This fantasy was inspired by Cousin Jules. All it takes is two words to
start my mind a-fantasizin', so let this be a lesson to you.
The Judge
Copyright 1997
by Bonnie Rutledge
You march sleepily into the courtroom after yet another weekend-long
marathon session of case preparations. Things have not been going well. In
fact, you have a sneaking suspicion that the other side has some sort of
shady pull on the judge's motions. Every objection your side makes is over-
ruled, but if one of the other team's lawyers sneezes, his honor rushes to
wipe the man's nose with a lotion-enhanced tissue. It seems very fishy to
you...
Shuffling up to your desk, you take a seat, then let your forehead drop
to meet the cool table surface. You haven't slept nearly enough. You haven't
spoiled the dogs nearly enough. And Nunkies...
A slight whimper escapes your lips as you consider the lack of time
you've had to think about Lacroix. Frankly, you've just been too tired to
fantasize lately. If this keeps up, people are going to start confusing you
for a non-addict...
One of the lawyers joins you at the table, also looking tired, but
obviously ready to burst with an exciting piece of news. "He's gone!" the
lawyer exclaims.
You gracefully conceal a yawn with one hand and ask calmly, "Who's
gone? Not the bossman with my paycheck, I hope. I've got a vacation coming
up. It *will not* be cancelled."
"Naw. The old judge has been sacked. Word leaked to the higher ups that
our opposition's client was a major campaign contributor to the judge last
election."
"So we've been appointed a new judge?"
"Yes. And not only that, this case has been shifted to the night court
docket. Go home, get some rest, and be back here at eight."
You manage to catch eight straight hours of shut eye, some of which
was actually filled with dreams of Lacroix massaging your lower back,
gradually rising to your shoulders, then licking your face...
But you open your eyes and realize it's the dogs, urging you to take
them for a walk. Drat!
Arriving back at the courthouse, you're looking much better than you
did this morning. The night air seems to be alive in anticipation, and you
take one last deep breath before ducking into the stuffy artificial
atmosphere of the indoors. Something interesting was about to happen; you
had a gut feeling that excitement was primed, ready to be unleashed.
You were almost late, and there was already a crowd of bodies talking
and taking up the seats. Again, you take your place at your side's desk,
giving your employer a cold look as he chastises you for your virtual
tardiness. You busily picture how much fun it would be to virtually torture
him when the baliff gives the announcement for everyone to rise for...
THE HONORABLE LUCIEN LACROIX!!!!!
Your knees feel slightly rubbery as you gaze up at the stand. Nunkies
towers over the courtroom, completely dignified in his black judge's robe as
he sternly surveys the courtroom. Your mouth drops open slighty in wonder,
and you know you must be drooling (and drooling is usually considered
unprofessional conduct), but you don't care. Lacroix is right in front of
you, he looks magnificent, and he is The Judge.
The courtroom is given permission to sit, and Lacroix immediately
orders counsel from both sides to approach the bench. The lawyers move to
stand before him, and Nunkies frowns at them as though they were lichen
clinging to a stone. "I don't like your type of lawyers. You will leave this
courtroom at once. I will decide the outcome of this case with your
assistants."
"But...but I object Your Honor!" the opposition argues. "My assistant
couldn't make it to this night session! She couldn't find a babysitter!"
"I don't think......that you care what the outcome of this
trial is......I've already discussed this with your client,
you'll find that he agrees completely."
All of the lawyers nod dumbly, walk back to their desks, collecting
their files so they could leave.
"I believe that leaves only myself and Ms. Stafford. Could you join me
in my private chambers, please?"
You feel hot and tingly as Lacroix ushers you to his recently
acquisitioned office space. As soon as you are alone, Nunkies divests
himself of the black robe, revealing his traditional Armani underneath.
He offers you his arm, murmuring, "Are you ready to leave?"
Eager for the excuse to run your fingers over his muscled frame, you run
your fingers down Lacroix's arm before hooking your own around his elbow.
"But I thought we were going to discuss the case in your chambers."
"We are, we are. Like I said in my *private* chambers. We'll have to
travel to my townhouse for that." With his free hand, Nunkies slipped a set
of keys from his coat pocket and dangled them before you. "I know you love
to drive the Jag, my dear."
"Mmmmm..." You greedily grab the chain. This was getting good...very
good.
You speed through the streets of TO, missing the gear shift only a few
times , encountering Lacroix's muscled thigh instead. He didn't seem
to mind, in fact, Nunkies seemed to believe turn about was fair play, and
slowly wound a path with the tip of one long index finger from your ankle,
along your calf, tickling behind then circling your knee, then higher, to
where your fashionably short skirt had ridden up even higher on your legs as
you sat down, then...
"We're here!" you announce breathlessly, stopping the Jag at
the curb in front of the townhouse. Lacroix's fingers immediately left your
thigh.
He exited the Jaguar, then walked around to the driver's side to
gentlemanly assist you from the car. Lacroix slipped an arm about your waist
as he escorted you up his front steps, then into the front hall.
"Now, then," Nunkies murmured languidly in your ear, the touch of his
cool breath sending pleasant shockwaves along your every nerve. "It's time
to explore the *intimate* details of this case."
"You've gone to all of this effort for a private meeting with me," you
say coolly, despite the sheen of sweat threatening to break out over your
skin at the mere thought of exploring *Lacroix's* intimate details. "Doesn't
that imply your intention to judge in my favor?"
Nunkies has escorted you into his den, which is seductively lit. He
offers you a choice of the black leather furnishings, if you would like to
sit down. You shake your head, preferring to remain on your feet for the
time being. It makes you feel prepared for any 'action' which may ensue.
Lacroix is standing in front of you, but a few inches to the side, so
you feel the necessity to turn your head to the right and up slightly to
look him in the face. You do, sucking in a startled breath as you discover
that Nunkies has also tilted his head in your direction. His full lower lip
hovers less than a centimeter above your mouth, close enough that, if you
chose to, you could trace it with your tongue. You could catch that lip
between your teeth and tug on it, drawing his mouth completely under your
control. Your mind whirls with a hundred sensuous possibilities. Nunkies
begins to whisper, his cool breath transforming the moisture (drool?) on
your lips into an icy tingle that vibrates along your nerve endings. "Some
of the best intentions never see the light of day, my dear."
Lacroix steps away, leaving you aching in frustration. You swallow back
your groan of disappointment and the urge to reach out and cling to the man,
because you still have your pride, even if you are an addict. "Is that a
promise," you inquire, a bitter note to your voice, "or are you simply
teasing me?"
Lacroix glances your way and arches an eyebrow as he responds coyly,
"Would you like for me to tease you, Jules?"
your heart cries out.
Your mind still has enough control to be practical. "What is teasing?
It is an empty action, lacking sincerity, and, in the end, it is
unfulfilling. A promise, however...You are many things, among them a man of
your word. So which do you offer me: a tease or a promise?"
Lacroix occupies himself at the sidebar, lifting a bottle of sherry
with an inquisitive expression, as though he actually had a moment's doubt
that this would be your drink of choice. You give a slight, but
unenthusiastic nod, then stare at him expectantly, demanding an answer to
your question with a flash in your eyes.
Lacroix brings you a glass of the amber liquid, saying, "I promise you,
my dear," His fingers glide over your own as you clutch at the delicate stem
of the crystal, shaking your composure again as hot flashes burst along the
skin of your arms at his touch, "before this night is over, we shall uncover
the true issues of our case."
You take a sip of the sherry, adding to the warmth that already glows
beneath your skin at his nearness. "To which issues are you referring?" you
ask curiously.
Lacroix weaves his fingers around your free hand, the cool metal of his
ring reminding you that this is a vampire you've rendezvous-ed with - a
mysterious, complex, powerful ancient with a history and moral code you
haven't begun to fathom. He is pulling you toward another room. For a split-
second you resist - what are you agreeing to if you cross that portal? - a
tiny soucon of fear whittles into your heart. Then Lacroix glances back, his
blue eyes searing into yours, and you accept that you would follow him
anywhere - blindly, devotedly, forever.
It's a bedroom with a king-sized - no, make that emperor-sized - bed
dominating the rectangular space. Also on prominent display is a long, black
lacquer chest. At first glance, you think it must be Chinese, but upon
closer study, you realize it probably derived from Southeast Asia, perhaps
from one of those Vietnamese plantations of which Lacroix was so fond.
An enormous balance sits atop the black lacquer surface, moulded out
of gold, about two meters wide and one meter high. Two gleaming plates,
each roughly the size of a banquet platter, dangled evenly on either side
from ornately woven chains.
Lacroix allows you ample time to examine the room before answering your
earlier inquiry. "There are two issues of great interest to me, Jules.
The first is courtly love, and the second, the scales of justice. I need
your assistance, my dear, in reconciling the two. I find the notion rather
difficult," he admits, appearing more licentious than humble. "Are you
talented enough to accept this challenge?"
You take a generous swallow of your sherry at this remark, barely
noting the dry, smooth flavor. you think wryly. In your
book, courtly love is just a lot of foreplay. Creative foreplay, romantic
foreplay, foreplay that didn't equal a forearm, yes, but still just
foreplay.
Foreplay leaves something to be desired.
Coupling that with the philosophy of justice was enough to give Thomas
Aquinas nightmares. In fact, it almost qualified as an Anti-Nunklear Device.
It is going to take some strategy to complete Nunkies' challenge to your own
*personal* satisfaction, and he knows it.
But, then, Lacroix doesn't know you that well.
Yet.
You place your half-full (optimism doesn't kill people - people kill
people) glass of sherry on a small table nearby. Cornering the table is a
music stand, where you see the score to Brahms' Violin Concerto waiting for
some loving attention. You're feeling as though you're a musical composition
yourself, a living melody yearning to burst forth if a certain someone only
applied the proper pressures, caresses, and gently plucked your strings.
You take in a slow, deep, calming breath, then turn to face Lacroix
with as much confidence as possible. "I find it hard to comprehend that you
cannot reconcile justice and chivalry. The idea of justice, or ~jus~ as
Thomas Aquinus would have called it, establishes that everything has its
proper place. Every individual is *owed* their due because it is their
right. Deny an individual their property, their rights, and you commit
injustice."
"And murder?" Lacroix proposed, playing devil's advocate with a wicked
grin. "Would your definition not indicate that by killing a mortal, a
vampire denies them their right to life, and is, therefore unjust?"
You tsk and shake your head, stilling Lacroix's words by placing your
index finger over his mouth. You indulge a small measure of your earlier
desire, lightly scraping your nail along the underside of his lower lip,
drinking in the curl of his lower lip as you deliver your counterargument.
"But the inherent problem with discussing justice and vampires lies in the
nature of philosophical discussions to date. Aquinas, for example, spoke of
mortals relating to each other as equals based on their common human nature.
A vampire is not human, and very...uncommon... wouldn't you agree, Your
Honor?"
"I agree. Voraciously so." Lacroix latches onto your fingertip, catching
it between his front teeth and, nibbling gently, makes your entire forearm
feel ~al dente,~ "Please, call me Lucien."
"Is your offer meant to signify that you are dishonorable, not worthy of
such a title?" you taunt with a flirtatious grin.
Lacroix pulls your fingertip from his mouth, then cradles your hand
between both of his palms. "On the contrary - my offer signifies how honored
I am to be witnessing such a persuasive argument from a beautiful
litigator."
You tilt your head slightly in acknowledgment. "Then I accept your
offer, Lucien. May I continue?"
"Of course you may." Lacroix dips his head, placing a lingering kiss on
your fingers, just below the knuckles. "I hunger for more."
"We are agreed that vampires are different from humanity, therefore
their rights are different from their mortal counterparts, but to deny an
immortal their due, to usurp what is owed them, that still would constitute
an injustice."
"Agreed. Denial is a terrible thing," Lacroix comments thoughtfully as
he begins to caress the inside of your wrist with a thumb. "I find it
extrordinary that you have identified through medievel philosophy in fifteen
minutes, what my son, Nicholas, has yet to discern in almost eight
centuries."
You sigh and decide to take a seat on Lacroix's lap while you continue
this discussion. All of the light touches along your inner arm are making
your knees weak, and you still feel the need to reason and concentrate.
"Some people, Lucien, simply catch on slowly," you explain, running your
hands over his forehead and through his hair as Lacroix's hands settle low
on your hips. "Denial is the item in justice that ties to courtly love.
Andreas Cappelanus wrote about the rules of love in the court of Eleanor of
Aquitaine..."
"I remember him," Lacroix inserts. "He had bad teeth."
"Didn't everyone?" You grin, wind your arms about his neck, and
continue. "One of the rules of courtly love that he set down in some codex
thingagummy, titled ~De amore~, was "Love can deny nothing to love." In a
sense, love is your rightful due, and denying that is injustice. There you
go - chivalry and the scales of justice intertwined."
Lacroix stares at you thoughtfully with a gleam in his eyes for several
moments, the silence heavy with anticipation. Suddenly, he pushes you off
his lap and stands. You sit dejectedly at the foot of the bed, fuming as
Lacroix begins to pace and chuckle. "You were this close, Jules," Lacroix
drawled, gesturing your way with his thumb and forefinger a centimeter
apart. "No doubt you could have persuaded Nicholas or Vachon with your
earnest debate, but *I* know better."
"And *what* do you think you know, Lucien?" you ask scornfully. No one
just shoves you off their lap, even the Honorable Lucien Lacroix!
"That chivalry was just a load of foreplay," he states, then pauses in
his pacing. Lacroix leans over you, placing a hand on each of your knees,
then speaks huskily. "You know it, too. I can read it in your eyes, Jules.
What good is foreplay if you never reach ecstasy? Where's the satisfaction?"
"I've heard a fuzzy, pink robe and a cat can do wonders," you mutter
sarcastically, then push Lacroix aside on the bed as you stand to give him a
taste of his own medicine. You cross your arms in front of your chest and
stalk across the floor as Lacroix watches. "Alright! That argument was
nothing but a bucket of fluffy rhetoric! I've got about as much patience
with this courtly love business as you do waiting for a free table in a
tavern! So I stretched the truth a little! What do you expect, giving me the
task of reconciling chivalry and the scales of justice? I'm a High
Priestess, not a Goddess of Philosophy!"
"I am perfectly aware, my dear, that it was an unfair challenge. You
still presented yourself admirably. Frankly, I never expected you to -"
Lacroix moves as though he intended to stand, but you splay one hand in the
center of his chest to encourage him to stay put.
"Hold it," you instruct firmly. "I never said I couldn't do it, just
that it was an impossible using words. Actions, however, are another matter
entirely. Just suppose we two are chivalric lovers..."
Lacroix pauses, intrigued to hear what you come up with next. "Very
well, let's suppose."
You gesture toward the gold balance. "~Voila!~ Our scale of justice!"
You motion to the left plate. "One side belongs to the prosecution. I'll let
you be the offensive male," you announce with a mischevious grin. Lacroix
frowns at the pun, thinking perhaps some of the other addicts have been a
bad influence on you, then grants you an abrupt nod. Your smile broadens as
you wave a hand toward the right plate. "Behold the other side. My side -
the defense."
"Aren't you going to say defenseless female?" Lacroix quips.
You give him a stern look and enunciate precisely, "What - do - you -
think, - Lucien?"
"I think you should reveal the rest of your plan."
"My plan is *very* revealing," you assure him. "You see, each side has
an argument, a particular goal they want to achieve from the trial. A desire
they want fulfilled, if you will..."
"I see." Lacroix nods, rubbing his chin as he considers the
inplications of this scenario. "You suggest that the scale of justice will
measure both of our arguments and determine the victor."
"Exactly. I'm sure you also remember, Lucien, that courtly lovers often
gave their beloved items off their clothing to use as a pennant in a tourney
or to keep as a token of their lover's affection," you describe with a
twinkle in your eye.
"True," Lacroix says, "but I fail to see how that relates to measuring
the relative force of our arguments."
"Simple. We use our clothes. Whoever has on the heavier outfit *must*
have the weightier argument, and, therefore, deserves the settlement."
Lacroix's eyes widen in admiration and desire. "This definition of
justice, Jules...it's breathtaking. What, dare I ask, constitutes the
settlement?"
"We've already commiserated about how chivalry is fraught with denial.
This court will award the victor the right to deny the loser one item of the
winner's choosing." You've tried to maintain a business-like demeanor, but
as the words pour out, you can't fight back a tiny grin of excitement.
"Hmm..." Lacroix ponders this arrangement while inspecting your short
jacket and skirt, comparing them to his own full suit. "You're not even
wearing any heavy jewelry, Jules. Surely you recognize your plan greatly
favors the prosecution? There is no way you can prevail."
"Au contraire," you explain, your expression growing wicked, "we'll be
in this intimate setting without a stitch of clothing on. Denial or no
denial, even if I am at your mercy, Lucien, I still win. Agreed?" You extend
a palm to shake on the deal.
Lacroix's eyes take on a golden hue as he grasps your fingers within his
own, then raises your fingers again to his lips for another courtly kiss.
"Agreed. Well done, my dear. Actions *are* more effective than words, and
you've blended chivalry and the scales of justice beautifully."
He proceeds to unbutton the front clasps of your jacket and slips the
material off your shoulders, speaking in a passionate whisper. "Do you think
the court of love would disapprove if the prosecution assisted his opponent
in giving her argument? With the defense's consent, of course."
"Of course," you breathe heavily, spinning around to attack the
fastenings of Lacroix's own jacket and shirt. "I don't see the court or the
defense having a problem with that offer. Perhaps the prosecution would like
the defense to unbuckle his belt?"
"By all means," Lacroix says throatily, then giving a pleased growl,
licks up the pulse-point of your neck and around the curve of your ear.
"Just so you know, Jules - for my settlement, I choose to deny you
*nothing.*"
****************************************************************************
The End