GK/TB fic: You Get Away From Me
Title: You Get Away From Me
Author: nightanddaze
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Nate Fick/Brad Colbert, implied Eric Northman/Nate Fick, Eric/Godric
Word Count: 1720
Summary: He has got to get away.
Notes: A sequel of sorts to Solid Soul. Written as a pinch hit for gk_remix, specifically “Ocean Breathes Salty.” Title from same. Beta by snglesrvngfrend.
It’s not a long flight, SHV to SAN, hardly time for a nap or a drink. Eric plans on neither. He wishes to be at his best and he’s always at his best when he’s hungry.
The sun has just barely gone down and he’s awake, already feeling prickles of hunger as he packs his dress shirts. By the time the flight gets in it will be almost dawn and he knows he will be irritable, but if he sleeps on that it will smooth out to nothing more than a dangerous edge and he will be ready to face the gift Godric left behind.
It’s been months since Godric left for the sun but he has been too pre-occupied with the occupants of Bon Temps to deal with this one outstanding end. But all Eric has is time and his connection to Nate Fick is still strong, even vibrant at times, unlike the dead end left at the center of his mind from Godric.
Eric does not miss Godric. Not his small body or his teeth or his voice, but he does miss the place where they connected. Eric does not waste many thoughts and he keeps the humans back for his own sanity, so he has felt conspicuously empty without Godric’s meandering river thoughts.
The wound is closing though, by force of will, which Eric has done in the past and will do again.
&
In Oceanside Nate finds himself irrationally irritated, his knees going tense and his thoughts stormy in the back. There’s nothing wrong- Brad’s not even critiquing Jeopardy contestants tonight. He just feels strange.
He sets down his beer with the label picked off and stands up. “I’m gonna go running,” he says.
Brad waves him off, too busy staring down Alex Trebek to say anything. Nate shakes out his shoulders as he walks to the bedroom, trying to slip away from the feeling.
&
Pam brings him a suit jacket of her choosing, something red and black, silk and velour. Eric sends it away. She stands there, holding it from one hooked finger.
“It’s the best,” she says, looking him square in the face. She’s wearing too much make-up tonight.
“Bring me something else,” Eric says.
Pam half-turns like a model on a catwalk. “Out to impress?” She asks, giving him that look.
“No,” Eric says to her swaggering hips and long back. That wasn’t as harsh as it should have been. He says, “You’re wearing too much make-up. You look like a cheap whore,” to make up for it.
Pam laughs, draping the jacket over her shoulder, walking away in her sky-high pumps.
&
Nate runs, still feeling odd, sick and sad and furious. He tries to think about what’s happened in the past few days, but there’s nothing. Same shit, different day
He rounds a corner, running past the park. Tonight it’s empty, no couples sitting on the bench and no kids playing. It’s completely peaceful but Nate still feels like he could snap something in half.
He runs harder, away from the park, down in the direction of the far-off beach.
&
Pam lays out four jackets that are all exactly the same. Eric picks the one second from the left and puts it in his garment bag. Pam gathers the others up and bows to him. "My liege," she says. Eric tells her to fuck off in Swedish and she laughs again as she leaves.
Eric sits to wait. He has more than an hour before his car gets here. He could go to the bar but then he'd have to be around all the writhing humans, risk their slavering attention. Usually he revels in it, their kisses on his feet, their pathetic drunkenness. Tonight he sits alone in his bedroom, waiting to leave.
He thinks about the ocean.
He can remember swimming in it, fishing in the salty water, sailing from one land to another. Since Godric turned him he has been once, because he missed his children but knew that if he went to them he was too wild to let them live through the encounter.
Godric had said nothing the whole time, just staring out at the place where the ocean met the sky passively. Eric can remember feeling a deep, sudden loathing of the ocean, a kind of fear he had never known before. Still he made himself go close, letting the bone-cold water touch him and he had knelt and let the water suck at his fingers. He had been full of the urge to leave before the water pulled him in, but he still brought his wet fingers to his lips, kissing the salt off, remembering the names and smells of little ones.
Godric had watched the moon for however long, finally coming to Eric to take him back to the forest. In their lair they laid down to wait for the sun and sleep to come and Godric had looked at him, salt crisp on his fine cheeks and said, "We sink."
Eric, feeling emptier than he had in a pair of years, only looked at him.
Godric closed his eyes. He said, "You were afraid because we sink. We do not float." He said that and then he was silent, his small hands resting on Eric's spine, his body nestled in the dirt underneath Eric, waiting patiently for tonight's little death.
His mouth stinging with salt, Eric felt sick.
&
Nate stops at a convenience store for a drink. He's not angry anymore, but he still feels strange. Even though it does nothing he presses the back of his wrist to his forehead, feeling for heat. His skin is sweaty and cool from the air conditioning.
He buys a bottle of water and chugs the whole thing outside the store, dumping the bottle in the garbage, running on.
&
The car comes and Eric does not bother saying goodbye to Pam, whose delight he can feel wafting from the bar. She is clearly too busy with the sad sick humans to care if he's leaving. Eric puts his credit card with the highest limit on his dresser, which is never where he leaves it. She'll sniff it out anyway, perhaps before the night is through.
The driver is a human, gormless, paid in drops of blood to shut up and drive. Eric ignores him, looking up the time difference on his phone. Two hours.
&
Nate runs an extra three miles and so he has to walk home, his legs too sore to keep up the pace. By now Brad is probably in bed, all his clothes for tomorrow laid out and the bedside lamp’s shadow collecting in the comforter’s folds.
Nate wants to rip his own clothes off, keep running, ruin something precious. The only thing stopping him is how tired he is.
&
What he’ll do when he gets there, he doesn’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe he’ll kill them both, just for being near Godric when it could have been him. The extra space in his consciousness might be welcome. He could devote himself more fully to seducing Sookie from that useless stick Bill Compton.
Maybe he will go and be nice. He could play house again with Nate, drink his sweet strong femoral blood, bring him again to the best pleasure he’s ever had. The other one could be a meal or a slave or a toy. Eric does not care about him.
He could go and never see them at all. It’s been months but maybe, if he’s sharp, he might still be able to smell Godric somewhere in the city, see his shadow sitting on a bench or standing near the sea, looking up at the moon.
If he was smart he would not go at all. He would turn, walk away from the steps leading up to the plane and his waiting coffin. He would go back to the bar, send Pam on some unattractive, demeaning errand and fuck someone until their heart gave out.
Instead he smells the sea salty postcard in the pocket of his suit jacket in his garment bag, the one with Godric’s writing on it, and walks up into the stale coolness of the plane and hangs his bag up and slides into the dusty travel coffin.
The flight attendant seals him in with a “Have a good flight, sir. We’ll be there in under three hours.”
The dark mustiness of his coffin reminds him of so many days spent in the dirt next to Godric’s body, his long eyelashes, his voice telling Eric secrets of this new dead life.
Thinking about that makes that empty place inside Eric pang for blood and brotherhood, neither of which he can have. Eric looks at his watch, his eyes able to pick up the faint luminescence of the watch’s hands. It is barely past one. By four he will be in California, ready to go looking for the things that have escaped him. All he has to do is wait.
&
It’s past one when he gets home. He feels weary, sweaty, sore and sick from all the water he felt he had to drink. The soles of his feet burn.
In the bedroom the air conditioner is going and Brad has the blankets pulled up to his ears, which is his favourite way to sleep. Nate sits on his side of the bed, his thighs tensing unpleasantly when they hit the bed.
The urge to go wild has left him, left behind on some street or at the beach. At the price of his muscles, but it feels worth it, as long as that monster stays gone. He feels almost human again.
He plucks at his cold t-shirt and sets the alarm. The air conditioner changes speeds and Brad hikes up more blankets. Nate can feel his normal fondness returning. He pats Brad’s hip even though Brad probably can’t feel it through all the blankets. Brad sleeps on, his skin waxy from the moon, his mouth slack, totally dead to the world.
Nate stands up, stretching out as best he can, pulling his shirt over his head, walking on his hurting feet to the bathroom. He’ll shower and try to catch a few extra hours of sleep. Tomorrow this will be forgotten.
Author: nightanddaze
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Nate Fick/Brad Colbert, implied Eric Northman/Nate Fick, Eric/Godric
Word Count: 1720
Summary: He has got to get away.
Notes: A sequel of sorts to Solid Soul. Written as a pinch hit for gk_remix, specifically “Ocean Breathes Salty.” Title from same. Beta by snglesrvngfrend.
It’s not a long flight, SHV to SAN, hardly time for a nap or a drink. Eric plans on neither. He wishes to be at his best and he’s always at his best when he’s hungry.
The sun has just barely gone down and he’s awake, already feeling prickles of hunger as he packs his dress shirts. By the time the flight gets in it will be almost dawn and he knows he will be irritable, but if he sleeps on that it will smooth out to nothing more than a dangerous edge and he will be ready to face the gift Godric left behind.
It’s been months since Godric left for the sun but he has been too pre-occupied with the occupants of Bon Temps to deal with this one outstanding end. But all Eric has is time and his connection to Nate Fick is still strong, even vibrant at times, unlike the dead end left at the center of his mind from Godric.
Eric does not miss Godric. Not his small body or his teeth or his voice, but he does miss the place where they connected. Eric does not waste many thoughts and he keeps the humans back for his own sanity, so he has felt conspicuously empty without Godric’s meandering river thoughts.
The wound is closing though, by force of will, which Eric has done in the past and will do again.
&
In Oceanside Nate finds himself irrationally irritated, his knees going tense and his thoughts stormy in the back. There’s nothing wrong- Brad’s not even critiquing Jeopardy contestants tonight. He just feels strange.
He sets down his beer with the label picked off and stands up. “I’m gonna go running,” he says.
Brad waves him off, too busy staring down Alex Trebek to say anything. Nate shakes out his shoulders as he walks to the bedroom, trying to slip away from the feeling.
&
Pam brings him a suit jacket of her choosing, something red and black, silk and velour. Eric sends it away. She stands there, holding it from one hooked finger.
“It’s the best,” she says, looking him square in the face. She’s wearing too much make-up tonight.
“Bring me something else,” Eric says.
Pam half-turns like a model on a catwalk. “Out to impress?” She asks, giving him that look.
“No,” Eric says to her swaggering hips and long back. That wasn’t as harsh as it should have been. He says, “You’re wearing too much make-up. You look like a cheap whore,” to make up for it.
Pam laughs, draping the jacket over her shoulder, walking away in her sky-high pumps.
&
Nate runs, still feeling odd, sick and sad and furious. He tries to think about what’s happened in the past few days, but there’s nothing. Same shit, different day
He rounds a corner, running past the park. Tonight it’s empty, no couples sitting on the bench and no kids playing. It’s completely peaceful but Nate still feels like he could snap something in half.
He runs harder, away from the park, down in the direction of the far-off beach.
&
Pam lays out four jackets that are all exactly the same. Eric picks the one second from the left and puts it in his garment bag. Pam gathers the others up and bows to him. "My liege," she says. Eric tells her to fuck off in Swedish and she laughs again as she leaves.
Eric sits to wait. He has more than an hour before his car gets here. He could go to the bar but then he'd have to be around all the writhing humans, risk their slavering attention. Usually he revels in it, their kisses on his feet, their pathetic drunkenness. Tonight he sits alone in his bedroom, waiting to leave.
He thinks about the ocean.
He can remember swimming in it, fishing in the salty water, sailing from one land to another. Since Godric turned him he has been once, because he missed his children but knew that if he went to them he was too wild to let them live through the encounter.
Godric had said nothing the whole time, just staring out at the place where the ocean met the sky passively. Eric can remember feeling a deep, sudden loathing of the ocean, a kind of fear he had never known before. Still he made himself go close, letting the bone-cold water touch him and he had knelt and let the water suck at his fingers. He had been full of the urge to leave before the water pulled him in, but he still brought his wet fingers to his lips, kissing the salt off, remembering the names and smells of little ones.
Godric had watched the moon for however long, finally coming to Eric to take him back to the forest. In their lair they laid down to wait for the sun and sleep to come and Godric had looked at him, salt crisp on his fine cheeks and said, "We sink."
Eric, feeling emptier than he had in a pair of years, only looked at him.
Godric closed his eyes. He said, "You were afraid because we sink. We do not float." He said that and then he was silent, his small hands resting on Eric's spine, his body nestled in the dirt underneath Eric, waiting patiently for tonight's little death.
His mouth stinging with salt, Eric felt sick.
&
Nate stops at a convenience store for a drink. He's not angry anymore, but he still feels strange. Even though it does nothing he presses the back of his wrist to his forehead, feeling for heat. His skin is sweaty and cool from the air conditioning.
He buys a bottle of water and chugs the whole thing outside the store, dumping the bottle in the garbage, running on.
&
The car comes and Eric does not bother saying goodbye to Pam, whose delight he can feel wafting from the bar. She is clearly too busy with the sad sick humans to care if he's leaving. Eric puts his credit card with the highest limit on his dresser, which is never where he leaves it. She'll sniff it out anyway, perhaps before the night is through.
The driver is a human, gormless, paid in drops of blood to shut up and drive. Eric ignores him, looking up the time difference on his phone. Two hours.
&
Nate runs an extra three miles and so he has to walk home, his legs too sore to keep up the pace. By now Brad is probably in bed, all his clothes for tomorrow laid out and the bedside lamp’s shadow collecting in the comforter’s folds.
Nate wants to rip his own clothes off, keep running, ruin something precious. The only thing stopping him is how tired he is.
&
What he’ll do when he gets there, he doesn’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe he’ll kill them both, just for being near Godric when it could have been him. The extra space in his consciousness might be welcome. He could devote himself more fully to seducing Sookie from that useless stick Bill Compton.
Maybe he will go and be nice. He could play house again with Nate, drink his sweet strong femoral blood, bring him again to the best pleasure he’s ever had. The other one could be a meal or a slave or a toy. Eric does not care about him.
He could go and never see them at all. It’s been months but maybe, if he’s sharp, he might still be able to smell Godric somewhere in the city, see his shadow sitting on a bench or standing near the sea, looking up at the moon.
If he was smart he would not go at all. He would turn, walk away from the steps leading up to the plane and his waiting coffin. He would go back to the bar, send Pam on some unattractive, demeaning errand and fuck someone until their heart gave out.
Instead he smells the sea salty postcard in the pocket of his suit jacket in his garment bag, the one with Godric’s writing on it, and walks up into the stale coolness of the plane and hangs his bag up and slides into the dusty travel coffin.
The flight attendant seals him in with a “Have a good flight, sir. We’ll be there in under three hours.”
The dark mustiness of his coffin reminds him of so many days spent in the dirt next to Godric’s body, his long eyelashes, his voice telling Eric secrets of this new dead life.
Thinking about that makes that empty place inside Eric pang for blood and brotherhood, neither of which he can have. Eric looks at his watch, his eyes able to pick up the faint luminescence of the watch’s hands. It is barely past one. By four he will be in California, ready to go looking for the things that have escaped him. All he has to do is wait.
&
It’s past one when he gets home. He feels weary, sweaty, sore and sick from all the water he felt he had to drink. The soles of his feet burn.
In the bedroom the air conditioner is going and Brad has the blankets pulled up to his ears, which is his favourite way to sleep. Nate sits on his side of the bed, his thighs tensing unpleasantly when they hit the bed.
The urge to go wild has left him, left behind on some street or at the beach. At the price of his muscles, but it feels worth it, as long as that monster stays gone. He feels almost human again.
He plucks at his cold t-shirt and sets the alarm. The air conditioner changes speeds and Brad hikes up more blankets. Nate can feel his normal fondness returning. He pats Brad’s hip even though Brad probably can’t feel it through all the blankets. Brad sleeps on, his skin waxy from the moon, his mouth slack, totally dead to the world.
Nate stands up, stretching out as best he can, pulling his shirt over his head, walking on his hurting feet to the bathroom. He’ll shower and try to catch a few extra hours of sleep. Tomorrow this will be forgotten.