Bad Things
Warning: this is a rape scene, Godric(top)/Eric. If that idea freaks you out, please read no further. I took it private so I could re-edit it and I'm putting it back up in response to a request on the kink_meme so I assume it might show up on Friends pages. Apologies if this offends.
Rating: NC17
Note: this was the original Chapter 1 of Sickle Moon before I wrote a new Chapter 1 that fit in better as the story developed. This story began as a writing exercise for me to explore my own boundaries; it attracts and repulses me. If you read my Sickle Moon series, you can see I am always interested in the idea of power. This particular story represents the outer edges of where I'm willing to go; it also doesn't fit in with the relationship between Godric and Eric as I see it.
“You summoned me?” He stood in the doorway, head slightly bowed, waiting.
“Eric. Come in.” The room was dimly lit and smelled faintly of human sex and blood. This private club in Dallas was a place Eric visited occasionally at the request (or rather, command) of his maker. Eric crossed the room and glanced at Godric’s face before kneeling in front of him. He looks like a lost little boy. Eric wondered how many men had met their deaths with that thought in their heads.
Why had he been summoned? There was no point in asking; Eric would have to be patient. He directed his gaze downward, until Godric’s hand lifted his chin.
“I am happy to see you.” Godric leaned forward and kissed him; his smile was gentle. Eric rose. They sat beside each other on the low sofa at one end of the room.
“Eric ... this human woman. I've felt your desire for her. I can feel your longing through our bond even now.” Godric paused, gazing at the floor in front of him, speaking his thoughts slowly. “This surprises me. Not that you've ever lost your odd fondness for women, of course.” He turned his head slightly and looked at Eric. As their eyes met, Eric felt the unfamiliar lurch of the complicated feelings his maker inspired in him - anger, desire, love, shame.
“So tell me, what is so special about her that you would pursue her even though she already belongs to another of our kind?” Godric watched him, eyebrows slightly raised, waiting for an answer. Eric wondered just how much his maker knew.
“Godric, she is - she's something more than human. She is a telepath.” Eric paused a moment, considering. Should he tell? He had to. “Also, I think there's a hint of ... fairy in her blood.”
Godric’s smile widened fractionally. “I thought so. Does she know this?”
“I’m not sure. She has not said so to me.”
“And where is she tonight?”
“She’s … working. She’s independent. She wants to live away from our world as much as possible.” Eric considered whether he'd said enough. With Godric, sometimes less was better.
“Independent.” Godric looked at him speculatively. Eric wondered what Godric was up to. Eric existed largely on his own terms. Godric was a reminder that those terms were not immutable… his mind had drifted. What was Godric saying? He looked over and realized Godric was watching him, his dark eyes amused. The light caught at the tattoos around his neck, just visible above the collar of his shirt. Eric swallowed.
“You will bring her to me, of course,” Godric said. “Not tonight. But soon. I'll let you know when I'm ready for her.”
“Godric…” Eric stopped, than began again. “Godric, I don’t know if-“
“You will bring her. Or I'll go looking for her myself, and you will have disobeyed me. Which would you prefer?”
“Yes, Godric.” What else could he say? He would make her understand. He would use threats or force if he had to.
“In the meantime, here we are, with the night ahead of us.” Godric was toying with him, an unvoiced expectation in the air. What would he want tonight? Eric sat very still, listening to the music playing dimly in the background, beyond the thick walls and the heavy door, and the velvet curtain across it.
And then he had his answer. Godric rested his small hand on Eric’s chest. “Eric,” he said again, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Between us, nothing has changed.”
Eric looked away, memories assailing him. Centuries of love and domination. Centuries of being forced by Godric, in ways large and small, to yield. Godric could be cruel, but he was never capricious. His very thoughtfulness, the cool assessment behind his decisions, had allowed him to survive two thousand years. It was that strength, that same firm assurance, that Eric could not defeat. He knew he'd lost before the fight had even begun.
But tonight, Eric would try. He paused, thinking about the distance to the door. It was less than ten feet. He was very fast - faster than almost any vampire he knew. The sound of laughter came in through the window; he could hear voices approach and fade. Godric looked away, distracted. In the end, the compulsion proved irresistible.
He was in front of the door almost before he realized it, his hand beyond the curtain, grasping the latch. And then Godric was behind him, slamming Eric into the door with a force Eric had almost-but not quite - forgotten. It was so infuriating. Godric came barely to his shoulder; his build was muscular, but he was slender and much smaller than Eric. Eric had taken many women larger than Godric, but age made these things irrelevant. Compared to Godric, his strength was that of a child.
Godric slammed him against the door again, levitating slightly off the floor, his mouth at Eric’s ear.
“Would you like to make a game of this?” Godric said softly. “I don’t mind at all. You can run. If it would make you feel better. If you would like to try and stop me. I'd enjoy that. But the end, however we get there, will still be the same.” He nipped at Eric’s ear. His fangs were down, and Eric shivered as Godric’s tongue lapped at the drop of blood.
Eric braced his hands against the doorway and pushed back with all his strength. It was futile and he knew it, but the urge to fight welled up in him and he could not stop it. He might as well be pushing against the stone wall; Godric did not budge. Instead he reached forward and in one graceful movement grabbed Eric’s right arm and bent it double behind him. Any further and the arm would break.
“Come, Eric. It’s not so difficult. It’s very simple, really.” As if Eric were a child being reprimanded by his father for some misbehavior. “It will be easier this way. Come.” Godric’s voice was low, tender, so full of patience. And Eric found himself being levitated across the room, his feet off the floor, until he came to rest in front of the ancient wooden scribe’s table in front of the window. He could see the moon. It was three days new. How many days until it would be full again? He tried to think.
Godric released his arm. Eric rubbed his shoulder absently, willing away the pain. Willing himself mentally out the window of this forsaken room. Willing the present away.
“Take off your jacket.” Eric did, dropping it carelessly to the floor.
“And your shirt. Now undo your pants.” Eric complied, slowly. He would not make it any easier.
“Just slide them down. To your knees, please.” He could hear the amusement in Godric’s voice. Was Godric going to beat him? He had beaten him before, sometimes for punishment and sometimes for fun -- sometimes for both. Perhaps tonight he'd use Eric’s belt again.
“Lean forward. Hold onto the far edge of the table.” Eric reached for the other side. The wood felt cool and smooth in his hands, worn at the edge and dusty underneath, where his fingertips touched. He tightened his grip. Anything was possible, with Godric. Suddenly he felt very much alone.
Godric stood behind him, hands stroking his cheeks gently, one finger running down the middle, touching the soft hairs there, teasing him. Eric's heart sank. He could see where this was going. He'd rather have the belt -- bad enough in the moment, but once it was over, he'd heal and forget it. It was much harder to remove this ... other thing from his thoughts afterward. Godric's cool hands spread him open slightly.
The pain, when it came, was so sudden and unexpected it made him gasp out loud. What had he done to deserve this? Godric hadn't prepared him at all -- hadn't opened him with his fingers, hadn't used the oil. Godric had taken him many times before, but not like this. Never like this.
Godric’s hands braced Eric's hips while he slowly pushed using nothing but brute force. Eric fought the urge to pull away - it was no use, Godric would only think of some new way to hurt him - and closing his eyes, tried to relax. The edge of the table dug into his hands and across his hips. Inch by agonizing inch, Godric forced his way in. Eric opened his eyes and blinked. The view out the window swam in front of him. He tried to keep still. He tried to think of something -- anything -- else.
As a living man he had only wanted women, and Godric’s gentle talk and obvious desire for him in those early days had only partly eased his disgust. It had been difficult then, Godric overcoming his reluctance, sometimes with patience and sweet words, sometimes with anger and force. Eric was used to it now, of course. He loved his maker, and Godric could be a delightful and considerate lover, and Eric wanted to please...
He felt Godric’s thighs touching him; Godric pulled out sharply, and then drove back in again, hard. The pain tore at him and he cried out, unable to stay quiet.
“Beg.” Godric’s voice was calm, detached. Godric slammed into him again; again he cried out.
“Beg.”
“Godric….”
And again. And again.
“Please…” And again.
“Godric, please …. Please don’t. Please. Stop. Please-“ his voice broke. He could feel a tear of blood as it began to trickle from his eye. Please I don’t want this please oh stop it hurts please-
Godric was moving faster now, rhythmically. Eric felt his own cock rising unexpectedly, crushed against the edge of the table. He clung to the far edge of the table as if his life depended on it.
“Beg.” Godric’s single, soft command. Implacable. Unbearable.
“Please… please … ” He could not comprehend it. Why? Small soft sounds escaped from between his clenched teeth with each painful thrust. And then Godric made it worse in the only way he could: he leaned down to the sensitive skin below Eric's shoulder and sank his fangs into him.
"No! -- no ...please ... no..." Eric repeated mindlessly, over and over, as Godric carefully and deliberately stole from him the last bit of control he had over his own body. With each pull of Godric's mouth against the wound, Eric's desire increased; with each mouthful of blood Godric swallowed, Eric found himself helpless and unable to resist the intense feelings of pleasure welling up through the terrible pain. It was bad enough to be abused like this; for Godric to then force him to become aroused by the abuse so that Godric could taste his feelings of shame and pain and intense desire --
Godric began to move faster behind him, making his own sounds. Eric tried to give himself over to nothingness. He felt like maybe he would vomit, or even faint. But what would Godric do to him then?
And then Godric lifted his mouth from where he was feeding and grabbed Eric by the hair and snapped his head backward.
"Now, Eric. Come now." And Eric did so as his maker plunged into him again even more violently, sinking his fangs back into Eric's shoulder. Then Godric let out a loud groan; he thrust once more, and then stopped.
Eric was trembling. He realized his eyes had shut; he forced them open. The moon had shifted slightly in his view. He could see the headlights of a car on the distant road. His hands ached. His face was wet with tears.
Godric was resting against Eric's back. He gave the wound he'd been drinking from a few lazy licks until it had healed. Then he sighed and withdrew slowly. Eric waited for permission to stand.
“There is blood.” Godric said it with a faint note of surprise. Eric felt Godric’s fingers touching him, feeling the slickness there, then one finger sliding in experimentally. Fresh pain. He choked back a sob. He must not react. It would only make things worse. A second finger joined the first. They wriggled a bit.
“Hm.” Godric pushed his fingers in further, exploring, probing deeper, then slowly withdrew them. “Don’t move,” he said. Eric heard small indistinct sounds. Was there to be something else? He couldn't bear anything else.
And then a soft cloth pressed against gently against him, cleaning him.
“All right. Stand up now. I'm finished.” Godric’s voice was brisk. Eric’s knees felt weak. His shoulders were stiff. He fumbled with his trousers and his belt buckle, his hands clumsy.
Godric’s hands were on him then, turning him around. Eric leaned against the table edge for support, unwilling to look his maker in the eye, relief mingled with shame. He felt Godric’s cool hands pushing his long hair back. So gentle when he chose to be. His maker leaned in, inhaling the scent from his hair and the nape of his neck. And then his tongue was out, delicately licking the tears from Eric’s face like a cat, slow and thorough.
“I have other business to attend to for a few days. I will contact you. You'll bring the girl here.” Eric nodded, unable to speak. Godric kissed him on the mouth, running his tongue over the tips of Eric’s fangs, teasing and caressing him until Eric responded in kind, helpless to resist, hating himself for doing so.
“And Eric.” Godric’s face was partly in shadow, the low light glancing off the boyish features of his face. Eric had always thought his eyes were particularly beautiful. “You behaved yourself very well tonight.” Godric kissed him, hard, once more, and then turned and left the room.
Rating: NC17
Note: this was the original Chapter 1 of Sickle Moon before I wrote a new Chapter 1 that fit in better as the story developed. This story began as a writing exercise for me to explore my own boundaries; it attracts and repulses me. If you read my Sickle Moon series, you can see I am always interested in the idea of power. This particular story represents the outer edges of where I'm willing to go; it also doesn't fit in with the relationship between Godric and Eric as I see it.
“You summoned me?” He stood in the doorway, head slightly bowed, waiting.
“Eric. Come in.” The room was dimly lit and smelled faintly of human sex and blood. This private club in Dallas was a place Eric visited occasionally at the request (or rather, command) of his maker. Eric crossed the room and glanced at Godric’s face before kneeling in front of him. He looks like a lost little boy. Eric wondered how many men had met their deaths with that thought in their heads.
Why had he been summoned? There was no point in asking; Eric would have to be patient. He directed his gaze downward, until Godric’s hand lifted his chin.
“I am happy to see you.” Godric leaned forward and kissed him; his smile was gentle. Eric rose. They sat beside each other on the low sofa at one end of the room.
“Eric ... this human woman. I've felt your desire for her. I can feel your longing through our bond even now.” Godric paused, gazing at the floor in front of him, speaking his thoughts slowly. “This surprises me. Not that you've ever lost your odd fondness for women, of course.” He turned his head slightly and looked at Eric. As their eyes met, Eric felt the unfamiliar lurch of the complicated feelings his maker inspired in him - anger, desire, love, shame.
“So tell me, what is so special about her that you would pursue her even though she already belongs to another of our kind?” Godric watched him, eyebrows slightly raised, waiting for an answer. Eric wondered just how much his maker knew.
“Godric, she is - she's something more than human. She is a telepath.” Eric paused a moment, considering. Should he tell? He had to. “Also, I think there's a hint of ... fairy in her blood.”
Godric’s smile widened fractionally. “I thought so. Does she know this?”
“I’m not sure. She has not said so to me.”
“And where is she tonight?”
“She’s … working. She’s independent. She wants to live away from our world as much as possible.” Eric considered whether he'd said enough. With Godric, sometimes less was better.
“Independent.” Godric looked at him speculatively. Eric wondered what Godric was up to. Eric existed largely on his own terms. Godric was a reminder that those terms were not immutable… his mind had drifted. What was Godric saying? He looked over and realized Godric was watching him, his dark eyes amused. The light caught at the tattoos around his neck, just visible above the collar of his shirt. Eric swallowed.
“You will bring her to me, of course,” Godric said. “Not tonight. But soon. I'll let you know when I'm ready for her.”
“Godric…” Eric stopped, than began again. “Godric, I don’t know if-“
“You will bring her. Or I'll go looking for her myself, and you will have disobeyed me. Which would you prefer?”
“Yes, Godric.” What else could he say? He would make her understand. He would use threats or force if he had to.
“In the meantime, here we are, with the night ahead of us.” Godric was toying with him, an unvoiced expectation in the air. What would he want tonight? Eric sat very still, listening to the music playing dimly in the background, beyond the thick walls and the heavy door, and the velvet curtain across it.
And then he had his answer. Godric rested his small hand on Eric’s chest. “Eric,” he said again, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Between us, nothing has changed.”
Eric looked away, memories assailing him. Centuries of love and domination. Centuries of being forced by Godric, in ways large and small, to yield. Godric could be cruel, but he was never capricious. His very thoughtfulness, the cool assessment behind his decisions, had allowed him to survive two thousand years. It was that strength, that same firm assurance, that Eric could not defeat. He knew he'd lost before the fight had even begun.
But tonight, Eric would try. He paused, thinking about the distance to the door. It was less than ten feet. He was very fast - faster than almost any vampire he knew. The sound of laughter came in through the window; he could hear voices approach and fade. Godric looked away, distracted. In the end, the compulsion proved irresistible.
He was in front of the door almost before he realized it, his hand beyond the curtain, grasping the latch. And then Godric was behind him, slamming Eric into the door with a force Eric had almost-but not quite - forgotten. It was so infuriating. Godric came barely to his shoulder; his build was muscular, but he was slender and much smaller than Eric. Eric had taken many women larger than Godric, but age made these things irrelevant. Compared to Godric, his strength was that of a child.
Godric slammed him against the door again, levitating slightly off the floor, his mouth at Eric’s ear.
“Would you like to make a game of this?” Godric said softly. “I don’t mind at all. You can run. If it would make you feel better. If you would like to try and stop me. I'd enjoy that. But the end, however we get there, will still be the same.” He nipped at Eric’s ear. His fangs were down, and Eric shivered as Godric’s tongue lapped at the drop of blood.
Eric braced his hands against the doorway and pushed back with all his strength. It was futile and he knew it, but the urge to fight welled up in him and he could not stop it. He might as well be pushing against the stone wall; Godric did not budge. Instead he reached forward and in one graceful movement grabbed Eric’s right arm and bent it double behind him. Any further and the arm would break.
“Come, Eric. It’s not so difficult. It’s very simple, really.” As if Eric were a child being reprimanded by his father for some misbehavior. “It will be easier this way. Come.” Godric’s voice was low, tender, so full of patience. And Eric found himself being levitated across the room, his feet off the floor, until he came to rest in front of the ancient wooden scribe’s table in front of the window. He could see the moon. It was three days new. How many days until it would be full again? He tried to think.
Godric released his arm. Eric rubbed his shoulder absently, willing away the pain. Willing himself mentally out the window of this forsaken room. Willing the present away.
“Take off your jacket.” Eric did, dropping it carelessly to the floor.
“And your shirt. Now undo your pants.” Eric complied, slowly. He would not make it any easier.
“Just slide them down. To your knees, please.” He could hear the amusement in Godric’s voice. Was Godric going to beat him? He had beaten him before, sometimes for punishment and sometimes for fun -- sometimes for both. Perhaps tonight he'd use Eric’s belt again.
“Lean forward. Hold onto the far edge of the table.” Eric reached for the other side. The wood felt cool and smooth in his hands, worn at the edge and dusty underneath, where his fingertips touched. He tightened his grip. Anything was possible, with Godric. Suddenly he felt very much alone.
Godric stood behind him, hands stroking his cheeks gently, one finger running down the middle, touching the soft hairs there, teasing him. Eric's heart sank. He could see where this was going. He'd rather have the belt -- bad enough in the moment, but once it was over, he'd heal and forget it. It was much harder to remove this ... other thing from his thoughts afterward. Godric's cool hands spread him open slightly.
The pain, when it came, was so sudden and unexpected it made him gasp out loud. What had he done to deserve this? Godric hadn't prepared him at all -- hadn't opened him with his fingers, hadn't used the oil. Godric had taken him many times before, but not like this. Never like this.
Godric’s hands braced Eric's hips while he slowly pushed using nothing but brute force. Eric fought the urge to pull away - it was no use, Godric would only think of some new way to hurt him - and closing his eyes, tried to relax. The edge of the table dug into his hands and across his hips. Inch by agonizing inch, Godric forced his way in. Eric opened his eyes and blinked. The view out the window swam in front of him. He tried to keep still. He tried to think of something -- anything -- else.
As a living man he had only wanted women, and Godric’s gentle talk and obvious desire for him in those early days had only partly eased his disgust. It had been difficult then, Godric overcoming his reluctance, sometimes with patience and sweet words, sometimes with anger and force. Eric was used to it now, of course. He loved his maker, and Godric could be a delightful and considerate lover, and Eric wanted to please...
He felt Godric’s thighs touching him; Godric pulled out sharply, and then drove back in again, hard. The pain tore at him and he cried out, unable to stay quiet.
“Beg.” Godric’s voice was calm, detached. Godric slammed into him again; again he cried out.
“Beg.”
“Godric….”
And again. And again.
“Please…” And again.
“Godric, please …. Please don’t. Please. Stop. Please-“ his voice broke. He could feel a tear of blood as it began to trickle from his eye. Please I don’t want this please oh stop it hurts please-
Godric was moving faster now, rhythmically. Eric felt his own cock rising unexpectedly, crushed against the edge of the table. He clung to the far edge of the table as if his life depended on it.
“Beg.” Godric’s single, soft command. Implacable. Unbearable.
“Please… please … ” He could not comprehend it. Why? Small soft sounds escaped from between his clenched teeth with each painful thrust. And then Godric made it worse in the only way he could: he leaned down to the sensitive skin below Eric's shoulder and sank his fangs into him.
"No! -- no ...please ... no..." Eric repeated mindlessly, over and over, as Godric carefully and deliberately stole from him the last bit of control he had over his own body. With each pull of Godric's mouth against the wound, Eric's desire increased; with each mouthful of blood Godric swallowed, Eric found himself helpless and unable to resist the intense feelings of pleasure welling up through the terrible pain. It was bad enough to be abused like this; for Godric to then force him to become aroused by the abuse so that Godric could taste his feelings of shame and pain and intense desire --
Godric began to move faster behind him, making his own sounds. Eric tried to give himself over to nothingness. He felt like maybe he would vomit, or even faint. But what would Godric do to him then?
And then Godric lifted his mouth from where he was feeding and grabbed Eric by the hair and snapped his head backward.
"Now, Eric. Come now." And Eric did so as his maker plunged into him again even more violently, sinking his fangs back into Eric's shoulder. Then Godric let out a loud groan; he thrust once more, and then stopped.
Eric was trembling. He realized his eyes had shut; he forced them open. The moon had shifted slightly in his view. He could see the headlights of a car on the distant road. His hands ached. His face was wet with tears.
Godric was resting against Eric's back. He gave the wound he'd been drinking from a few lazy licks until it had healed. Then he sighed and withdrew slowly. Eric waited for permission to stand.
“There is blood.” Godric said it with a faint note of surprise. Eric felt Godric’s fingers touching him, feeling the slickness there, then one finger sliding in experimentally. Fresh pain. He choked back a sob. He must not react. It would only make things worse. A second finger joined the first. They wriggled a bit.
“Hm.” Godric pushed his fingers in further, exploring, probing deeper, then slowly withdrew them. “Don’t move,” he said. Eric heard small indistinct sounds. Was there to be something else? He couldn't bear anything else.
And then a soft cloth pressed against gently against him, cleaning him.
“All right. Stand up now. I'm finished.” Godric’s voice was brisk. Eric’s knees felt weak. His shoulders were stiff. He fumbled with his trousers and his belt buckle, his hands clumsy.
Godric’s hands were on him then, turning him around. Eric leaned against the table edge for support, unwilling to look his maker in the eye, relief mingled with shame. He felt Godric’s cool hands pushing his long hair back. So gentle when he chose to be. His maker leaned in, inhaling the scent from his hair and the nape of his neck. And then his tongue was out, delicately licking the tears from Eric’s face like a cat, slow and thorough.
“I have other business to attend to for a few days. I will contact you. You'll bring the girl here.” Eric nodded, unable to speak. Godric kissed him on the mouth, running his tongue over the tips of Eric’s fangs, teasing and caressing him until Eric responded in kind, helpless to resist, hating himself for doing so.
“And Eric.” Godric’s face was partly in shadow, the low light glancing off the boyish features of his face. Eric had always thought his eyes were particularly beautiful. “You behaved yourself very well tonight.” Godric kissed him, hard, once more, and then turned and left the room.