ficlet
And then I went and wrote random True Blood fic because this fandom is so unsatisfying. I think I'd like to write something a little more like a proper fic rather than a PWP, but this was quick to get out of my system.
Also, rendering Lafayette's accent/sociolect is tricky. Just saying.
Bits and Bytes (Eric Northman/Lafayette Reynolds, 1300 words, PWP)
What does a thousand year-old viking vampire use the internet for? Gay porn, obviously. Eric visits Lafayette's website. (Warnings: vague spoilers for S2, swearing.)
When Eric was born (as a human, but in hindsight, those years among the living are a mayfly's life) getting at information was a pain. You had to ask around, or seek some wandering sage or wood witch in the hope that they remembered something useful. People learned stories and poems and prayers by heart in the long dark winter hours, and the only stores of information were their heads - libraries were rare, foreign treasures, and book could be a hostage that monks paid high prices for if a viking was clever enough not to tear or burn the parchment pages. Eric lived for centuries before learning to read or write more than his own name, and then it was only because Godric ordered him to do so.
But as the centuries passed he saw who died and who lived on - it was those who, like Godric, bothered to learn new languages and skills, to go with the times while growing older. Even the ancient oak goes with the seasons, Godric said to him when he was young, and our seasons are made by humans.
So these days Eric knows how to read and write, how to use a phone and the internet. The sages of old would have fainted in terror at the knowledge he has at his fingertips, and he himself sometimes thinks that it is a sort of sacrilege to have such power without sacrifice.
But to be a viking means to take things that you have neither built nor earned. Theft and deceit are in his blood, and if this century's burning and pillaging is done with keyboards rather than axes and shields, then so be it.
Which is why he frowns when the website asks him to enter his credit card details. If it were an Irish monk, Eric would smash its skull for its insolence, but he learned early on that threatening the screen with violence will accomplish exactly nothing. Nor can it be glamoured - perhaps Eric should find some mortal to teach him how to trick these machines into doing his bidding.
He clicks the little arrow that means "play" again. Once more the mortal whore bends close to the camera and with a smokey voice and wink says, "This' the good stuff, bitches."
The likelihood that the locked part of the site will contain any worthwhile information is small. Lafayette is probably too scared to sell any more V, and if not, he's hardly going to advertise it there. But Eric is bored, and he’d like an excuse for violence.
A smile curls at the corner of his mouth when he clicks play again. Insolent little mortal minx. When Eric was human, comparing a man to a female animal was a grave insult. But then, in Eric's time he would have called himself a nithing, a creature without any honor at all.
And he takes what he wants.
The video loads slowly after he enters his credit card number, but then it plays without problems. A dirty twenty-first century vision that makes Eric smile like a cat.
"Today ya gonna meet some of my special friends," Lafayette promises as he slowly shimmies out of his clothes. He didn't brag when he said that he could dance - this is homemade, handcrafted, but he knows how to move, has got a body like butter and honey and all flowing and sticky-sweet.
Eric licks his lips, remembering the taste of Lafayette's blood - the tang of fear and pollution and helpless lust, the vibrant, determined life beneath. On the screen, the boy licks his lips as well, slow and teasing. He runs a hand down his chest, down his belly, preening for the camera, and fondles himself.
The last time Eric fucked a human was when the queen offered him one of her mortal toys as a morsel before playing yahtzee with her. The man had Bill Compton's scent on him, and Eric was more annoyed than turned on by the way he whimpered as Eric took him.
But this mortal would smell of Eric, beneath all the mortal smells of food and fear and the poisons in his blood. He has tasted Eric’s blood, just like Sookie. And the noises he makes are just right, low voice, almost purring, obscene through and through.
"Some nights, this just ain't enough," he murmurs to the camera as he handles himself with sure, hard strokes of his palms. "And then out come - - these."
He reaches for something with his free hand: a bottle of lube, a ring, and a replica of a man’s erect penis. The color is that of no human skin - a dark velvety red, like a cock drenched in blood. Lafayette gives it a teasing kiss, then drags it over his plush lips without licking it, just caressing, suggesting.
Eric's hand has been on his cock for a while. He doesn't give a fuck that he could have this in reality, because that would require him to get up and tell Pam to fetch him a mortal when all he needs to do is watch. This new century is a century for instant gratification, the kingdom of the idle.
Lafayette talks softly as he slicks the toy with lube, handling it as gently as a lover. "Ya know what's best?" he whispers. "Them things ya can't have. All them straight bitches and closet motherfuckers and that asshole you wouldn't touch for a million dollars in real life but in your dreams, oh yeah, baby, it's all yours, the whole damn world just wanting a good time with ya - ain't that what y'all are here for?"
He sinks down on an armchair, adjusts the camera, pulls up one leg and toys with his cock again, stroking it against his flat belly. His skin is lighter in some places, almost pinkish, and darker in others, sweaty black. Eric wants to sink his teeth in just there, in the soft place at the crease of his thigh. Instead he strokes himself hard as Lafayette writhes in the chair, dragging his asshole over the slick blunt head of the dildo before pushing down on it with. Skin stretches, he moans deep in his throat, eyes fluttering shut.
"Shit, that's it, that's good," Lafayette purrs and Eric tightens his hand to a fist.
Lafayette pushes the dildo in deeper, going fast, and for a moment, his eyes are open, the white visible, almost shocked as he pants, and then they fly shut again and the hand that he isn't using to fuck himself seeks spots on his neck, on his, spots where fangs broke his skin only weeks ago. "Fuck," he hisses, "fuck me, you fucking beautiful bitch, fuck me harder."
The video hasn't even hit the halfway mark but they're both rock-hard and wet. Lafayette fumbles the cock ring around his dick, hands shaking, and bites the heel of his hand as he rides the dildo, but Eric is too far gone to drag it out. His fist slaps his skin, he lets his fangs slide out and comes with a harsh grunt and a grin.
Half-lidded, he watches the show, too lazy to turn it off. He needs to pay that boy a visit soon.
After nearly ten minutes, wet and shuddering, Lafayette allows himself to come. He lies curled up in his chair for a moment, breathing harshly and twitching around the toy in the aftershakes of orgasm. Then he sits up with a groan and reaches for camera, pulling it closer until only his face is visible.
"Good night, bitches," he says warmly, his voice raw, and then adds with a frown, "and for all ya fanged motherfuckers watching this shit - this good time was brought to ya entirely without V, 'kay?"
Erik lets his head fall back and laughs for the first time since Dallas.
Also, rendering Lafayette's accent/sociolect is tricky. Just saying.
Bits and Bytes (Eric Northman/Lafayette Reynolds, 1300 words, PWP)
What does a thousand year-old viking vampire use the internet for? Gay porn, obviously. Eric visits Lafayette's website. (Warnings: vague spoilers for S2, swearing.)
When Eric was born (as a human, but in hindsight, those years among the living are a mayfly's life) getting at information was a pain. You had to ask around, or seek some wandering sage or wood witch in the hope that they remembered something useful. People learned stories and poems and prayers by heart in the long dark winter hours, and the only stores of information were their heads - libraries were rare, foreign treasures, and book could be a hostage that monks paid high prices for if a viking was clever enough not to tear or burn the parchment pages. Eric lived for centuries before learning to read or write more than his own name, and then it was only because Godric ordered him to do so.
But as the centuries passed he saw who died and who lived on - it was those who, like Godric, bothered to learn new languages and skills, to go with the times while growing older. Even the ancient oak goes with the seasons, Godric said to him when he was young, and our seasons are made by humans.
So these days Eric knows how to read and write, how to use a phone and the internet. The sages of old would have fainted in terror at the knowledge he has at his fingertips, and he himself sometimes thinks that it is a sort of sacrilege to have such power without sacrifice.
But to be a viking means to take things that you have neither built nor earned. Theft and deceit are in his blood, and if this century's burning and pillaging is done with keyboards rather than axes and shields, then so be it.
Which is why he frowns when the website asks him to enter his credit card details. If it were an Irish monk, Eric would smash its skull for its insolence, but he learned early on that threatening the screen with violence will accomplish exactly nothing. Nor can it be glamoured - perhaps Eric should find some mortal to teach him how to trick these machines into doing his bidding.
He clicks the little arrow that means "play" again. Once more the mortal whore bends close to the camera and with a smokey voice and wink says, "This' the good stuff, bitches."
The likelihood that the locked part of the site will contain any worthwhile information is small. Lafayette is probably too scared to sell any more V, and if not, he's hardly going to advertise it there. But Eric is bored, and he’d like an excuse for violence.
A smile curls at the corner of his mouth when he clicks play again. Insolent little mortal minx. When Eric was human, comparing a man to a female animal was a grave insult. But then, in Eric's time he would have called himself a nithing, a creature without any honor at all.
And he takes what he wants.
The video loads slowly after he enters his credit card number, but then it plays without problems. A dirty twenty-first century vision that makes Eric smile like a cat.
"Today ya gonna meet some of my special friends," Lafayette promises as he slowly shimmies out of his clothes. He didn't brag when he said that he could dance - this is homemade, handcrafted, but he knows how to move, has got a body like butter and honey and all flowing and sticky-sweet.
Eric licks his lips, remembering the taste of Lafayette's blood - the tang of fear and pollution and helpless lust, the vibrant, determined life beneath. On the screen, the boy licks his lips as well, slow and teasing. He runs a hand down his chest, down his belly, preening for the camera, and fondles himself.
The last time Eric fucked a human was when the queen offered him one of her mortal toys as a morsel before playing yahtzee with her. The man had Bill Compton's scent on him, and Eric was more annoyed than turned on by the way he whimpered as Eric took him.
But this mortal would smell of Eric, beneath all the mortal smells of food and fear and the poisons in his blood. He has tasted Eric’s blood, just like Sookie. And the noises he makes are just right, low voice, almost purring, obscene through and through.
"Some nights, this just ain't enough," he murmurs to the camera as he handles himself with sure, hard strokes of his palms. "And then out come - - these."
He reaches for something with his free hand: a bottle of lube, a ring, and a replica of a man’s erect penis. The color is that of no human skin - a dark velvety red, like a cock drenched in blood. Lafayette gives it a teasing kiss, then drags it over his plush lips without licking it, just caressing, suggesting.
Eric's hand has been on his cock for a while. He doesn't give a fuck that he could have this in reality, because that would require him to get up and tell Pam to fetch him a mortal when all he needs to do is watch. This new century is a century for instant gratification, the kingdom of the idle.
Lafayette talks softly as he slicks the toy with lube, handling it as gently as a lover. "Ya know what's best?" he whispers. "Them things ya can't have. All them straight bitches and closet motherfuckers and that asshole you wouldn't touch for a million dollars in real life but in your dreams, oh yeah, baby, it's all yours, the whole damn world just wanting a good time with ya - ain't that what y'all are here for?"
He sinks down on an armchair, adjusts the camera, pulls up one leg and toys with his cock again, stroking it against his flat belly. His skin is lighter in some places, almost pinkish, and darker in others, sweaty black. Eric wants to sink his teeth in just there, in the soft place at the crease of his thigh. Instead he strokes himself hard as Lafayette writhes in the chair, dragging his asshole over the slick blunt head of the dildo before pushing down on it with. Skin stretches, he moans deep in his throat, eyes fluttering shut.
"Shit, that's it, that's good," Lafayette purrs and Eric tightens his hand to a fist.
Lafayette pushes the dildo in deeper, going fast, and for a moment, his eyes are open, the white visible, almost shocked as he pants, and then they fly shut again and the hand that he isn't using to fuck himself seeks spots on his neck, on his, spots where fangs broke his skin only weeks ago. "Fuck," he hisses, "fuck me, you fucking beautiful bitch, fuck me harder."
The video hasn't even hit the halfway mark but they're both rock-hard and wet. Lafayette fumbles the cock ring around his dick, hands shaking, and bites the heel of his hand as he rides the dildo, but Eric is too far gone to drag it out. His fist slaps his skin, he lets his fangs slide out and comes with a harsh grunt and a grin.
Half-lidded, he watches the show, too lazy to turn it off. He needs to pay that boy a visit soon.
After nearly ten minutes, wet and shuddering, Lafayette allows himself to come. He lies curled up in his chair for a moment, breathing harshly and twitching around the toy in the aftershakes of orgasm. Then he sits up with a groan and reaches for camera, pulling it closer until only his face is visible.
"Good night, bitches," he says warmly, his voice raw, and then adds with a frown, "and for all ya fanged motherfuckers watching this shit - this good time was brought to ya entirely without V, 'kay?"
Erik lets his head fall back and laughs for the first time since Dallas.