Give and Take
Title: Give and Take
Author: septemberoses
Fandom: True Blood
Rating: NC17 for Top!Godric
Pairing: Eric/Godric
Word Count: 5200
Note: Being unable to finish some unfinished fics, I looked elsewhere; this is something of a follow up to the Dark Fic and Coda, set several months later. This is less explicit than my usual stuff, but I wouldn't read it to your mom, unless she's already a fan of my porn. This fic also indulges my interest in made-up vampire intrigue and backstory, which (since I haven't read all the books) may well contradict canon, about which I … couldn't care less. Special thanks to Gruochrua for the handholding.
Eric shifted in his chair and let his eyes roam around the conference room. The chair wasn't uncomfortable, and after several hours the other vampires weren't necessarily following the conversation any more closely than he was, but he had a particular interest in studying the faces of those gathered here tonight. It was the first time he'd been to a vampire meeting in Dallas since Godric's return.
As far as he could tell, everything was fine. Godric had apparently resumed his duties as sheriff without much fuss. What those duties were, precisely, Eric never knew and Godric didn't tell him. Eric had learned long ago that there were things Godric did, and agendas within the vampire organization, that Eric was better off not knowing.
He glanced at the bland face of the woman across from him and tried to remember where she was from. She was new-ish, at least to him, although he had a sense that she was probably older than she seemed. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her.
Eric had arrived late the night before and stayed in his hotel room reading a book, half hoping to hear from Godric, and half assuming he wouldn't. Godric knew he'd be there for the meeting - they'd talked about that and other things before his arrival - but no invitation was extended to stay at the Dallas nest and Eric didn't ask. They were both here now in the crowded room, seated around a long table but nowhere near each other. The meeting had started on time and Godric had come in a few minutes late, glancing at the three presiding vampires in what was closer to acknowledgment of their existence than any apology for his tardy interruption. Eric kept the smile off his face as he watched Godric cross in front of the dais and take a seat on the far side of the table rather than sit in the empty one closest to the door, as any latecomer was supposed to do. Godric hadn't looked his direction once. Anyone who didn't know better might assume they didn't know each other.
He wondered who in this room had much of an idea of the truth behind Godric's extended absence, or his own, shorter one. Some of them, probably. These were mostly ranking vampires who had their own spies and their reasons for wanting to stay informed beyond whatever they were told. Sheriffs didn't simply vanish for months at a time without notice. No doubt some of them were sorry to see him back, but Eric couldn't have said for certain which might have felt that way, or why. Godric had likely staked more vampires in his existence than anyone else in the room, and he had the enemies to prove it. There were factions. The continuing, unbroken bond between Eric and his maker, two of the oldest vampires in the room, caused its own tensions among the others, although none of them had the stones to say that to his face.
Eric's eyes came to rest on Godric, sitting, as he often did, as still as a statue, eyes in the middle distance and focused on nothing. Nobody knew his maker better than Eric did, and yet he had no idea whatsoever whether Godric was following the debate - two vampires from different areas squabbling over tribute, had they always done this much whining? They were like five-year-olds - or whether he was thinking about some book he'd been reading, or whether it was going to rain. Eric looked away again, trying not to stare.
They'd seen each other twice since Godric's return to duties - once in Dallas and once in Shreveport, with the first meeting based on the flimsiest of pretexts. Eric simply wanted to see with his own eyes that his maker was well, although he didn't say so directly, fearing that Godric would put him off. Eric had been forgiven, and Godric was likely too generous to turn him away after all the care Eric had taken with him recently. But the strange shift in their relationship - in Godric himself -- hadn't been clear until Eric's first visit. He'd hoped for nothing more than reassurance that things were back to normal, or even better (as he suspected) than they had been. And the Dallas sheriff was indeed better - no more self-destructive behaviors, no more alarming moodiness. Godric was as reserved as ever, but he was free of the darkness that had pressed in on him for so long that Eric only realized its enormity now that it had gone.
In its place … in its place was something else. Godric - calm, impassive-- had met him in a private suite in the vampire club Godric used for meetings, and had indulged Eric in his discussion of business matters they both knew could just as easily have been handled without the visit. Then, still calm and impassive, he'd told Eric to strip off his clothes. Eric did so immediately, baffled, before the unwelcome thought broke in on him that he was about to receive the punishment Godric had decided he deserved, meted out in the room hidden beneath them. But instead he'd been directed to the bedroom and his maker, having removed his own clothes, spent the rest of the night fucking him, taking and giving pleasure in ways and with a violence that was unexpected and, once Eric got over his initial fright, wildly arousing.
Godric hadn't asked if Eric wanted this (not that he needed to), or offered any explanation or excuse for his actions. He'd simply gone at it, taking Eric on the bed, on the floor, against the wall, bent over the table - holding Eric's hair in one hand, pulling his head back as he drove into him again and again and again, until Eric was sore and trembling beneath him. Godric had wrung every last orgasm out of him, had drained him of enough blood that Eric felt lightheaded as he was being put to bed in the suite. Godric dressed, kissed him on the forehead, and left without another word, and Eric had slept - truly - like the dead. He was still mulling it all over with a sense of disbelief on his way back to Shreveport the following night.
It wasn't simply that Godric took him without asking - that would have been familiar enough, particularly in the old days. But when his maker did so before, it was as much a display of power as anything else, reminding Eric of where he stood in the scheme of things, of Godric's ownership of him, body and soul. This wasn't like that. Eric had felt the desire, unquenchable, burning all night, as if there could never be enough - enough of them, like this, together. It had been that way at the end of their time together in the ski hut in Austria, after Godric got his strength back. Only that had been the two of them in another world, removed from the lives they'd left behind. Eric had assumed once they got home that those desires of Godric's would fade.
Eric closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind back in this airless room, trying to direct his attention where it belonged. Another sheriff had brought up the increase in tribute payments, a topic nearer to Eric's heart. The proposed new rates which were being debated brought a depth of truth to the term bloodsuckers. If the organization wasn’t careful there'd be a rebellion. Eric was already far wealthier than some of the other vampires, although he took pains, as always, to conceal just how much lucre he was sitting on. He was rich because he was old, and canny, but also because he was frugal and kept his hands around the purse, not relying on those beneath him to advise him where the money came from and where it should go. Money was power. It bought you information and favors. He didn't live like a minor prince as some of them did, and he wasn't under any illusions about their relative greed. The open human-vampire alliance since the Great Revelation had raised the stakes in ways none of them had anticipated. If it all went to hell, and it might, Eric wouldn't be caught sitting there with his hand out begging for assistance or mercy from those around him. If there was going to be an all-out war among the vampires, or between them and the humans, or both, Eric was ready.
Eric felt the eyes on him before he opened his own. Godric was watching him from his spot at the far end of the table. He expected Eric to say something about the tribute payments, and Eric would, but not yet. He'd let the younger dogs fight it out a bit more first while he watched, taking the lay of the land, gauging alliances. If they wanted to know where he stood, well, they could wait. The only one who needed to know was Godric, and they'd already discussed it.
They'd discussed it when Godric paid Eric a visit in Shreveport on short notice a few weeks earlier, to confirm the rumors Eric had already heard about the raise in tribute payments. No formal announcement had been made but Godric knew the general terms (Eric as always didn't ask how) and they had a quiet conversation in his home, where it was safe, keeping their voices low regardless. On this topic their alliance would hold some sway. The question was how much of the proposed tribute was greed, and how much was a reasonable increase in overhead. While the new figures would likely be presented as a given, everyone knew they were an opening gambit in a long haggle; what was the fairest number they should aim for? Since the tribute payments overall tended to flow back to the larger population of younger vampires, while costing the older vampires more in absolute dollars, it was a delicate dance. The rich ones wouldn't want to look too obviously greedy or resentful of those who came behind them.
And so they'd talked for awhile, agreeing on a general figure to propose as a compromise, and Eric had asked Godric's advice on another matter that had been vexing him -- upfront investment costs in a potentially lucrative, illegal venture he was considering. Godric was always sensible about such things, and it was Eric's way of keeping his maker informed in case it all blew up in his face, or there was someone's hand in above his that Godric knew about, or so that they didn't find themselves working the opposite sides of a deal. Eric's business was his own, but he was less risk-adverse than Godric. More than once Eric had found himself grateful for taking his maker's advice to steer clear.
As it grew late Eric assumed they'd be spending the night together, the usual arrangement since there was no place nearby that Godric would stay. He'd hardly forgotten their last meeting, but this one had been all business. Also, and it pained him to think about it, this was the first time they'd been alone in his house since Godric's illness - Eric nursing him back to health, and the terrible nights that had gone before. All those memories combined with Godric's presence made him uneasy.
He was thinking of those things as Godric rose and walked over to the couch where he was sitting and wordlessly tugged out the cord keeping Eric's hair back so it wouldn't fret him. Eric still hadn't cut his hair. He'd meant to. He'd planned to. It needed barbering, badly, and yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was like a talisman, part of some ancient superstition that he couldn’t even give words to. He thought instead of the small, freakishly strong hand around which his hair had been wound recently, pulling his head back in submission. That same hand was now stroking his hair as it fell down around his face.
And one thing had led to another and Eric found himself in bed again, in thrall to the mysterious forces that were driving his maker. The second time was less shocking only because it was the second time. Godric's intense desires hadn't waned, that much was clear. Eric, so long used to Godric's amused acquiescence or gentle rebuffs, was once again the target of needs that were no less powerful for being largely unspoken. The word inconsiderate popped into Eric's mind at one point but that wasn't correct, either, implying as it did a lack of interest in Eric's pleasure. Eric was being tended to. But Godric's careful, single-minded assault on all parts of his body, the force and the ache and the hunger that fed it, the lack of discussion or apology or explanation, that was new territory. It made Eric feel small and helpless. He did not resist in any way. If this was his payment for what had happened, he would render it gladly, whether he understood it or not. As Godric pressed Eric's head down and gently spread his knees apart again on the sheets, so that Eric felt himself in a position of the most abject submission, the force of his maker's desire to take him that way obliterated all other thoughts.
The meeting had been called to a halt for the evening, with further discussions of the tribute payments to follow. Eric had guessed correctly; there'd been enough outcry without his own that those on the dais, sensing mutiny, had put a lid on things. Tomorrow night they'd likely be on to other matters.
And so he began the walk back to the hotel, a few short blocks away, dispirited. He'd stopped to talk with one or two of the others, and when he'd turned around, Godric was gone. He'd left without ever speaking to Eric. Eric for his part understood that they couldn't be seen as in each other's pockets. He respected the public distance they maintained. But he couldn't help but feel, however unjustly, that after all that had happened recently it was a rebuke. He thought back on their recent conversations. Had he done something wrong? There was nothing he could think of. He frowned. Dwelling on it wouldn't change anything. He'd go back to the room, order up some dinner, make some phone calls, and go to bed. Things would look different tomorrow.
"Eric?"
He sensed Godric almost before he heard him, the soft footsteps falling in beside his own.
"Where are you going?"
"Back to the hotel. I thought you'd left."
"I had to see to something. But when I came back, you'd gone."
"Oh." Eric laughed at himself, feeling his own heart lifting. Well, there were worse things.
"Do you have plans?"
"Nothing more than the usual," Eric answered, which seemed more polite than I plan to have a shower and a hotel-boy underneath me in half an hour, which Godric knew well enough.
He stopped.
"Yes? What is it?" Eric looked down at his maker, hunger making him impatient.
"Not here," Godric answered. "Let's go to your room." And so they walked on in silence.
They'd said nothing to each other during the walk through the lobby, or up to the room. Now they were here. Not wanting to delay things, and not knowing precisely where he stood, Eric turned and spoke.
"You wanted to tell me something?"
"That other matter we spoke about recently," Godric said after a short pause, considering his words. "I think you should reconsider. There are other interests. Interests that aren't allied with yours. There's a territory expansion going on." It was oblique, but Eric understood. Godric was even more paranoid about hotel security than he was; the room might be bugged. That was all the information he'd get right now, but it was enough.
Eric nodded.
"Is that all?"
"No." And with that Godric walked in the direction of the inner suite.
"Where are you going?"
"To wash my hands," came the answer, along with the sound of water running a moment later, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"You know …" Eric wondered how long it would take room service to come up with a nice, warm boy. He was famished. "You know, for a vampire, you're a little phobic about germs. You can't get the flu, in case you've forgotten." He looked around for the menu. Godric was finicky about that, too; he liked his boys fresh and brought in from elsewhere. Eric didn't mind the more experienced ones the hotel provided, because you didn't have to baby them. Eric tilted his head back and closed his eyes. His shoulders ached. He hated sitting for long periods of time.
"I like clean hands."
Eric opened his eyes.
"I'm not complaining." Eric understood the desire to be clean. "But I'm hungry."
"I know. Come here. Sit down." Godric nodded his head toward the couch. Eric did so, wondering what was up. He'd decided earlier that if things between them went the same bizarre sexual direction they'd been going, although it certainly didn't feel that way right now, he was going to say something.
Godric sat on his lap, straddling him, and without saying anything further reached back to untie Eric's hair. So. That didn't take long.
"Godric--"
"Yes?"
"Why are you doing this?" He was acutely conscious of Godric's faint, delicious smell, and the small, compact weight across his legs.
"Are you unhappy? Shall I stop?" Godric was raking his fingers through Eric's hair, pulling it forward.
"Godric. Please. Look at me." The power was there again. Not too long ago, Eric would have reached his own hand up and grasped Godric's wrist in protest. Now he was reluctant to do it.
But he got what he'd asked for; the gray eyes shifted to his, although the hand still played with his hair.
"It's your fault, Eric." A small smile. "I'm guessing it's all your blood in me. You've only yourself to blame. When you're here, it's what I think about. And when you're not, I think about it as well. Is this what it's like to be you every day? It's very distracting."
Eric was trying to think of a response to that when the hand that had been playing with his hair moved over to his mouth.
"Lean your head back, Eric, and open your mouth." He rested it on the cushion behind him, confused but unwilling to disobey. What was this?
Fingers ran light as a feather across his lips, brushed against his teeth.
"Wider. Your fangs are out, Eric. You don't need them now, put them away."
The stroking went on. Two fingers, and then three, running along the edges of his teeth. With his head tilted like that, he couldn't see Godric. His fists clenched.
"Go on, Eric, you heard me." Godric's voice was soft, soothing, with no command in it. Eric struggled to comply. It was something vampires learned early, to retract their fangs. But he hadn't been ordered to do it. Between Godric's scent, and the stroking, and his own arousal, and (yes, again) a small note of fear that he didn't like to admit to, obeying was harder than he expected.
Godric rose up then, on his knees, and looked down into Eric's eyes, his other hand cradling the back of Eric's neck as it rested uncomfortably against the top of the couch.
"Don't be afraid, Eric." The fingers in his mouth spread apart fractionally. "Retract them."
He couldn't. A feeling of shame rose up in him. His fangs, like his arousal and his fear, seemed beyond his control. The fact that Godric understood and felt all those things within him made it worse instead of better.
"Open your mouth wider, as wide as you can. That's it." Those small fingers gently pushed his mouth open further. Godric could break his jaw if he wanted to, with no effort at all. Eric wanted suddenly and desperately to ask him to stop.
"Ssshhhhhh…. don't fight me." It was the way Godric spoke to humans sometimes before he fed on them, when they were frightened. Eric could see Godric's fangs were well out, making him look as dangerous as he, in fact, was. As always, seeing them in that small, young face only magnified their effect on Eric.
I can't, he wanted to say. I can't, I can't. He lifted his hands and dropped them immediately to his sides again.
Godric rested a finger against the fang on the right side of Eric's mouth, took it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. A wave of fear washed over Eric then. He pushed his head back instinctively, trying to get away, but met the firm resistance of the hand beneath him.
"Eric." Godric was chiding him like a beloved but disobedient child. "Now you're being ridiculous." He'd closed his mouth halfway in fear but Godric shifted his fingers again, spreading them, opening his mouth as wide as it would go. It didn't hurt, but Eric let out a soft whimper.
"No, don't fuss. Keep your mouth open like that." Godric's head tilted to one side. "I'm not going to command you, Eric." His voice was very quiet, his face unreadable. "You're going to do it on your own. We'll stay like this until you're able to manage it." Godric shifted his hands slowly, tilting Eric's head an inch further back.
"Eric, retract your fangs." Each word spoken slowly, in a voice that held both understanding and faint impatience. Eric shut his eyes, blotting everything else out, and concentrated.
"That's better. Now, keep them that way." The gentle probing of his mouth resumed, a finger running slowly across his molars, touching his tongue, the roof of his mouth-
"Eric." Godric's voice, soft but reproving. It was impossible not to respond to that touch, those small fingers, teasing and invading him in this strange way. He screwed his eyes shut and tried again. This time, when Godric touched him there, the fangs stayed in.
His jaw was beginning to ache. He thought that Godric, having made his point (if that was what he'd done, Eric wasn't sure of anything now), would move on to something else. But the stroking continued. The minutes - he lost track of how many - crept by.
"That's very good. See if you can open your eyes now, Eric. And try to let me hold your head up, it will be easier for you. You can close your mouth just a little, I know that aches." He did as he was told, opening his eyes last. Godric's own eyes were still directed, in rapt attention, at his mouth. Eric seemed, finally, to have his fangs under control. He unclenched his fists, which were aching almost as much as his jaw had been. Whatever this was about, he'd just have to suffer through it.
Eventually Godric's eyes drifted back up to his own. His maker leaned forward out of Eric's field of vision until he felt lips brush softly against the corner of his mouth, and then Godric leaned back again.
"I promise I won't keep you here like this all night." A faint smile. "You'll get what you want. But you'll do this for me first. I know it's difficult for you to yield like this. But I need you to do it." The hand beneath his neck shifted slowly up to his cheek, leaving his head resting limp against the bolster.
"Now, stay like that. Don't lower your fangs. I'll do everything." Do what?, Eric wondered. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. Godric lifted his left hand to his own mouth and Eric smelled it almost before he saw it - a pinprick of blood on Godric's thumb.
"Eric, no." Godric sounded amused. "Your fangs. Try harder." They'd started to run out immediately. He was ravenous. He fought the urge to rise, to pull at the body on top of him, which he knew would never budge. Not tonight. He moved his eyes toward the ceiling, where he couldn't see the drop of red on Godric's thumb. He fought his impulses until his fangs were away again.
Godric's fingers still held his mouth wide open; now the thumb of the other hand intruded as well. He felt the single drop of blood fall on his tongue, followed by another, and then more. He closed his eyes; he couldn’t have said what he felt, other than massively confused and hurt. There was some question, some curiosity here. If only he could grasp it.
The droplets seeped under his tongue and bloomed there, bringing the beginnings of feelings that were comforting and familiar. The blood should have made the control of his fangs infinitely harder, but somehow they didn't. His head eased back; he opened his mouth wider, yearning, but his fangs stayed in. More drops of blood fell, soothing his terrible thirst. And then Eric thought he understood.
The sex they'd been having recently, while verging on rape, was no huge hardship for Eric, and Godric knew it. Eric's submission, abject and sincere, had been his choice to make. He was profoundly grateful. He had spent those dark months of Godric's illness dreading the possibilities: first, that through death or madness he'd lose his maker forever; then, that Godric would live only to break their bond as punishment for Eric's failings. Eric had done all he'd done not from an obligation, or even loyalty, but from love. And now, as in everything else, he'd put those events behind him.
Through all that, though, he'd never stopped to consider how Godric might feel about what had happened -- Godric's public, growing instability, viewed in hindsight. Then his disappearance, and the rumors flying. They'd never discussed it, but surely Godric must wonder who among their kind knew the rest of it, and in what amount of ugly detail. His breakdown. The clinic, and what had been done to him there. Godric couldn't remember his rescue, and the vampires Eric had with him were both trusted and knew they'd die if they talked, but still. They knew how completely Godric had been broken, how totally dependent he'd been on his child afterward. Did he look at the closed faces in that meeting room this evening and wonder? Did he think about it, alone in his bed, and feel shame? And now - full of Eric's blood, that was true enough, and probably Eric's lusts along with it - now, if he wanted to soothe his pride, if he wanted to see how much was Eric's fealty, or obedience, and how much was something more, well, Eric could hardly blame him for that.
"Good. That's very good. Now stay that way." Eric's eyes welled up at the tone in his maker's voice, but he blinked his tears back. When Godric withdrew his hands Eric sighed; he'd wanted more blood, but he didn't move. He would wait like this, his mouth open and his fangs hidden, for whatever Godric wanted to do to him.
"I'm going to lift your head, it's hard for you to swallow the way you are. But if you lower your fangs I'll have to put your head back again, and feeding you will take longer." Eric nodded, and then his head was up, Godric's hand behind it, tangled in his hair. The smell of blood was strong in the air; Godric had bitten his own wrist, two large gashes, then bent his arm between them and pressed it to Eric's mouth. Eric drank, trying not to be greedy with this gift. As he closed his eyes, relief turning to pleasure, he felt the body on top of his move back slightly, and his belt buckle slowly being undone, then the top button of his jeans, and then the zipper being tugged down. He moved his mind away from it, knowing what would happen otherwise. To drink like this, to be touched like this and not show his fangs, was the basest submission. Whatever else was coming tonight, and he had some idea what it would be, keeping his fangs in check would be the hardest part. And he would do it.
"Is that enough? Are you still hungry?" Godric moved his wrist away.
Eric felt woozy from the blood. He shook his head, unable to trust his voice. He had no idea how much he'd taken - probably not anywhere near what he'd have from a human. But Godric's blood was a different thing entirely. He felt drunk with lust.
"You're better now. Calmer." Which wasn't the precise description Eric would have given of himself. Godric had been stroking him with one hand at a leisurely pace. He'd kept his fangs under control, even as he drank. It had probably been a test. He dropped his head back against the couch. The lights in the room danced and wavered in front of him.
"Do you think you can stand up?"
Eric wasn't sure, but Godric pulled him to his feet before he had a chance to answer. And the answer was, apparently, no - Eric sank slowly to his knees on the carpet, aware that Godric was supporting him even as he did so. He leaned his head against the legs in front of him and looked down at the small, pale toes curling into the deep pile of the carpet. A groan came from somewhere deep within him. Those feet.
Godric laughed.
"All right, Eric, you can start there if you want to and work your way up. But you'll have to keep your fangs withdrawn, I'll be watching. Here, let me help you, it's time to get you out of those clothes."
Godric was kneeling in front of him suddenly, looking into his eyes.
"Eric, I want to touch you. I want … don't be afraid. But you have to try not to struggle, do you understand? If you relax it will be better for both of us. Here, there's still blood around your mouth, let me clean you."
Eric sat still while Godric licked at him, first one side and then the other, cleaning his face. He was still thinking of Godric's feet, and his fangs, when he felt himself lifted from the floor, light as a feather, and carried toward the bed.
Author: septemberoses
Fandom: True Blood
Rating: NC17 for Top!Godric
Pairing: Eric/Godric
Word Count: 5200
Note: Being unable to finish some unfinished fics, I looked elsewhere; this is something of a follow up to the Dark Fic and Coda, set several months later. This is less explicit than my usual stuff, but I wouldn't read it to your mom, unless she's already a fan of my porn. This fic also indulges my interest in made-up vampire intrigue and backstory, which (since I haven't read all the books) may well contradict canon, about which I … couldn't care less. Special thanks to Gruochrua for the handholding.
Eric shifted in his chair and let his eyes roam around the conference room. The chair wasn't uncomfortable, and after several hours the other vampires weren't necessarily following the conversation any more closely than he was, but he had a particular interest in studying the faces of those gathered here tonight. It was the first time he'd been to a vampire meeting in Dallas since Godric's return.
As far as he could tell, everything was fine. Godric had apparently resumed his duties as sheriff without much fuss. What those duties were, precisely, Eric never knew and Godric didn't tell him. Eric had learned long ago that there were things Godric did, and agendas within the vampire organization, that Eric was better off not knowing.
He glanced at the bland face of the woman across from him and tried to remember where she was from. She was new-ish, at least to him, although he had a sense that she was probably older than she seemed. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her.
Eric had arrived late the night before and stayed in his hotel room reading a book, half hoping to hear from Godric, and half assuming he wouldn't. Godric knew he'd be there for the meeting - they'd talked about that and other things before his arrival - but no invitation was extended to stay at the Dallas nest and Eric didn't ask. They were both here now in the crowded room, seated around a long table but nowhere near each other. The meeting had started on time and Godric had come in a few minutes late, glancing at the three presiding vampires in what was closer to acknowledgment of their existence than any apology for his tardy interruption. Eric kept the smile off his face as he watched Godric cross in front of the dais and take a seat on the far side of the table rather than sit in the empty one closest to the door, as any latecomer was supposed to do. Godric hadn't looked his direction once. Anyone who didn't know better might assume they didn't know each other.
He wondered who in this room had much of an idea of the truth behind Godric's extended absence, or his own, shorter one. Some of them, probably. These were mostly ranking vampires who had their own spies and their reasons for wanting to stay informed beyond whatever they were told. Sheriffs didn't simply vanish for months at a time without notice. No doubt some of them were sorry to see him back, but Eric couldn't have said for certain which might have felt that way, or why. Godric had likely staked more vampires in his existence than anyone else in the room, and he had the enemies to prove it. There were factions. The continuing, unbroken bond between Eric and his maker, two of the oldest vampires in the room, caused its own tensions among the others, although none of them had the stones to say that to his face.
Eric's eyes came to rest on Godric, sitting, as he often did, as still as a statue, eyes in the middle distance and focused on nothing. Nobody knew his maker better than Eric did, and yet he had no idea whatsoever whether Godric was following the debate - two vampires from different areas squabbling over tribute, had they always done this much whining? They were like five-year-olds - or whether he was thinking about some book he'd been reading, or whether it was going to rain. Eric looked away again, trying not to stare.
They'd seen each other twice since Godric's return to duties - once in Dallas and once in Shreveport, with the first meeting based on the flimsiest of pretexts. Eric simply wanted to see with his own eyes that his maker was well, although he didn't say so directly, fearing that Godric would put him off. Eric had been forgiven, and Godric was likely too generous to turn him away after all the care Eric had taken with him recently. But the strange shift in their relationship - in Godric himself -- hadn't been clear until Eric's first visit. He'd hoped for nothing more than reassurance that things were back to normal, or even better (as he suspected) than they had been. And the Dallas sheriff was indeed better - no more self-destructive behaviors, no more alarming moodiness. Godric was as reserved as ever, but he was free of the darkness that had pressed in on him for so long that Eric only realized its enormity now that it had gone.
In its place … in its place was something else. Godric - calm, impassive-- had met him in a private suite in the vampire club Godric used for meetings, and had indulged Eric in his discussion of business matters they both knew could just as easily have been handled without the visit. Then, still calm and impassive, he'd told Eric to strip off his clothes. Eric did so immediately, baffled, before the unwelcome thought broke in on him that he was about to receive the punishment Godric had decided he deserved, meted out in the room hidden beneath them. But instead he'd been directed to the bedroom and his maker, having removed his own clothes, spent the rest of the night fucking him, taking and giving pleasure in ways and with a violence that was unexpected and, once Eric got over his initial fright, wildly arousing.
Godric hadn't asked if Eric wanted this (not that he needed to), or offered any explanation or excuse for his actions. He'd simply gone at it, taking Eric on the bed, on the floor, against the wall, bent over the table - holding Eric's hair in one hand, pulling his head back as he drove into him again and again and again, until Eric was sore and trembling beneath him. Godric had wrung every last orgasm out of him, had drained him of enough blood that Eric felt lightheaded as he was being put to bed in the suite. Godric dressed, kissed him on the forehead, and left without another word, and Eric had slept - truly - like the dead. He was still mulling it all over with a sense of disbelief on his way back to Shreveport the following night.
It wasn't simply that Godric took him without asking - that would have been familiar enough, particularly in the old days. But when his maker did so before, it was as much a display of power as anything else, reminding Eric of where he stood in the scheme of things, of Godric's ownership of him, body and soul. This wasn't like that. Eric had felt the desire, unquenchable, burning all night, as if there could never be enough - enough of them, like this, together. It had been that way at the end of their time together in the ski hut in Austria, after Godric got his strength back. Only that had been the two of them in another world, removed from the lives they'd left behind. Eric had assumed once they got home that those desires of Godric's would fade.
Eric closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind back in this airless room, trying to direct his attention where it belonged. Another sheriff had brought up the increase in tribute payments, a topic nearer to Eric's heart. The proposed new rates which were being debated brought a depth of truth to the term bloodsuckers. If the organization wasn’t careful there'd be a rebellion. Eric was already far wealthier than some of the other vampires, although he took pains, as always, to conceal just how much lucre he was sitting on. He was rich because he was old, and canny, but also because he was frugal and kept his hands around the purse, not relying on those beneath him to advise him where the money came from and where it should go. Money was power. It bought you information and favors. He didn't live like a minor prince as some of them did, and he wasn't under any illusions about their relative greed. The open human-vampire alliance since the Great Revelation had raised the stakes in ways none of them had anticipated. If it all went to hell, and it might, Eric wouldn't be caught sitting there with his hand out begging for assistance or mercy from those around him. If there was going to be an all-out war among the vampires, or between them and the humans, or both, Eric was ready.
Eric felt the eyes on him before he opened his own. Godric was watching him from his spot at the far end of the table. He expected Eric to say something about the tribute payments, and Eric would, but not yet. He'd let the younger dogs fight it out a bit more first while he watched, taking the lay of the land, gauging alliances. If they wanted to know where he stood, well, they could wait. The only one who needed to know was Godric, and they'd already discussed it.
They'd discussed it when Godric paid Eric a visit in Shreveport on short notice a few weeks earlier, to confirm the rumors Eric had already heard about the raise in tribute payments. No formal announcement had been made but Godric knew the general terms (Eric as always didn't ask how) and they had a quiet conversation in his home, where it was safe, keeping their voices low regardless. On this topic their alliance would hold some sway. The question was how much of the proposed tribute was greed, and how much was a reasonable increase in overhead. While the new figures would likely be presented as a given, everyone knew they were an opening gambit in a long haggle; what was the fairest number they should aim for? Since the tribute payments overall tended to flow back to the larger population of younger vampires, while costing the older vampires more in absolute dollars, it was a delicate dance. The rich ones wouldn't want to look too obviously greedy or resentful of those who came behind them.
And so they'd talked for awhile, agreeing on a general figure to propose as a compromise, and Eric had asked Godric's advice on another matter that had been vexing him -- upfront investment costs in a potentially lucrative, illegal venture he was considering. Godric was always sensible about such things, and it was Eric's way of keeping his maker informed in case it all blew up in his face, or there was someone's hand in above his that Godric knew about, or so that they didn't find themselves working the opposite sides of a deal. Eric's business was his own, but he was less risk-adverse than Godric. More than once Eric had found himself grateful for taking his maker's advice to steer clear.
As it grew late Eric assumed they'd be spending the night together, the usual arrangement since there was no place nearby that Godric would stay. He'd hardly forgotten their last meeting, but this one had been all business. Also, and it pained him to think about it, this was the first time they'd been alone in his house since Godric's illness - Eric nursing him back to health, and the terrible nights that had gone before. All those memories combined with Godric's presence made him uneasy.
He was thinking of those things as Godric rose and walked over to the couch where he was sitting and wordlessly tugged out the cord keeping Eric's hair back so it wouldn't fret him. Eric still hadn't cut his hair. He'd meant to. He'd planned to. It needed barbering, badly, and yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was like a talisman, part of some ancient superstition that he couldn’t even give words to. He thought instead of the small, freakishly strong hand around which his hair had been wound recently, pulling his head back in submission. That same hand was now stroking his hair as it fell down around his face.
And one thing had led to another and Eric found himself in bed again, in thrall to the mysterious forces that were driving his maker. The second time was less shocking only because it was the second time. Godric's intense desires hadn't waned, that much was clear. Eric, so long used to Godric's amused acquiescence or gentle rebuffs, was once again the target of needs that were no less powerful for being largely unspoken. The word inconsiderate popped into Eric's mind at one point but that wasn't correct, either, implying as it did a lack of interest in Eric's pleasure. Eric was being tended to. But Godric's careful, single-minded assault on all parts of his body, the force and the ache and the hunger that fed it, the lack of discussion or apology or explanation, that was new territory. It made Eric feel small and helpless. He did not resist in any way. If this was his payment for what had happened, he would render it gladly, whether he understood it or not. As Godric pressed Eric's head down and gently spread his knees apart again on the sheets, so that Eric felt himself in a position of the most abject submission, the force of his maker's desire to take him that way obliterated all other thoughts.
The meeting had been called to a halt for the evening, with further discussions of the tribute payments to follow. Eric had guessed correctly; there'd been enough outcry without his own that those on the dais, sensing mutiny, had put a lid on things. Tomorrow night they'd likely be on to other matters.
And so he began the walk back to the hotel, a few short blocks away, dispirited. He'd stopped to talk with one or two of the others, and when he'd turned around, Godric was gone. He'd left without ever speaking to Eric. Eric for his part understood that they couldn't be seen as in each other's pockets. He respected the public distance they maintained. But he couldn't help but feel, however unjustly, that after all that had happened recently it was a rebuke. He thought back on their recent conversations. Had he done something wrong? There was nothing he could think of. He frowned. Dwelling on it wouldn't change anything. He'd go back to the room, order up some dinner, make some phone calls, and go to bed. Things would look different tomorrow.
"Eric?"
He sensed Godric almost before he heard him, the soft footsteps falling in beside his own.
"Where are you going?"
"Back to the hotel. I thought you'd left."
"I had to see to something. But when I came back, you'd gone."
"Oh." Eric laughed at himself, feeling his own heart lifting. Well, there were worse things.
"Do you have plans?"
"Nothing more than the usual," Eric answered, which seemed more polite than I plan to have a shower and a hotel-boy underneath me in half an hour, which Godric knew well enough.
He stopped.
"Yes? What is it?" Eric looked down at his maker, hunger making him impatient.
"Not here," Godric answered. "Let's go to your room." And so they walked on in silence.
They'd said nothing to each other during the walk through the lobby, or up to the room. Now they were here. Not wanting to delay things, and not knowing precisely where he stood, Eric turned and spoke.
"You wanted to tell me something?"
"That other matter we spoke about recently," Godric said after a short pause, considering his words. "I think you should reconsider. There are other interests. Interests that aren't allied with yours. There's a territory expansion going on." It was oblique, but Eric understood. Godric was even more paranoid about hotel security than he was; the room might be bugged. That was all the information he'd get right now, but it was enough.
Eric nodded.
"Is that all?"
"No." And with that Godric walked in the direction of the inner suite.
"Where are you going?"
"To wash my hands," came the answer, along with the sound of water running a moment later, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"You know …" Eric wondered how long it would take room service to come up with a nice, warm boy. He was famished. "You know, for a vampire, you're a little phobic about germs. You can't get the flu, in case you've forgotten." He looked around for the menu. Godric was finicky about that, too; he liked his boys fresh and brought in from elsewhere. Eric didn't mind the more experienced ones the hotel provided, because you didn't have to baby them. Eric tilted his head back and closed his eyes. His shoulders ached. He hated sitting for long periods of time.
"I like clean hands."
Eric opened his eyes.
"I'm not complaining." Eric understood the desire to be clean. "But I'm hungry."
"I know. Come here. Sit down." Godric nodded his head toward the couch. Eric did so, wondering what was up. He'd decided earlier that if things between them went the same bizarre sexual direction they'd been going, although it certainly didn't feel that way right now, he was going to say something.
Godric sat on his lap, straddling him, and without saying anything further reached back to untie Eric's hair. So. That didn't take long.
"Godric--"
"Yes?"
"Why are you doing this?" He was acutely conscious of Godric's faint, delicious smell, and the small, compact weight across his legs.
"Are you unhappy? Shall I stop?" Godric was raking his fingers through Eric's hair, pulling it forward.
"Godric. Please. Look at me." The power was there again. Not too long ago, Eric would have reached his own hand up and grasped Godric's wrist in protest. Now he was reluctant to do it.
But he got what he'd asked for; the gray eyes shifted to his, although the hand still played with his hair.
"It's your fault, Eric." A small smile. "I'm guessing it's all your blood in me. You've only yourself to blame. When you're here, it's what I think about. And when you're not, I think about it as well. Is this what it's like to be you every day? It's very distracting."
Eric was trying to think of a response to that when the hand that had been playing with his hair moved over to his mouth.
"Lean your head back, Eric, and open your mouth." He rested it on the cushion behind him, confused but unwilling to disobey. What was this?
Fingers ran light as a feather across his lips, brushed against his teeth.
"Wider. Your fangs are out, Eric. You don't need them now, put them away."
The stroking went on. Two fingers, and then three, running along the edges of his teeth. With his head tilted like that, he couldn't see Godric. His fists clenched.
"Go on, Eric, you heard me." Godric's voice was soft, soothing, with no command in it. Eric struggled to comply. It was something vampires learned early, to retract their fangs. But he hadn't been ordered to do it. Between Godric's scent, and the stroking, and his own arousal, and (yes, again) a small note of fear that he didn't like to admit to, obeying was harder than he expected.
Godric rose up then, on his knees, and looked down into Eric's eyes, his other hand cradling the back of Eric's neck as it rested uncomfortably against the top of the couch.
"Don't be afraid, Eric." The fingers in his mouth spread apart fractionally. "Retract them."
He couldn't. A feeling of shame rose up in him. His fangs, like his arousal and his fear, seemed beyond his control. The fact that Godric understood and felt all those things within him made it worse instead of better.
"Open your mouth wider, as wide as you can. That's it." Those small fingers gently pushed his mouth open further. Godric could break his jaw if he wanted to, with no effort at all. Eric wanted suddenly and desperately to ask him to stop.
"Ssshhhhhh…. don't fight me." It was the way Godric spoke to humans sometimes before he fed on them, when they were frightened. Eric could see Godric's fangs were well out, making him look as dangerous as he, in fact, was. As always, seeing them in that small, young face only magnified their effect on Eric.
I can't, he wanted to say. I can't, I can't. He lifted his hands and dropped them immediately to his sides again.
Godric rested a finger against the fang on the right side of Eric's mouth, took it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. A wave of fear washed over Eric then. He pushed his head back instinctively, trying to get away, but met the firm resistance of the hand beneath him.
"Eric." Godric was chiding him like a beloved but disobedient child. "Now you're being ridiculous." He'd closed his mouth halfway in fear but Godric shifted his fingers again, spreading them, opening his mouth as wide as it would go. It didn't hurt, but Eric let out a soft whimper.
"No, don't fuss. Keep your mouth open like that." Godric's head tilted to one side. "I'm not going to command you, Eric." His voice was very quiet, his face unreadable. "You're going to do it on your own. We'll stay like this until you're able to manage it." Godric shifted his hands slowly, tilting Eric's head an inch further back.
"Eric, retract your fangs." Each word spoken slowly, in a voice that held both understanding and faint impatience. Eric shut his eyes, blotting everything else out, and concentrated.
"That's better. Now, keep them that way." The gentle probing of his mouth resumed, a finger running slowly across his molars, touching his tongue, the roof of his mouth-
"Eric." Godric's voice, soft but reproving. It was impossible not to respond to that touch, those small fingers, teasing and invading him in this strange way. He screwed his eyes shut and tried again. This time, when Godric touched him there, the fangs stayed in.
His jaw was beginning to ache. He thought that Godric, having made his point (if that was what he'd done, Eric wasn't sure of anything now), would move on to something else. But the stroking continued. The minutes - he lost track of how many - crept by.
"That's very good. See if you can open your eyes now, Eric. And try to let me hold your head up, it will be easier for you. You can close your mouth just a little, I know that aches." He did as he was told, opening his eyes last. Godric's own eyes were still directed, in rapt attention, at his mouth. Eric seemed, finally, to have his fangs under control. He unclenched his fists, which were aching almost as much as his jaw had been. Whatever this was about, he'd just have to suffer through it.
Eventually Godric's eyes drifted back up to his own. His maker leaned forward out of Eric's field of vision until he felt lips brush softly against the corner of his mouth, and then Godric leaned back again.
"I promise I won't keep you here like this all night." A faint smile. "You'll get what you want. But you'll do this for me first. I know it's difficult for you to yield like this. But I need you to do it." The hand beneath his neck shifted slowly up to his cheek, leaving his head resting limp against the bolster.
"Now, stay like that. Don't lower your fangs. I'll do everything." Do what?, Eric wondered. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. Godric lifted his left hand to his own mouth and Eric smelled it almost before he saw it - a pinprick of blood on Godric's thumb.
"Eric, no." Godric sounded amused. "Your fangs. Try harder." They'd started to run out immediately. He was ravenous. He fought the urge to rise, to pull at the body on top of him, which he knew would never budge. Not tonight. He moved his eyes toward the ceiling, where he couldn't see the drop of red on Godric's thumb. He fought his impulses until his fangs were away again.
Godric's fingers still held his mouth wide open; now the thumb of the other hand intruded as well. He felt the single drop of blood fall on his tongue, followed by another, and then more. He closed his eyes; he couldn’t have said what he felt, other than massively confused and hurt. There was some question, some curiosity here. If only he could grasp it.
The droplets seeped under his tongue and bloomed there, bringing the beginnings of feelings that were comforting and familiar. The blood should have made the control of his fangs infinitely harder, but somehow they didn't. His head eased back; he opened his mouth wider, yearning, but his fangs stayed in. More drops of blood fell, soothing his terrible thirst. And then Eric thought he understood.
The sex they'd been having recently, while verging on rape, was no huge hardship for Eric, and Godric knew it. Eric's submission, abject and sincere, had been his choice to make. He was profoundly grateful. He had spent those dark months of Godric's illness dreading the possibilities: first, that through death or madness he'd lose his maker forever; then, that Godric would live only to break their bond as punishment for Eric's failings. Eric had done all he'd done not from an obligation, or even loyalty, but from love. And now, as in everything else, he'd put those events behind him.
Through all that, though, he'd never stopped to consider how Godric might feel about what had happened -- Godric's public, growing instability, viewed in hindsight. Then his disappearance, and the rumors flying. They'd never discussed it, but surely Godric must wonder who among their kind knew the rest of it, and in what amount of ugly detail. His breakdown. The clinic, and what had been done to him there. Godric couldn't remember his rescue, and the vampires Eric had with him were both trusted and knew they'd die if they talked, but still. They knew how completely Godric had been broken, how totally dependent he'd been on his child afterward. Did he look at the closed faces in that meeting room this evening and wonder? Did he think about it, alone in his bed, and feel shame? And now - full of Eric's blood, that was true enough, and probably Eric's lusts along with it - now, if he wanted to soothe his pride, if he wanted to see how much was Eric's fealty, or obedience, and how much was something more, well, Eric could hardly blame him for that.
"Good. That's very good. Now stay that way." Eric's eyes welled up at the tone in his maker's voice, but he blinked his tears back. When Godric withdrew his hands Eric sighed; he'd wanted more blood, but he didn't move. He would wait like this, his mouth open and his fangs hidden, for whatever Godric wanted to do to him.
"I'm going to lift your head, it's hard for you to swallow the way you are. But if you lower your fangs I'll have to put your head back again, and feeding you will take longer." Eric nodded, and then his head was up, Godric's hand behind it, tangled in his hair. The smell of blood was strong in the air; Godric had bitten his own wrist, two large gashes, then bent his arm between them and pressed it to Eric's mouth. Eric drank, trying not to be greedy with this gift. As he closed his eyes, relief turning to pleasure, he felt the body on top of his move back slightly, and his belt buckle slowly being undone, then the top button of his jeans, and then the zipper being tugged down. He moved his mind away from it, knowing what would happen otherwise. To drink like this, to be touched like this and not show his fangs, was the basest submission. Whatever else was coming tonight, and he had some idea what it would be, keeping his fangs in check would be the hardest part. And he would do it.
"Is that enough? Are you still hungry?" Godric moved his wrist away.
Eric felt woozy from the blood. He shook his head, unable to trust his voice. He had no idea how much he'd taken - probably not anywhere near what he'd have from a human. But Godric's blood was a different thing entirely. He felt drunk with lust.
"You're better now. Calmer." Which wasn't the precise description Eric would have given of himself. Godric had been stroking him with one hand at a leisurely pace. He'd kept his fangs under control, even as he drank. It had probably been a test. He dropped his head back against the couch. The lights in the room danced and wavered in front of him.
"Do you think you can stand up?"
Eric wasn't sure, but Godric pulled him to his feet before he had a chance to answer. And the answer was, apparently, no - Eric sank slowly to his knees on the carpet, aware that Godric was supporting him even as he did so. He leaned his head against the legs in front of him and looked down at the small, pale toes curling into the deep pile of the carpet. A groan came from somewhere deep within him. Those feet.
Godric laughed.
"All right, Eric, you can start there if you want to and work your way up. But you'll have to keep your fangs withdrawn, I'll be watching. Here, let me help you, it's time to get you out of those clothes."
Godric was kneeling in front of him suddenly, looking into his eyes.
"Eric, I want to touch you. I want … don't be afraid. But you have to try not to struggle, do you understand? If you relax it will be better for both of us. Here, there's still blood around your mouth, let me clean you."
Eric sat still while Godric licked at him, first one side and then the other, cleaning his face. He was still thinking of Godric's feet, and his fangs, when he felt himself lifted from the floor, light as a feather, and carried toward the bed.