Title: Obedience
Author: septemberoses
Fandom: True Blood
Rating: NC17 for KINK, punishment, dubious/non-consent, hurt/comfort, pls see WARNING
Characters: Eric/Godric
Word Count: 3700
Plot Summary: Eric is sentenced by the Tribunal for plotting to have Stan killed. This is a sequel to
Denial and will make more sense if you read that first. This is one of two alternate endings to Denial; the other, which is called Chastity, is posted separately.
WARNING: Fistfuckery. Yes, after joking about writing a ff fic I walked the talk. If you're already squicked, please stop reading right now.
It's nothing personal, the blonde vampire had said from her seat on the dais, beside the other four members of the tribunal. Godric shot Eric a warning look before requesting a few minutes in which to discuss the options.
"Of course it's fucking personal, since she's the one asking for it," said Eric bitterly behind the closed door of the small room adjacent to the chamber. "Godric, they can't do this, it's obscene-"
"They can do it, Eric. They just did." Godric looked at him, his tone cool. "And I don't know what you did to her, or when, and I don't want to know, but it must have been spectacularly awful for them to accept her suggestion to impose this last-minute additional punishment on a vampire as old and powerful as you are. So unless I've misread things, you're partly to blame for this."
"It isn't fair." He sounded like a child, and he knew it. Godric was nice enough not to chide him for it. Eric supposed he felt sorry for him, Godric could feel how upset he was.
"They gave you another choice, if you'll remember." And so they had - another five years of chastity.
"How is this your punishment, anyway?" Eric stared at him. "Did I hear them say that correctly? Tell me I'm imagining it."
"They know that anything they do to hurt you is a punishment for me as well, Eric. Forcing me to administer it just adds to their pleasure."
Eric paced across the room. He wanted to break something, to smash the lovely furniture to pieces, but that wouldn't do him any favors. Giving in to that kind of impulse was what had gotten him in trouble in the first place. He swung around and looked at Godric.
"How long do I have to make up my mind?"
"I'm not sure… half an hour, perhaps? I wouldn't keep them waiting any longer than that."
"Fucking bitch. I should have-"
"Eric. Not now." At the tone in his maker's voice, Eric closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. He was furious. He thought this thing was done. He'd already been punished - diligently - and he'd paid a substantial fine. He assumed he'd been called back here before the tribunal tonight to be released, not to have a final insult hurled at him.
"Don't make a scene here of all places. They'll overhear you. It's the sort of rash behavior you're being punished for," said Godric.
"So at least you agree it's my punishment after all." He balled his hands into fists. "What should I do?"
"Which would be easier?"
"For you or for me?"
Godric just looked at him.
"I'm sorry," Eric said. "That's not fair either, I know you tried to get me out of it." If they'd been before the magister, or even the lower tribunal, Godric could make an appeal. As it was … they were out of options. He had to choose, one or the other. He paused, trying to figure out how to phrase the question weighing on him, faintly surprised that he had no idea what the answer was.
"How long would it take if you -- did it?" It was vague, he couldn't bring himself to say it, but Godric understood him.
"Half an hour. Maybe less, depending. You should know while you're deciding, I'm sure they won't let me glamour you."
So you'll just have to endure. The implication was clear enough.
"Vampire law is primitive, vindictive bullshit. Why do we put up with this?"
"Because we're vampires, Eric, and it's the law, and you know it. Please don't use the word fair again, it's hard for me not to laugh when you do."
Eric closed his eyes and leaned his head back, stretching his neck and shoulders. He was going to pay that black-hearted bitch back for this if it took him another thousand years to do it. An electric surge of restorative anger ran through him. He opened his eyes and looked at Godric.
"You've done this many times before, right? This ... punishment?"
"Of course. You know that."
"Yes, but not to me." Just thinking about it made Eric feel nauseated. The punishment was an ancient one among vampires, but one Eric had never witnessed, much less experienced. He'd been there in the chambers when Godric was questioning someone, but Godric didn't use the act for torture, and if it was to be done after as punishment, Eric left quickly. He didn't want to see, as some other vampires did, lingering discreetly to watch. He understood the philosophy behind it - in cases of extreme disobedience or flagrant disregard, it was a memorable reminder of the absolute power and supremacy of vampire law. But Eric imagined that the fancy symbolism was most likely lost on the criminals themselves, who in any case would have received some other wretched punishment as well, like flogging. Or having their fangs pulled. Or being stuck in a box to starve somewhere for a decade or two.
"It's a standard part of vampire discipline used by some makers, Eric, not just punishment prescribed by a magister or a tribunal. Given the things you've seen me do, I still don't really understand why the idea troubles you so much."
"Godric, it's … evil. It's disgusting."
"It could be worse, you know. At least I have small hands."
"That's fucking hilarious."
"Is that what you want, then?"
"What I want? No. What I want is to go home to Shreveport and curl up in bed with a nice, warm boy so I can have a drink and then fuck him twice. That's what I want. And I'm not going to wait five more years to have it."
"So you've decided?" Godric was being very patient with him. It would be over quickly. Godric had done much worse, and Eric had witnessed it.
"Yes. Fine. Let's get this over with. I suppose we'll have an audience?"
"Well, I doubt they'll take my word for it, if that's what you're asking. Remember, they called it my punishment too. For not adequately disciplining you. Although if anyone's to do it, I'd rather it was me."
"Godric .... I don't want to. I don't want any of this. They've got no right. Twisted fuckers."
"They have every right, Eric. And do yourself a favor and don't say that to the tribunal. I think we're in enough disgrace already."
When they were shown to the punishment chamber it looked like a tea room in a swank hotel, painted a soft grey, with gilt trim on the fixtures. Eric looked around himself. So this was where all his tribute money went, dressing up the Grand Tribunal's torture rooms in high style. He wondered how they kept the walls clean. Perhaps the messier things went on elsewhere.
As it turned out they didn't all come to watch the show, or send that blond harpy; instead there was a single witness, a sloe-eyed, dark-haired vampire in an impeccably tailored suit and fancy loafers. In another setting Eric might have found him attractive.
Godric nodded his head. "Belisarius." Apparently they knew each other. Eric wondered how.
"I'll sit over there, if that's all right with you," the vampire said to Godric, in a faint accent Eric couldn't quite place, and removed himself to the chair by the wall, hitching up his pants leg before he sat. It was too nice a chair for any regular use in a dungeon; it must be brought in for occasions like these, Eric decided. He looked at the floor, collecting himself. He'd been so angry, in part because it helped keep away the shame and panic he was feeling now that he was out of options.
"He's to say the ritual now," Belisarius said quietly. He sounded apologetic. "Those are the instructions."
Godric raised an eyebrow.
"As it's my punishment too that hardly seems - oh, never mind." Godric looked at Eric, the unexpected appearance just then of his crooked smile warming Eric's heart. "Look, now you've got me doing it." He took Eric's hand; there was reassurance in the unspoken message. "Here, let's kneel together then. I'll recite it with you."
They should put some pictures on the ceiling, Eric thought but didn't say it out loud. Godric was right, they were in enough trouble already, thanks to him. His nerves jangled. Afraid wasn't the precise word. Godric was skilled and wouldn't injure him, and even if he did, Eric would heal, although the thought just then wasn't reassuring … three fingers? That's what it felt like, three fingers worked into him quickly, stretching him now. The cream Godric was using was thick and cold, and he was using a lot of it, working it inside. Eric was on a narrow padded bench, a cloth under him, his legs spread and bent, supported in slings hanging from the ceiling by adjustable ropes. How incredibly thoughtful of them to provide a device just for this. It was almost comfortable, if you took away the entire reason he was there.
"Godric, how many times have you done this?" He broke his first promise to himself and lifted his head to look down toward his maker…. too much information. He dropped his head again, dizzy. His stomach lurched.
"We're not having this discussion now," Godric answered. "Keep your head down, Eric, and close your eyes, I want you relaxed as much as possible."
"You're not permitted to glamour him or use your command," the other vampire said.
"I'm not commanding him, I'm merely instructing him," Godric answered, politely enough. But there was something so frosty in his tone that the other vampire actually apologized for the interruption. Godric ignored him, speaking to Eric instead.
"Eric, you're going to be fine. Lie still please and listen to me when I tell you to do something. It will be easier that way." Four fingers, Eric thought. He couldn't imagine ... he popped his eyes open then, in spite of Godric's instructions, and stared at the ceiling again, wishing for a distraction he knew he wasn't going to get.
Eric grunted in pain, his hands gripping the edges of the narrow bench beneath him. It seemed sturdy enough; no doubt it had taken some abuse.
"Godric…" He needed reassurance. He could feel his maker using fingers of both hands on him at once, pressing in together and then moving apart, slowly forcing him open. Godric's hands were gentle but it was impossible to avoid hurting him now. They didn't play like this often at home, and Eric would have been deeply glamoured then, immobile and in a different level of consciousness. The atmosphere wasn't helping, either. Eric was grateful that Belisarius wasn't sitting where Eric had to look at him.
"Eric, you're doing very well. It will be over soon." Which was all Godric could offer him just then, and it wasn't nearly enough. It's not fair, Eric thought again. If Godric had been able to glamour him, it would be … not terrible. Probably. Failing that, Godric's command would have immobilized and relaxed him, although it was less pleasant. This, however, had already reached the point where it was nothing but misery to be endured. He tried again to imagine the circumstances in which anyone would find it enjoyable. He knew some humans actually did this willingly; he found it difficult to believe.
Eric groaned. He felt queasy; he was glad his stomach was empty, this was bad enough without vomiting on himself, although since he was naked it wouldn't matter. But he hated getting sick like that. It was the worst pain in the world, sharp, heaving…
"What's wrong?" Godric said quietly.
"I think I'm going to be sick." Eric realized he'd been rolling his head from side to side on the bench, although he was doing his best to be still, trying not to think about what was happening to him.
"Belisarius, I request permission to use more limited powers of command over my child, he's feeling unwell."
"The tribunal instructed that there would be no command."
"The tribunal's desire was that he not be restrained. I'm not asking to restrain him."
"Godric, I'm sorry, but I cannot-"
"Oh, all right," Godric said coolly. "I won't beg for special favors." Those were the words from his mouth. The subtext Eric could read as well, having had a lot of practice. It said something like, ask yourself whether this is worth having me as your enemy.
"Eric, I'm going to tell you a story," Godric said then, switching to their old tongue used for their most private conversations. "And I want you to listen carefully. I received an email from our friend the photographer. You remember the photographer, no doubt."
Eric nodded through the fog of pain, unable to answer. How could he forget?
"He sends his regards, he hopes you're well. He says he trusts that we've been enjoying the purchases you discussed with him … which is all he said, no specifics, but of course I'm curious now … since I have no idea what he's referring to…"
"What are you doing? What are you saying to him?" Belisarius asked.
"Well," Godric said, switching back to English to answer, "since you can see I'm not glamouring him, and that I'm not using my powers of command, I don't suppose what I'm saying to him is your business, is it? The tribunal said nothing about what language I had to use to talk to him while he's being punished, and if you go and put that question to them I'm … going to be … cross …. shhh, Eric, it's all right. I'm telling Eric a story to pass the time. Don't interrupt me, please, it's distracting." He could feel Godric's anger flare up for a moment like a blue flame, but he knew it wasn't for him.
"Anyway," Godric said again to Eric, "I haven't seen these purchases yet, have I?" He was speaking in the old dialect again. Eric kept his eyes shut, focusing intently on Godric's words, although it was impossible not to try to sort out exactly what was being done to him. Godric seemed to be using only one hand now, the fingers tucked together and almost motionless, pressing steadily into him … "I expect you have them put away for Christmas, isn’t that what you threatened me with? I believe it was … anyway, I was thinking we were overdue for another trip to New York - Eric, take a deep breath please and hold it - even more - fine, that's good. Keep holding it …"
Eric's hands clutched at the metal frame underneath him; if he hadn't been holding his breath he'd have cried out at the pain. As it was he found himself whimpering, wondering how much worse it would get. This must be it, then, no more stretching or back-and-forth movement. Instead it felt like the entire width of Godric's hand was now in him, up to the bumps of his knuckles--
"-Eric, that's very good, we're almost there … all right, now breathe out - that's it - more - now push - push hard … keep pushing … very good … no, don't move -- listen to me, Eric, this is important --" Eric's legs jerked in a spasm. He groaned loudly as the burning pain cleaved him and tore at his insides. Surely -- surely, he begged silently, this was the worst of it-- he hissed and fought to hold himself still on the bench, Godric's calm voice the only thing anchoring him.
"-- we'll borrow the photographer's boy for the party I told you about, I think he'd like that. Daniel, that was his name, do you remember him? Beautiful boy. Dances for the Joffrey Ballet, I believe he said. The party's at the club you wanted to visit, as it turns out we're on the guest list, I'm not sure how that happened… Eric, you're doing beautifully, I'm proud of you … it should hurt a bit less now, yes? ... just be still and don't move, that's very important, I don't want to injure you ... anyhow, Daniel strikes me as exactly the sort of human who'd be up for that sort of thing, and I'm sure the photographer won't mind. He'd want to hear all about it … of course what he'd really want is to take photos, wouldn't he, but I assume that's not allowed…"
The burning pain had lessened slightly but in its place was a terrible feeling of fullness that hurt but also was something else, something vast and degrading. He felt so helpless … now Godric was speaking to someone else, in another language, but Eric wasn't following. He was feeling sick again, although not as bad as he had been. The other voice - Belisarius? - answered back. It sounded closer, but Eric wouldn't open his eyes to see. He wasn't struggling to be still any longer, he was past that now. So this is what it's like. To be impaled like an insect on a pin. He felt the panic well up in him.
"…Eric, no, calm down, calm down now, you mustn't move ... that's better ... listen to me please ... we're almost done, listen to my voice, that's all that matters right now. The boy, he'll be willing, and he was very sweet. Perhaps we won't even share him out. Naturally, you might meet someone at the party who you'll want to bring back to the hotel room … you're lucky that way, Eric, of course you're handsome and outgoing. And even if you do, that will be fine, we can rent a suite this time, there'll be plenty of room for four… I believe the invitation said black tie, I should probably double check, I think you're due for a new dinner jacket, if you want my opinion … "
Eric had relaxed a fraction, following the sound of Godric's voice, knowing that it would be all right, or at least over soon, but then there was a sudden shifting inside him and the pain was back, different now, deep and terrible. Godric's voice became a buzzing, droning sound in Eric's head, and he lost track of his thoughts in the blackness; when he focused again, Godric seemed to have changed the topic.
"… get back to the hotel I'll give you a bath, I know you'd like that … they have those eucalyptus salts you're so fond of, Eric. I bet you didn't even notice. It's a funny smell, I don't know why it appeals to you so much, not that it's unpleasant in any way … and then if you feel up to it we can eat. Or you can just rest if you want to. That's fine as well."
And then a hand was stroking Eric's hair, and he opened his eyes, startled. It was Godric, there beside him. It didn't make any sense.
"It's finished. You're free to go when we're ready. But I want you to rest first. I'll help you out of this thing in a minute."
"But - Godric - I don't… understand … finished?"
"It's all right. You fainted at the end. Most vampires do, there's no shame in it."
"Where is he? Belisarius?"
"He's just left. He has some paperwork to attend to. I'll sign it as your maker, you don't need to worry about it."
Eric's hands ached from gripping the edge of the bench. He let it go and lifted one hand to his face, wondering if he'd cried. He hadn't. He was glad.
"How do you feel?" Godric was watching him.
"I - I don't know."
"I can glamour you now if you want, it's permitted. You won't remember a thing then."
"I don't know. I don't know if I want that."
Godric nodded.
"Well, you can think about it."
Eric had kicked off his shoes by the door, grateful to be back in a hotel room for once, wanting only peace and quiet and a hot bath. The spa tub was filling beside him, the smell of eucalyptus wafting from the water. It wasn't long past midnight; if he decided he was hungry later they could feed, although he doubted he'd want to. He'd already retched into the sink once, his stomach in spasms even after there was nothing left in it. He was ashamed then, and asked Godric not to come in.
He turned the shower on hot so that the steam would start to warm up the bathroom. For some reason he felt very cold. He pulled his shirt off over his head and dropped it to the floor. He started to undo his belt buckle, but his fingers were clumsy and fumbling. He realized as he stood there that despite his best efforts at a quick cleanup before getting dressed, his jeans were sticking to his skin. It wasn't surprising, considering the amount of cream that Godric used on him; when he'd glanced at the open jar on the table next to the bench it was nearly empty. He felt full inside rather than sore now, there must be quite a bit of the cream up in him ... he refused to think about it further or he'd be sick all over again.
He realized he really couldn't get his belt undone. He started to laugh about it, falling against the sink as his shoulders shook. He laughed and laughed until Godric was there helping him with his pants, and there were drips of blood on the white tile floor and the bath rug and he realized that what he was actually doing was crying -- deep, convulsive sobs that made it hard to stand up straight. Godric undressed and helped him carefully into the shower, his palms pressing against the tile for support and his legs apart, letting the hot water beat down hard on his back as his maker washed him over and over until he was clean again.
Afterward he was led, still crying but not so hard now, to the tub, which was scalding hot and he tried to make a joke about it, but he couldn't find the words, and it felt so good to be in there in that pure, clean water, braced against Godric's chest, turned sideways so that he could curl his hand around the back of the other's neck, which was all he wanted, and Godric's hand was on the back of his neck as well, which made him feel safe and loved, and then bit by bit he could stop crying, which was good, he was staining the water pink with his tears. He lay there unmoving for what seemed like hours, listening to the sounds of the hotel - people coming and going, their voices passing in the carpeted hallway, the faint ding of the elevator - while Godric stroked his back, and then the only thing he wanted was sleep.