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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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Published:
2020-11-04
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470
Chapters:
1/1
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14
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1,647

In His Own Image

Summary:

LaCroix contemplates his young ‘creation.’

Work Text:

Title: In His Own Image
Author: Poodle
Fandom: Forever Knight
Rating: PG
Summary: LaCroix contemplates his young -creation.'
Disclaimer: Never owned them, never will.

 

 

IN HIS OWN IMAGE
By Poodle~

 

His young knight lay sleeping in the moonlight, nestled at the foot of an imposing oak. The moon's glow caressed the golden hair, tousled in innocent slumber across an alabaster cheek.

The dark knight smiled.

He'd chosen well.

This night had delivered unto them uncommon pleasure, a trio of breathtaking beauties, blue-blooded, traveling with but a single inept escort through the deserted woodlands. LaCroix chuckled at the memory; indeed, they'd done the fool a favor, putting him out of the misery of his incompetent existence. And the ladies...

His smile broadened.

At first, the women dissolved into abject terror in the mayhem of darkness and confusion, their guide unaccountably found dead. Then Nicholas appeared, a shinning knight, and the women swooned in supplication at the angelic innocence of his visage. They surrendered their virtue and their life's essence with willingness almost sinful.

Almost.

Their bodices rent, taken in the throes of passion, porcelain breasts stained crimson in the moonlight, they moaned beneath the special kisses Nicholas bestowed. LaCroix found himself, as he often was, content to be enthralled by the wonder of the eloquence with which his child claimed his victims. No two conquests were ever the same with Nicholas. They died with passion-sated smiles upon their lips.

"Ah, such sweet messengers of death, are we, who deliver eternal rest, sublime," LaCroix intoned as he deftly touched a scarlet drop from the other's lips and brought it to his tongue. "Surely, such artistry is ordained of the gods."

Then gorged with blood and lust, young Nicholas had fallen into slumber in the glade, with the total abandon of true innocence, ever confident that LaCroix would watch over him.

Watch over him, he most surely would. The subtle flicker of a golden lash resting against a cheek, the occasional mumble.

Total abandon.

Total trust.

The young knight stirred, suddenly restless, and LaCroix rose to his feet. Towering above him, he knelt and rested the tips of his fingers against the boy's cheek; the flushed warmth of Nicholas' recent revelry tingled through his senses.

"*Sommeil, mon enfant.*"

The tension drained from his body, and he lay, trusting, beneath LaCroix's touch. LaCroix settled onto the ground next to him, and reclined against the oak. Watching.

The soothing rhythm of the night filled the glade, and amidst it, the whisper of LaCroix's name, murmured in sleep, wafted to his ears. He leaned near and touched a single crimson drop sprinkled against the silk of an exquisitely ruffled collar. The subtle flaw accentuated, rather than diminished, the refinement of the youth's air, and LaCroix smiled.

"Fearfully and wonderfully made."

Indeed. He'd chosen well.

 

The End