ever?" he asked as Thorne idly examined titles on the shelves.

Thorne smiled, examining the spine of an ancient tome of poems.  "But of course, Lacroix.  Pleasure is pleasure, and our kind, correction, *kinds* both are free to enjoy as we wish.  Of course we only restrain ourselves where the Masquerade may be compromised..."

The elder vampire poured a glassful from the contents of the bottle, and handed it to Thorne.  "The Masquerade... well, discretion is always wise."  He poured himself a glass, but did not sip, waiting for the other.

Thorne was inhaling the "bouquet", then, smiling, he took a drink of the dark red substance.  It was human blood, of course.  Kindred did not "read" the blood of a mortal as Lacroix's species did, though the satisfaction was the same.  Thorne, however, could perform a particular blood magick that would allow him to do so, but he was hardly likely to do that in front of such as Lacroix.  Tremere rarely allowed anyone outside the Clan to view their thaumaturgy.  Still, the blood was delicious, though cold.  Thorne, as all Kindred, was used to drinking straight from the source, which would be hot and frothy.  Their ability to heal the puncture wounds from their bites made this possible.  Lacroix's kind did not have the ability to heal.

"Delicious," Thorne murmured, lowering the glass.  He edged closer and slid a hand up the arm of the other as he took another sip.  "I appreciate... the invitation."

Lacroix took a deep swallow, savoring the richness and the touch of the other.  He set a hand to the waist of the taller man.  "I apologize... I had a better and fresher selection back in Toronto where I was freer to procure my own... supplies.  Your Masquerade here is... stifling."  His demeanor grew a little hard at the last.  Lacroix hated restrictions.

Thorne eased closer, his leg touching the other.  "If this had been fresh and obtained from within the Prince's territory, I would have to call the Blood Hunt down upon you, Lucien."  He smiled, his hand sliding up to caress the throat of the other.

Few vampires anywhere were ever this bold with him.  Lacroix, a bit nonplussed, stiffened, then found himself relaxing under the soothing hand of the other.  Still he remained taut, attentive to the Tremere's tricks.  "Fortunately I am aware of the laws of your Camarilla, my dear Thorne.  While I chafe at the limitations here, I am immanently sensible when it comes to survival.  Keeping your Masquerade is a necessary nuisance which I am resigned to accept."

The Tremere drained his glass and set it down behind him on a shelf.  "That is well, Lucien," he murmured, raising both hands to the vampire's throat, daring to start to unbutton his shirt.  "I should not like to have to commit to Final Death one so... sophisticated and intelligent and..."

He was interrupted.  "Severan, what are you doing?" Lacroix asked mildly, stopping him.

The violet eyes of the other were coy and seductive.  "Why, Lucien, I am undressing you," Thorne murmured, his voice dropping lower.  His smile was alluring and he was seriously in Lacroix's personal space, half-draped against his body.  "You *are* going to take me, aren't you?"

Lacroix laughed, a sound chilling to mortals, unnerving to his own kind, but merely sensuous to the Tremere.  In his millennium of life, Thorne had seduced every kind of sentient and semi-sentient being on the planet.  "Of course I'm going to take you, and hard, Thorne Severan," Lacroix replied, his voice light, then his demeanor hardened again.  "What is your game, Tremere?  What do you gain by getting your ass royally fucked by me?"

It was Thorne's turn to laugh.  "Pleasure, Lucien.  Do you suspect me of distracting you from some further Tremere mischief?  Tempting, but I'm afraid I just want sex with you.  Though we could interfere with your son, follow him..."  As Lacroix's eyes widened, his brows drawing together in a scowl, Thorne laughed again.  "Ooooh, I've hit a button!  So your son is your weakness..."

The Tremere was suddenly flying across the room, and when he thudded against a bookshelf, a few heavy volumes came down upon his head.  "Impudent wizard!" Lacroix was roaring at him, his eyes blazing a red-gold.  "My son is formidable in his own right and not a weakness!  If you have purposely tried to inflame me so that when I abuse you it will satisfy some dark, twisted, little urge of yours... I will NOT be so manipulated!"

Thorne did not move, but peered up at Lacroix stalking across the room toward him.  The Tremere's hair fell over one eye and some of his tunic was torn.  "I lay corrected," he murmured.  The recently ingested blood was helping his bones knit, but it did take a few minutes.  "For a moment, I forgot with whom I am dealing."

"Indeed," Lacroix grunted, then reached out and roughly hauled Thorne to his feet by the hand.  "I will still take you, then, though I do not take well to crossing and would sooner rip off your head than fuck your brains out."

Pain rippled through the Kindred's handsome face and he sagged against the vampire holding him up.  He'd purposely stirred up the other's wrath, not because he lusted to be raped, but because he had to find out what would anger this ancient, powerful vampire.  It was all geared toward the protection of his Clan and the Kindred in general from this largely unknown quantity, this vampire from a starkly different origin than the Kindred.  But he could feel the bones knitting within his body.  "I will not test your triggers again, Lucien, not if I can help it."

Lacroix was intrigued by the Kindred's apparently contrite demeanor.  Likely he was acting, playing a carefully chosen role as the Tremere were wont to do, but it didn't matter.  The moment Thorne had suggested Lacroix take him, the decision was made to do so.  He had to make sure it wasn't a bluff. "So you say, Tremere," he growled, "Do see that you keep your promises...  can you stand?"

Thorne shook his head after testing his hip and getting a grinding noise from the still shattered bone and a whole lot of pain.  He gasped, both from the pain and when Lacroix suddenly threw him over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

Lacroix, snorting with disgust that his prize had been damaged too soon, snagged another bottle of blood and headed for his private "play room" downstairs in the basement.    

Tossing the Kindred onto the bed there, Lacroix roughly fed his companion the entire bottle of blood, then left him there to heal.  Thorne, though aware that he had worse treatment to come - judging by the contents of the room - nevertheless submitted to the care, drinking all he was bidden to drink, then laying back to heal and rest.

There was no thought of withholding information from the Ventrue Prince of San Francisco.  That way lay doom.  He had to make himself indispensible to Julian Luna to assure the safety of his Clan.

Suddenly he knew how... and though most of his energy was going into knitting bones together, he had just enough to spare to a simple magick, one he could easily hide from the vampire.  Lacroix was on the other side of the room, choosing... implements.  Thorne was going to need to read Lacroix's blood should he get a chance... and would need to shield what his own blood might tell the antedeluvian.  He had no crystals, herbs, no scrying stones with him, but he'd long since passed dependence on having the right ritualistic materials to perform his magicks.

He closed his eyes, concentrated...

Lacroix shook him back to himself about fifteen minutes later, a rough hand gripping his jaw.  The old one was now stripped to the waist, wearing only black leather chaps and boots.  "How are you feeling?  Ready to... play?"

Thorne rolled to his side and propped himself up on an elbow, his long hair falling seductively over one eye.  He smiled, arranging his long limbs, completely healed.  "Ready, monsieur."

The other snorted.  "Then strip for me, Tremere."

Thorne uncurled off the bed in a long, fluid movement.  Still peering through the veil of hair at the other, he began to remove his clothes.  Internally, he was taking this bit of time to try to sense the Tremere across the Bay, particularly Davic.  He felt concern there, but no panic at least.  Hunter had by now checked in.  His clansmen were worried, but would at least wait until daybreak before attempting to find him.  He hoped.  Because of the blood bond - well, not entirely, he had to give himself a little credit - they were devoted to him and might try to, ah, rescue him.  Unfortunately, he had nothing left after healing and his magicking to use to contact them.

Naked, he sat back on the bed, stretching his arms up above his head.  Lacroix had watched him hungrily, taking in the long, muscular but lean body, and of course the ripe endowments in their nest of curly, dark hair.  "A prize indeed, Wizard," he breathed as he attached Thorne's wrists to restraints already fixed to the posts of the bed.  Then he selected a whip from his collection that he'd laid out at the foot of the bed, and climbed up on it.  The bed was a platform type, the mattress being thin enough to provide marginal comfort but plenty of support to one standing on it.

Lacroix started in, letting the tail of the whip lash against the Kindred's pale skin.  He had remarkable control, the whip striking in exact placement against Thorne's shoulders, upper arms, thighs, calves.  His brow knotted, he watched the man's face as he worked, watching for the moment when he would break this one.  If he could.  Though Thorne obviously was a willing participant, he could possibly be brought to a point where Lacroix would take his will over completely.  It remained to be seen.

The Tremere tensed against his restraints, bearing the sudden bursts of pain in silence.  He'd been tortured before, willingly and not, so he knew what to expect.  It was abruptly essential to him that he take all that Lacroix could do to him, even to feigning defeat of his will.  This was just pain, however, and even if he lost a lot of blood - and he *knew* there would be bloodletting, judging from what he'd glimpsed of Lacroix's tools - he wasn't likely to lose control of his will.  There was nothing Lacroix could do to his body that would cause that to happen.  Even if Lacroix was torturing another in front of him - Davic, Hunter, others of his beloved Tremere - Thorne Severan could never break.  He had too much to lose - the Order of the Knives, all those blood-bound to him, for one.  Though they were his thralls, he did not manage them as thralls, but as cherished clansmen.

The whip ticked against Thorne's cock, causing him to jolt in reaction.  A small gasp escaped his lips finally.  "Good," Lacroix murmured, hoping to get more of a reaction than that, so he flicked the whip against Thorne's genitals again.  Part of the ancient vampire's thrill in torture was seeing the agony on the faces of his victims.  In these modern days, torture was not so socially "acceptable", in fact it had been a long time since he'd enjoyed this particular indulgence so fully.  His beloved Nicholas was not exactly... inclined, at least not like his master was.  Since the kill was to be denied him here, perhaps he would take up this... hobby... again.  So convenient to torture other vampires who would suffer no *permanent* physical damage.

One forceful whiplash lay open a wound of several inches in length on Thorne's inner thigh.  Lacroix stooped, pulling the leg up by the knee, and lapped up the trailing blood before the wound closed a minute later.  He paused, savoring Tremere blood.  [Spicy,] he thought, glancing up at Thorne's face.  The Tremere was grimacing, but still silent.  Then Lacroix's face hardened.  He could read very little in the other vampire's blood.  [The wizard is shielding from me,] he realized.  [Can this one be broken?  He is older by a couple centuries than my Nicholas even.]  Then Lacroix smiled.  He knew a way that might work...

The whip was tossed aside.  Time to get serious.  Lacroix picked up a metal implement of about two feet in length, a thick steel rod with sharp, short metal spines down half its length.  He held it up so Thorne could see it and was rewarded with the widening of the other's eyes.  "I said I would fuck you, but I didn't say with what, did I?" Lacroix said with a chuckle.

"Good point," Lacroix replied, thoughtfully, running his hand lightly over the spines on the steel dildo.  "How considerate for you to consider my physical pleasure..."  With a sigh, he laid the wicked piece of metal aside, and picked up a knife with a seven inch, double-edged blade.  "I'll save the Steel Cock for later, then.  However, I am still going to need more of your delicious blood..."  He showed him the knife.

Thorne sighed with a mixture of relief and pleasure.  He loved knife play, actually, both using a knife and having one used on him.  "Oh, yeah, cut me..."

It was the wrong thing to say, he discovered immediately when Lacroix turned a scowl on him.  Then he understood.  He wasn't supposed to enjoy it.  The old sadist loved it best when the subject wasn't having as good a time as he was.  [I can have a bad time if I need to... whatever might get me a chance to taste his blood... later...]  He hoped it would be worth it.

"Do you ever do this to your minions?" Lacroix was asking him suddenly.  He shifted his position so he was straddling Thorne's body, kneeling around his hips.  His leather-clad groin rubbed against Thorne's genitals a couple times before he straightened again.

"Of course," Thorne replied quickly. The proximity of Lacroix's own endowments to his made his cock - already semi-hard - swell all the more.  "We Kindred have quite varied... tastes."  That was all he would say.  Lacroix did not need to learn of the myriad of Tremere rituals which involved bloodletting and consensual administration of pain.  Of course the blood-bond between Thorne as regnant and his Order as thralls made this consensual.  None of them could refuse him anything.  Sometimes Thorne felt a need in himself to use one of them in this way.  But they were usually vying for the privilege.  "You don't do this very often, do you?  Has it been a while?"

Lacroix had been just about to slice open his shoulder.  He froze, looking at the Kindred again.  "Too long, actually.  But one never loses these skills... at least I do not.  And I can see I shall have to remedy something.  I think I've had enough interruptions."  Abruptly he got off the bed and went over to his cache of tools, picked up a couple things, and returned, straddling Thorne again.  "I don't need your mind games," he murmured, fastening a ball gag on him.   He looked deep into his eyes... then put a blindfold on him.  "That's better.  Now, I must get back to work."

Thorne accepted the silencing and the blinding, grateful that Lacroix hadn't chosen longer-lasting means for same - like cutting out his tongue or burning his eyes out.  As it was, Thorne knew he was going to be losing enough blood to have to drink from half the Order when he returned home.  At his age, Kindred blood was in fact more nourishing for him.  Perhaps Lacroix - with the exception of using the Steel Cock - did not want to damage the Tremere primogen too much, lest Thorne seek revenge later.  Perhaps the ancient one was aware after all that Thorne was not using his array of defenses, was truly placing himself in submission to him voluntarily.  For whatever reason.

Lacroix was worried - the Tremere was taking this all too well.  What *was* his game?  Nevertheless, the prospect of having the opportunity to carve up the other vampire like a vegetable was too enticing.  Likely Thorne was after all twisted enough to get off on this.  Very well, he would indulge him as he indulged his own dark desires.  And he *was* going to use the Steel Cock.  Eventually.

As Thorne felt the first cuts, the first few slicings into the skin and muscle of his body, he used his silence and darkness to settle a part of his mind into a compartment, safely away from the effects of the torture that was ensuing.  Just enough was left to react appropriately... noises made in his throat, tensing of muscles, grimacing expression.  He would give Lacroix that.  But he had to maintain himself away from what was happening.  And - it was one of his oldest tricks - he kept himself hard so the sadist carving him up would believe he was enjoying it.

Actually he was.  But not as much as Lacroix was going to think he did.

The Steel Cock, when that came, was going to be trouble, however.  But he would worry about that when he had to.

Lacroix had not given rein to his bloodthirst in such a way for much too long.  So he took his sweet time, cutting, sucking on the opened wounds until they closed, slicing deep into muscles, watching the tissues part, smearing the trickling blood over the pale, smooth skin of the Tremere, then licking it clean.  It was a pleasure that satisfied Lacroix deep in his psyche, the part of himself that ached to take and take and take from another, consuming him, that part of him most in touch with the Beast within.  The Tremere was his to play with, unable to speak or see, bound in place, in this time owned by the ancient vampire.

Not really.  Thorne wasn't about to enlighten Lacroix as to his telepathic powers.  Or that he could even now easily free himself with the use of any of a number of mental tricks he had on hand.  He had a wry thought - when the Tremere learned of this, they were going to be incredibly grateful for what their leader endured for the Clan.  Thorne could use some gratitude on the morrow.  And he himself was likely to be in such a state that he was going to have to take one of his brutally, though not this brutally.  Not Davic... though his childe would submit gladly to being so used.  Kynd, perhaps.  Fuck his ass into the next galaxy, then go ahead and burn out his eye since he was so afraid of that.  Silly Freddie.

A particularly hard stab into his shoulder brought Thorne back to his plight at hand.  Carving hadn't been enough for the old vampire.  Lacroix had started to stab him with the knife.  Each stab brought an explosion of pain.  [What is he taking out on me?] Thorne wondered deep in his hidden, safe compartment where he could still manage to think.  [Who has tortured him so?]

After he must have been stabbed twenty times, Thorne heard a cry of anger above him, then jerked as his legs were being thrust apart, his ass cheeks roughly parted.  [Oh, shit, he *is* using me to express his anger or frustration with something.  I don't... want to know...]  Gamely he tried to relax his sphincter for the other, but it didn't matter, because Lacroix was already shoving his cock inside the Tremere.

Thorne's body trembled at the invasion, though after being carved up, the pain was minimal.  His legs were thrown over the other vampire's shoulder.  A small part of him whimpered in masochistic glee - he was FINALLY going to get fucked.

Before Lacroix started thrusting in earnest, however, he attached clamps to Thorne's still bleeding nipples and to his scrotum and perineum.  His captive thus adorned, he braced himself by his arms on either side and began to fuck.

The anger that had surged up inside Lacroix was coming out finally.  He bucked with tremendous force, stabbing Thorne with his rock hard cock, pummeling his ass.   There was a gleeful freedom in fucking with such raw abandon, using force he rarely let himself use with Nicholas.  This Tremere meant nothing to him personally, so he was free to let go.

If the man had been mortal, he would have died if Lacroix had only fucked him like this.

Thorne, after only a minute of having his prostate pounded, came hard, and he screamed into the ball in his mouth as he came, for the pounding did not hesitate for even a moment.  He came several more times, allowing himself to let go as well, his fangs and teeth biting the ball in half.  Spitting the remainder out, Thorne screamed for real as his orgasms continued to shake through his entire being.  Then a fist punched him hard in the face for screaming, so he bit into his tongue instead, trying not to bite through it.

Finally he was spent, relaxing completely.  Unfortunately, Lacroix was far from done.

[Fuck, I need blood, I need to BITE!] Thorne thought, but though the ball was out of his mouth, he could not reach Lacroix to bite him.  He lunged once to attack the other vampire's arm, but his restraints would not allow him to reach it.  Snarling, his fangs burning, Thorne held on, most of him by now reduced to thrashing animal, the safe compartment buried deeper within his mind and not very accessible at the moment.

Lacroix was reveling in his power, his nails buried deep in the other's hips as he continued to whale him mercilessly, growling fiercely like the supreme predator he was.  Then, finally, he gave a tremendous roar and pumped his fluid deep into the bruised bowels of the Kindred, cascades of powerful orgasms pounding through his body.  He collapsed upon the limp body beneath him, then roughly turned his face to the side.  Still coming, still roaring, Lacroix struck the side of his neck with his fangs, sinking them in deep.

Damning the possible consequences - he was positive he was going to get the Steel Cock now, regardless of what he may do here - Thorne twisted his head and bit into the neck of the ancient.   He immediately shuddered as the rich blood flooded his mouth.  Unfortunately that was all he got, because Lacroix grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled Thorne from his neck, bending his head back and away.  The blindfold became dislodged and Thorne spied an opportunity.  A fold of his long hair lay against his mouth.  Hastily he let some of Lacroix's blood still in his mouth trickle out and soak a thick strand of hair.

After drinking deep of Tremere blood, Lacroix resumed fucking.

Thorne retreated to his mental compartment, stunned.  He realized, finally, that Lacroix planned to fuck him for hours.

Lacroix did just that, though he at least allowed Thorne to drink from him in small amounts just at the point when he thought his fangs were going to burst into flame, he needed to bite so badly.  But he did read tiny trickles of information from the blood of the ancient one.  A young girl... Divia... his son, Nicholas, who was his lover...  it might be enough.

Sometime around the fourth round of fucking, Thorne had the very bad thought that he wasn't going to live through this night.  Lacroix did, in fact, have implements large enough to behead him.

He was fairly sure of it when in the sixth round, Lacroix switched from fucking with his own cock, to using the Steel Cock.  Thorne... bled... and screamed.... and bled.... and screamed... and...    

An hour before daybreak, Lacroix called Miklos to deliver a package to an address... one of the few things he'd been able to extract from the Tremere's mind before he'd lost consciousness completely an hour before the end.   Miklos hastened, and was able to deliver the package and get away before the sun rose.

The few Tremere who'd fed enough recently to withstand the sunlight of the early dawn, exploded out of their compound to retrieve the grisly package.

It was a body bag, and it held their Regent.

Davic, trying desperately to control his anger, ordered donations from members of the Order, and then he and Selsor locked themselves away with Thorne, working feverishly to revive him.  They poured flask after flask of quickly donated Tremere blood into him, and when the first hints of consciousness could be felt again, bade him drink directly from them both.

Abruptly the Tremere primogen was awake.  He screamed once from the pain still throbbing through him, then shuddered as he fought for control of himself.  Gasping, he clasped Davic by the shirt, pulling him down to him.  "Cut... my hair..." he said, then pulled forward the clump of dried blood matting a patch of his hair.  "It's... his.  All I could get."

Davic, trembling, complied, then sent Selsor out to take the sample to the lab, with strict instructions as to whom was allowed to work on it - herself, only a couple others who could be trusted and had the necessary expertise.  He stayed with his beloved, fighting the rage within him until Severan gave him permission to release it.

Preferably by destroying the vampire who had done this.

Thorne wavered in and out of consciousness, mostly incoherent still when he was awake.  But two hours after arriving home, he became aware and lucid again, and stayed that way.

"Sire, please let us set a bloodhunt for this vampire," Davic began, but Thorne immediately shot him a look.

"There will be no bloodhunt."

"You nearly died."  Davic thought he sounded fairly reasonable.

"He had the means and power to do so, but I am very much alive."  Thorne moved his body for the first time by himself, shifting position, grimacing as he did so.  "Sore as hell, but alive.  Whew, what a night!"

His childe was looking at him peculiarly.  "What?" Thorne asked, irritated.

"I don't... understand, Sire."  Davic indeed looked mightily confused.  "You were tortured within an inch of your life and you are not exacting revenge on him?"

Thorne inhaled deeply, then swore softly as bruised ribs protested the deep breath.  "Of course I'm not exacting revenge on him.  Vic, my dearest, I did not go into that unwilling.  I had to learn of him what I could to protect the Clan.  I did not learn much, but I did get a sample of his blood.  I can use that... sometime.  You must think in terms of long periods of time, Vic.  If he presents a danger to us or Kindred in general sometime, I must have the means at hand to stop him.  I might have that now.  The price... was worth it."

Davic wordlessly took Thorne's hand in his and laid it against his cheek.  He did not understand, not at all.  Thorne went willingly to be tortured?  He could not get his mind around that, not seeing what had been done to him.  In fact, when he'd seen his lover's anus and lower bowels so viciously torn up and bloody, his mind had gone black with rage.  Only his Tremere sense of duty and responsibility to the Clan kept him still.

"I'm going to be all right," Thorne murmured.  "I'll be back to normal in a day."

"We're vulnerable until you are," Davic murmured back, kissing the hand in his tenderly.

"You are no such thing," the primogen insisted.  "The Tremere are strong in themselves.  You are strong, my Vic.  You saw what was done to me and you did not act like a Brujah and run out to kill someone.  You need that force of will.  The Clan depends on that."

Davic sighed deeply, his master's hand at his lips.      

Just about that time, Nicholas Knight entered his father's study, a map of the city in his hand.  He'd come to ask a question, but seeing Lacroix's face, he forgot what he was going to ask.  "You're looking... relaxed," he observed, frowning slightly.

Lacroix was more than relaxed, he was preening, a cat licking the cream off his paws or picking feathers out of his mouth.  "I'm very, very well, thank you, Nicholas, and you?"  He couldn't help the impish smirk he wore.

His child knew that look only too well.  [You've had... what, another vampire?  I sensed a bit of what you were so carefully shielding from me,] Nicholas murmured in reply.  He knew his master had dark tastes, and he was happier not knowing.  Sighing, he rose from the kiss.  "Don't tell me who is was.  But I take it you were... in the basement?"

Lacroix just beamed with mischief, so Nicholas rolled his eyes at him.  "Oh, very well.  Are you coming to bed?"

"Ah, certainly, my dearest son, but..."  Lacroix laughed, a purely evil sound indeed.  "For a change I've had quite enough sex for now.  But I will join you, of course."

Nicholas could laugh just as evilly, and did.  "Oh, then it's my turn on top?" he said, winking.

Lacroix had no answer but to cup his son's groin.  Then he was working hard on his belt.    

The laboratory results came through later that day.  Thorne Severan read the report, snorted, then went into the lab himself to do additional experiments on the sample of blood from Lucien Lacroix.  When he was finished, later that night, he said nothing to anyone about what he did or did not discover, but went straight to his Davic, ordered him to strip...

And proceeded to take him.  Hard.  

The End