Death's Companion
Title: Death's Companion
Author: septemberoses
Fandom: True Blood
Rating: NC17, slash, non-con
Pairing: Eric/Godric
Word count: 3100
Summary: Eric learns more about his new responsibilities as the companion of Death.
Note: And we're back to the porn. I have added a tag in my journal called "beginnings" for these fics about Godric and Eric's early relationship right after Eric is made a vampire. Also, I hear they're doing a Godric flashback in Season 3. I have my fingers crossed that they browse my journal for some plot ideas and inspiration.
On their third night together, the night near the mill, with Eric still adjusting to the wonder and strangeness of his undead body, Godric took Eric's face into his hands and kissed him. And Eric, startled, jerked his head back and said no, quite firmly, so that there'd be no misunderstanding between them. He wasn't having any of that, which as far as he was concerned didn't fall under his duties as Death's companion, or whatever foolishness the boy had made him swear to.
After which Godric smiled before throwing him facedown in the dirt and taking him in a nowhere-brief-enough interlude that Eric tried gamely to erase from his own mind immediately afterward. Eric had fought furiously and pointlessly, Godric allowing him to struggle so that Eric might see just how mismatched the fight really was. Godric's assault on him wasn't brutal so much as singularly focused, Eric crying out eventually in equal parts pain, rage and shock. And then Godric had bitten his neck toward the end, thereby trading the pain for an onslaught of feelings so disturbing that Eric thought he must be losing his sanity. He almost managed to convince himself when he woke the following evening that the whole affair had been an unpleasant dream.
On the fourth night they slaughtered the couple in the stone house near the orchard, the smell of apples drifting through the open windows, Eric still deep in his blood lust, Godric allowing him his frenzy. And then Godric kissed him again, Eric's tunic covered in blood as if it were he who'd been killed. And this time Eric stepped back cautiously, his mind formulating a plan, but it didn't matter.
This time was more leisurely and, in its way, much worse. This time Eric got a slow, devastating introduction to the total command his maker had over his body, as if Eric were nothing but a mindless puppet to be used thoroughly in whatever way his master could dream up. Only of course Eric did have a mind, which screamed in protest inside his head while his body did precisely as Godric directed.
"Yes, that's it. Go slowly … use your tongue now … that's very nice, keep going just like that …" The two of them by then naked on the straw-stuffed pallet, the picture of perverted tenderness as Godric slowly stroked Eric's hair, and Eric took Godric deeper and deeper into his mouth.
"Go on," Godric had said, "… yes, use your teeth a little, just a little, I like that…" It had felt like several lifetimes, although had probably only been the better part of an hour, Godric in no hurry whatsoever for release, allowing Eric to do all the work. Eric was pretty sure that his own utter revulsion to what he was doing was adding to his maker's enjoyment.
"Swallow it," Godric said at the end, when Eric gagged. "No, don't look at me like that. And if you sick it up now, you'll just be starving until tomorrow. I'd think about that if I were you."
The fifth night Eric tried a different tactic, humbling himself a little and opting for honesty.
"I'd really rather not."
Godric smiled at him and then answered, "Oh, is that so? I had no idea."
"I can't --- I don't…"
Godric touched his forefinger softly to Eric's lips.
"But you have. You did. And you will again, and again." Godric leaned forward then and planted a gentle kiss on Eric's forehead, as if he were talking to a child. "Make the best of it, Eric, is my advice. There are far worse things, after all. You'll get used to it."
"Godric, please … anything else. I'd - it's - I don't like it."
"Eric," said Godric, not unkindly, "it doesn't matter to me whether you like it. I thought you'd have sorted that out by now."
On the sixth night it was even worse, and in a way Eric couldn't have imagined beforehand. This was the most difficult thing, this disgusting thing that Godric required of him, this thing Eric most vehemently did not want to do. He had, in fact, not believed he was understanding Godric correctly the first time. Godric only laughed at him and spelled it out again in words so plain Eric couldn't argue. Then Godric obliged him by rolling all the way over on his stomach and raising his hips. And so it was that Eric found himself spreading the boy's cheeks and burying his face between them, tentatively at first, and then with more enthusiasm as he was commanded to do. It was the most shameful thing he had ever done in his life, his tongue probing, lapping at the boy, moving in small circles and then entering him. And afterwards, Eric still reeling, Godric shoved him down on his back and pushed his tunic up and laughed again as Eric fought him, trying to hide the other shame of Eric's own rampant erection, which his maker then took into his hand before Eric even understood what was happening. Shortly thereafter Godric shoved two strong fingers up into him, rough and careless, searching and then stopping as he apparently found what he was looking for, pushing against a spot deep inside. And minutes later Eric was still struggling, but no longer with a desire to escape, as Godric sucked him hard, his dry fingers painful and yet tormenting in a way so pleasurable Eric thought he might faint. Eric was astonished to hear his own voice begging his maker for satisfaction.
"Come on," Godric said after Eric lay there awhile in a daze. He nudged Eric with his foot. "I'm hungry."
The seventh night they separated to hunt, and Godric found him standing over a well-dressed man about Eric's own size. The man was dead, Eric having snapped his neck quickly to avoid dirtying the man's clothes. He had a fine tunic and cloak, and sandals that looked like they'd fit. He had gold in his pack, and an expensive worked leather belt, and other trappings of wealth. Eric was tired of his filthy tunic and wanted new clothes.
"I told you not to hunt here," Godric said quietly. "And not a man like this. He'll be missed. This is why we stick to the shepherds, and the country folk."
"All their clothes are rags," Eric said contemptuously. "Look at this man. I'm taking his things, they'll fit. Don't worry about his body, I'll throw it in the river if that's what you're so cross about."
And Godric gave him a long look then, and Eric grew silent. This was not a look he liked.
"Strip off your tunic, since apparently it's not good enough for you."
Godric took up the leather whip from the man's things and beat Eric to his knees. Eric had never felt anything like it; each time he felt the bite of the lash he screamed. Godric seemed determined to flay him; Eric could feel his skin blister and bleed. He fainted.
When he came to, he realized he'd vomited. Also, as he tentatively reached behind himself and touched his skin, he could feel that he had miraculously healed. There were not even any small welts remaining, only the searing memory of the wounds and a buzzing in his head from the sickness.
"You will not disobey me like that again," Godric said. "You will not insult the river gods with dead bodies. You may have his clothes and his things. You will clean and oil the whip, which is now mine; you will carry it for me. I will use it again if I need to, and I warn you, I can keep you conscious for much longer than you were tonight."
Eric nodded, not yet sure of his voice.
"Also, you will learn the rituals of punishment and atonement, which I will teach you. I have a feeling we will be needing them."
Eric stared at the corpse of the woman at his feet, disgusted with himself. He was so full of sexual frustration at this point it was almost a tangible pain. He'd tried - again - and failed - again -- to control his hunger long enough to have her. He wanted the old human pleasure first and then the new vampire one after, but it was like he'd had every wish granted in the most twisted way. Now he was the strongest, except for Godric, of course. Now he could kill almost everyone around him. Only now he couldn't not kill. All he'd wanted was to slake his thirst in her body, and have a taste of her blood… he doubted she'd lived more than a minute or two, although he couldn't remember. And then he realized what it was that disturbed him. As she lay there, eyes frozen open, head cocked at an unnatural angle, he could see that she looked more than a little like his wife.
And that was enough to send him rapidly away from her in the direction of the river. He was already naked, having pulled his clothes off before trying to have the woman, not wanting to ruin them. He hated being dirty; he was used to bathing regularly, even if it was in the stream, or from a barrel of water. After he'd fed he hated the stink of blood that followed him around like a curse. Godric had said it would get easier, but that didn't ease him now.
Eric waded into the river. It was fast moving and ice cold, and as a mortal man he'd have been leery, but since he couldn't drown it hardly seemed to matter. He didn't feel the same level of comfort in the water that Godric did - the boy swam like an eel - but it felt good to duck his head under, to wash himself clean. Afterward he sat on the bank, watching the moon rise, waiting for his skin to dry before he dressed. He picked up a small boulder in one hand and tossed it in, hearing it splash. He allowed himself the luxury of feeling anger for a few minutes, since he'd decided that was the only thing he'd be feeling for the time being. He always found anger very motivational. The rest of it - the sadness, the shame, the loneliness, the other things he didn't wish to name - those feelings were too exhausting. They had no place in this new life of his.
He heard a small splash and, looking up, realized that Godric was wading from the water, not too far from where he himself sat. Godric, also mother-naked in the moonlight, skipped from rock to rock as he climbed the bank with a look of concentration on his face, although he could have leaped from the water clear up to the top of the steep bank quite easily. Eric watched him hop along gracefully, making a game of it. He looked like a small boy, the boy he must have been when he'd been made, Eric knew nothing about his life and hadn't asked. But it seemed a strange thing to do to a child, unjust somehow. No wonder he was bent. Eric was grateful he'd had a man's full portion already before he'd died.
He stood and walked over to his maker slowly, the grass wet and cold beneath his feet, which were wet and cold as well. He was still unused to feeling so cold and yet not feeling it. Godric was holding up his own ragged tunic in the moonlight, studying it, perhaps coming to the same conclusion Eric had, that it needed to be replaced.
Water dripped from Godric's hair and ran down his arms in rivulets. He looked at Eric, one eyebrow slightly raised in an unspoken question. It had been a week since Godric beat him, and since then he had not touched Eric in any way. Eric had been as obedient as he was able while staying as far away from him as he could do politely.
Eric watched him, this boy who came up to somewhere around his shoulder. The mop of dark, uncombed hair, and the ancient runic signs, and the serpent on his back, and the scar (some sort of burn, perhaps?) that made Eric squirm when he looked at it. Eric understood the healing now; so all those things must have been done to Godric while he still lived, the gods only knew why. His maker, slender and ghostly pale, with dark eyes that saw everything. Eric studied him, looking for weakness, for flaws, and found none. And he saw that perhaps Godric was right; there were worse things.
And then Eric dropped to his knees, the obeisance Godric had taught him coming surprisingly easily when he cleared his mind, and lowered his head and pressed his damp forehead to the top of Godric's foot, and then kissed it.
Eric kept his mind carefully empty, not begrudging his maker his desires as Eric kissed his way up Godric's icy legs until his mouth reached his destination. It was still a strange feeling, a man's cock in his mouth, but he tried to give pleasure the way he'd want to receive it. Godric was clearly going to be the best road to Eric's happiness, that much was plain. Eric was stubborn but practical; perhaps things would change in the future, nobody knew what lay there, but he was going to have to make some peace with the realities of the present if he was going to get through every waking moment in something other than abject misery.
They rested in the grass after Godric had his pleasure, Eric waiting what he judged to be a decent interval before shifting Godric's body carefully so that his maker was half on his side, stretched out motionless on the damp grass. He started kissing the other's back, working his way down the serpent tattoo.
And now … what did it matter whether this was a woman or a boy? Now, in the moonlight, under the stars as cold and naked as they were, on the damp grass, it almost seemed easy. His new existence filled Eric with an unbearable hunger, and tonight he was going to do something about his frustration before it drove him completely mad. Eric gripped his maker's thighs more tightly, teasing him with his tongue, knowing already how Godric liked that. As the boy moved a little underneath him, spreading his legs wider and rolling onto his stomach, Eric began to feel something else - his own kind of power, if he could be allowed to wield it. After a few minutes he pressed one finger and then another into Godric, who moaned as Eric worked at him.
When he could wait no longer, Eric slid up and pressed himself against the damp body, desperate to end his mounting frustration. It seemed obvious what he was after, and if Godric was surprised at Eric's change of heart he made no effort to stop him. He began to force his way inside; he was burning up with desire. He pushed and pushed, expecting each moment to be thrown off but unable to slow himself. Now he was halfway there and Godric was oh so tight, virginal even-
"Eric- wait-"
Eric growled and shifted his grip to Godric's throat, ignoring the small, strangled sounds of pain. Eric couldn't kill him, and he didn't much care if he hurt him, as long as he got - all-the - way - in - now and it was glorious, so tight, so satisfying, and he held on to Godric with both hands and thrust into him hungrily, mindlessly, wanting to come immediately but also wanting the incredible feeling to go on and on and on.
And then it was over. Eric raised his head. His mouth was covered with blood. Godric's blood. He'd sunk his fangs into Godric's shoulder in his frenzy, hunching his own body to do so. His stomach felt strangely full; he wondered how much blood he'd taken, he couldn't judge at all. There was blood and dirt smeared on both their bodies, and wet clods of mud and grass surrounded them. Eric could see that Godric had torn at the turf with his hands.
Eric raised himself up and withdrew from Godric's still body in disbelief - what had happened? And then he made the unsurprising discovery that he'd injured his maker with what he'd done, although he assumed … surely Godric must … he would heal?
"Godric …" He touched the small, cold face tentatively with his fingertips.
"I'm fine," the other said very quietly, unmoving, eyes closed.
"Did … did I hurt you?"
"Of course you hurt me. Don't be stupid."
"I'm sorry," Eric said almost reflexively (he'd been sorry for all sorts of things recently), and was surprised to find upon saying it that it was, in fact, true. He was sorry.
"Oh, I can't say I blame you, I suppose I'd feel the same way you do under the circumstances."
"Well. I'm still sorry."
Eric sat for a minute or two, looking up at the moon. He felt better now, less frantic for release. Godric still hadn't moved. It was deathly quiet around them. Then having made his decision he rose to his feet and in one easy motion picked his maker up in his arms.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm carrying you down to the river to wash you. We're muddy, it's my fault. Also, you need some new clothes, you look like a filthy savage."
"I am a filthy savage, Eric."
A small joke. Eric smiled. He had been wondering whether Godric had any sense of humor at all.
"I … I killed that girl. She's up the hill at the edge of the wood. I didn't mean to … it's hopeless. Anyhow, I need to do something with her body."
"Did you feed?"
"I-I don't even know, Godric. I'm so hungry all the time, I can't tell. Not that I'm complaining," Eric added hastily.
And Godric laughed at that. "No, of course not, Eric, not at all."
Author: septemberoses
Fandom: True Blood
Rating: NC17, slash, non-con
Pairing: Eric/Godric
Word count: 3100
Summary: Eric learns more about his new responsibilities as the companion of Death.
Note: And we're back to the porn. I have added a tag in my journal called "beginnings" for these fics about Godric and Eric's early relationship right after Eric is made a vampire. Also, I hear they're doing a Godric flashback in Season 3. I have my fingers crossed that they browse my journal for some plot ideas and inspiration.
On their third night together, the night near the mill, with Eric still adjusting to the wonder and strangeness of his undead body, Godric took Eric's face into his hands and kissed him. And Eric, startled, jerked his head back and said no, quite firmly, so that there'd be no misunderstanding between them. He wasn't having any of that, which as far as he was concerned didn't fall under his duties as Death's companion, or whatever foolishness the boy had made him swear to.
After which Godric smiled before throwing him facedown in the dirt and taking him in a nowhere-brief-enough interlude that Eric tried gamely to erase from his own mind immediately afterward. Eric had fought furiously and pointlessly, Godric allowing him to struggle so that Eric might see just how mismatched the fight really was. Godric's assault on him wasn't brutal so much as singularly focused, Eric crying out eventually in equal parts pain, rage and shock. And then Godric had bitten his neck toward the end, thereby trading the pain for an onslaught of feelings so disturbing that Eric thought he must be losing his sanity. He almost managed to convince himself when he woke the following evening that the whole affair had been an unpleasant dream.
On the fourth night they slaughtered the couple in the stone house near the orchard, the smell of apples drifting through the open windows, Eric still deep in his blood lust, Godric allowing him his frenzy. And then Godric kissed him again, Eric's tunic covered in blood as if it were he who'd been killed. And this time Eric stepped back cautiously, his mind formulating a plan, but it didn't matter.
This time was more leisurely and, in its way, much worse. This time Eric got a slow, devastating introduction to the total command his maker had over his body, as if Eric were nothing but a mindless puppet to be used thoroughly in whatever way his master could dream up. Only of course Eric did have a mind, which screamed in protest inside his head while his body did precisely as Godric directed.
"Yes, that's it. Go slowly … use your tongue now … that's very nice, keep going just like that …" The two of them by then naked on the straw-stuffed pallet, the picture of perverted tenderness as Godric slowly stroked Eric's hair, and Eric took Godric deeper and deeper into his mouth.
"Go on," Godric had said, "… yes, use your teeth a little, just a little, I like that…" It had felt like several lifetimes, although had probably only been the better part of an hour, Godric in no hurry whatsoever for release, allowing Eric to do all the work. Eric was pretty sure that his own utter revulsion to what he was doing was adding to his maker's enjoyment.
"Swallow it," Godric said at the end, when Eric gagged. "No, don't look at me like that. And if you sick it up now, you'll just be starving until tomorrow. I'd think about that if I were you."
The fifth night Eric tried a different tactic, humbling himself a little and opting for honesty.
"I'd really rather not."
Godric smiled at him and then answered, "Oh, is that so? I had no idea."
"I can't --- I don't…"
Godric touched his forefinger softly to Eric's lips.
"But you have. You did. And you will again, and again." Godric leaned forward then and planted a gentle kiss on Eric's forehead, as if he were talking to a child. "Make the best of it, Eric, is my advice. There are far worse things, after all. You'll get used to it."
"Godric, please … anything else. I'd - it's - I don't like it."
"Eric," said Godric, not unkindly, "it doesn't matter to me whether you like it. I thought you'd have sorted that out by now."
On the sixth night it was even worse, and in a way Eric couldn't have imagined beforehand. This was the most difficult thing, this disgusting thing that Godric required of him, this thing Eric most vehemently did not want to do. He had, in fact, not believed he was understanding Godric correctly the first time. Godric only laughed at him and spelled it out again in words so plain Eric couldn't argue. Then Godric obliged him by rolling all the way over on his stomach and raising his hips. And so it was that Eric found himself spreading the boy's cheeks and burying his face between them, tentatively at first, and then with more enthusiasm as he was commanded to do. It was the most shameful thing he had ever done in his life, his tongue probing, lapping at the boy, moving in small circles and then entering him. And afterwards, Eric still reeling, Godric shoved him down on his back and pushed his tunic up and laughed again as Eric fought him, trying to hide the other shame of Eric's own rampant erection, which his maker then took into his hand before Eric even understood what was happening. Shortly thereafter Godric shoved two strong fingers up into him, rough and careless, searching and then stopping as he apparently found what he was looking for, pushing against a spot deep inside. And minutes later Eric was still struggling, but no longer with a desire to escape, as Godric sucked him hard, his dry fingers painful and yet tormenting in a way so pleasurable Eric thought he might faint. Eric was astonished to hear his own voice begging his maker for satisfaction.
"Come on," Godric said after Eric lay there awhile in a daze. He nudged Eric with his foot. "I'm hungry."
The seventh night they separated to hunt, and Godric found him standing over a well-dressed man about Eric's own size. The man was dead, Eric having snapped his neck quickly to avoid dirtying the man's clothes. He had a fine tunic and cloak, and sandals that looked like they'd fit. He had gold in his pack, and an expensive worked leather belt, and other trappings of wealth. Eric was tired of his filthy tunic and wanted new clothes.
"I told you not to hunt here," Godric said quietly. "And not a man like this. He'll be missed. This is why we stick to the shepherds, and the country folk."
"All their clothes are rags," Eric said contemptuously. "Look at this man. I'm taking his things, they'll fit. Don't worry about his body, I'll throw it in the river if that's what you're so cross about."
And Godric gave him a long look then, and Eric grew silent. This was not a look he liked.
"Strip off your tunic, since apparently it's not good enough for you."
Godric took up the leather whip from the man's things and beat Eric to his knees. Eric had never felt anything like it; each time he felt the bite of the lash he screamed. Godric seemed determined to flay him; Eric could feel his skin blister and bleed. He fainted.
When he came to, he realized he'd vomited. Also, as he tentatively reached behind himself and touched his skin, he could feel that he had miraculously healed. There were not even any small welts remaining, only the searing memory of the wounds and a buzzing in his head from the sickness.
"You will not disobey me like that again," Godric said. "You will not insult the river gods with dead bodies. You may have his clothes and his things. You will clean and oil the whip, which is now mine; you will carry it for me. I will use it again if I need to, and I warn you, I can keep you conscious for much longer than you were tonight."
Eric nodded, not yet sure of his voice.
"Also, you will learn the rituals of punishment and atonement, which I will teach you. I have a feeling we will be needing them."
Eric stared at the corpse of the woman at his feet, disgusted with himself. He was so full of sexual frustration at this point it was almost a tangible pain. He'd tried - again - and failed - again -- to control his hunger long enough to have her. He wanted the old human pleasure first and then the new vampire one after, but it was like he'd had every wish granted in the most twisted way. Now he was the strongest, except for Godric, of course. Now he could kill almost everyone around him. Only now he couldn't not kill. All he'd wanted was to slake his thirst in her body, and have a taste of her blood… he doubted she'd lived more than a minute or two, although he couldn't remember. And then he realized what it was that disturbed him. As she lay there, eyes frozen open, head cocked at an unnatural angle, he could see that she looked more than a little like his wife.
And that was enough to send him rapidly away from her in the direction of the river. He was already naked, having pulled his clothes off before trying to have the woman, not wanting to ruin them. He hated being dirty; he was used to bathing regularly, even if it was in the stream, or from a barrel of water. After he'd fed he hated the stink of blood that followed him around like a curse. Godric had said it would get easier, but that didn't ease him now.
Eric waded into the river. It was fast moving and ice cold, and as a mortal man he'd have been leery, but since he couldn't drown it hardly seemed to matter. He didn't feel the same level of comfort in the water that Godric did - the boy swam like an eel - but it felt good to duck his head under, to wash himself clean. Afterward he sat on the bank, watching the moon rise, waiting for his skin to dry before he dressed. He picked up a small boulder in one hand and tossed it in, hearing it splash. He allowed himself the luxury of feeling anger for a few minutes, since he'd decided that was the only thing he'd be feeling for the time being. He always found anger very motivational. The rest of it - the sadness, the shame, the loneliness, the other things he didn't wish to name - those feelings were too exhausting. They had no place in this new life of his.
He heard a small splash and, looking up, realized that Godric was wading from the water, not too far from where he himself sat. Godric, also mother-naked in the moonlight, skipped from rock to rock as he climbed the bank with a look of concentration on his face, although he could have leaped from the water clear up to the top of the steep bank quite easily. Eric watched him hop along gracefully, making a game of it. He looked like a small boy, the boy he must have been when he'd been made, Eric knew nothing about his life and hadn't asked. But it seemed a strange thing to do to a child, unjust somehow. No wonder he was bent. Eric was grateful he'd had a man's full portion already before he'd died.
He stood and walked over to his maker slowly, the grass wet and cold beneath his feet, which were wet and cold as well. He was still unused to feeling so cold and yet not feeling it. Godric was holding up his own ragged tunic in the moonlight, studying it, perhaps coming to the same conclusion Eric had, that it needed to be replaced.
Water dripped from Godric's hair and ran down his arms in rivulets. He looked at Eric, one eyebrow slightly raised in an unspoken question. It had been a week since Godric beat him, and since then he had not touched Eric in any way. Eric had been as obedient as he was able while staying as far away from him as he could do politely.
Eric watched him, this boy who came up to somewhere around his shoulder. The mop of dark, uncombed hair, and the ancient runic signs, and the serpent on his back, and the scar (some sort of burn, perhaps?) that made Eric squirm when he looked at it. Eric understood the healing now; so all those things must have been done to Godric while he still lived, the gods only knew why. His maker, slender and ghostly pale, with dark eyes that saw everything. Eric studied him, looking for weakness, for flaws, and found none. And he saw that perhaps Godric was right; there were worse things.
And then Eric dropped to his knees, the obeisance Godric had taught him coming surprisingly easily when he cleared his mind, and lowered his head and pressed his damp forehead to the top of Godric's foot, and then kissed it.
Eric kept his mind carefully empty, not begrudging his maker his desires as Eric kissed his way up Godric's icy legs until his mouth reached his destination. It was still a strange feeling, a man's cock in his mouth, but he tried to give pleasure the way he'd want to receive it. Godric was clearly going to be the best road to Eric's happiness, that much was plain. Eric was stubborn but practical; perhaps things would change in the future, nobody knew what lay there, but he was going to have to make some peace with the realities of the present if he was going to get through every waking moment in something other than abject misery.
They rested in the grass after Godric had his pleasure, Eric waiting what he judged to be a decent interval before shifting Godric's body carefully so that his maker was half on his side, stretched out motionless on the damp grass. He started kissing the other's back, working his way down the serpent tattoo.
And now … what did it matter whether this was a woman or a boy? Now, in the moonlight, under the stars as cold and naked as they were, on the damp grass, it almost seemed easy. His new existence filled Eric with an unbearable hunger, and tonight he was going to do something about his frustration before it drove him completely mad. Eric gripped his maker's thighs more tightly, teasing him with his tongue, knowing already how Godric liked that. As the boy moved a little underneath him, spreading his legs wider and rolling onto his stomach, Eric began to feel something else - his own kind of power, if he could be allowed to wield it. After a few minutes he pressed one finger and then another into Godric, who moaned as Eric worked at him.
When he could wait no longer, Eric slid up and pressed himself against the damp body, desperate to end his mounting frustration. It seemed obvious what he was after, and if Godric was surprised at Eric's change of heart he made no effort to stop him. He began to force his way inside; he was burning up with desire. He pushed and pushed, expecting each moment to be thrown off but unable to slow himself. Now he was halfway there and Godric was oh so tight, virginal even-
"Eric- wait-"
Eric growled and shifted his grip to Godric's throat, ignoring the small, strangled sounds of pain. Eric couldn't kill him, and he didn't much care if he hurt him, as long as he got - all-the - way - in - now and it was glorious, so tight, so satisfying, and he held on to Godric with both hands and thrust into him hungrily, mindlessly, wanting to come immediately but also wanting the incredible feeling to go on and on and on.
And then it was over. Eric raised his head. His mouth was covered with blood. Godric's blood. He'd sunk his fangs into Godric's shoulder in his frenzy, hunching his own body to do so. His stomach felt strangely full; he wondered how much blood he'd taken, he couldn't judge at all. There was blood and dirt smeared on both their bodies, and wet clods of mud and grass surrounded them. Eric could see that Godric had torn at the turf with his hands.
Eric raised himself up and withdrew from Godric's still body in disbelief - what had happened? And then he made the unsurprising discovery that he'd injured his maker with what he'd done, although he assumed … surely Godric must … he would heal?
"Godric …" He touched the small, cold face tentatively with his fingertips.
"I'm fine," the other said very quietly, unmoving, eyes closed.
"Did … did I hurt you?"
"Of course you hurt me. Don't be stupid."
"I'm sorry," Eric said almost reflexively (he'd been sorry for all sorts of things recently), and was surprised to find upon saying it that it was, in fact, true. He was sorry.
"Oh, I can't say I blame you, I suppose I'd feel the same way you do under the circumstances."
"Well. I'm still sorry."
Eric sat for a minute or two, looking up at the moon. He felt better now, less frantic for release. Godric still hadn't moved. It was deathly quiet around them. Then having made his decision he rose to his feet and in one easy motion picked his maker up in his arms.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm carrying you down to the river to wash you. We're muddy, it's my fault. Also, you need some new clothes, you look like a filthy savage."
"I am a filthy savage, Eric."
A small joke. Eric smiled. He had been wondering whether Godric had any sense of humor at all.
"I … I killed that girl. She's up the hill at the edge of the wood. I didn't mean to … it's hopeless. Anyhow, I need to do something with her body."
"Did you feed?"
"I-I don't even know, Godric. I'm so hungry all the time, I can't tell. Not that I'm complaining," Eric added hastily.
And Godric laughed at that. "No, of course not, Eric, not at all."