Sickle Moon, Part 5
Title: Sickle Moon, Part 5
Author: septemberoses
Fandom: True Blood
Pairing: Godric/Eric
Rating: NC17
Words: 2000
Summary: As it turns out, Eric was kind of mad about being punished by Godric back in Chapter One.
Author’s Note: Jason Stackhouse is not in this chapter; he has gathered up his pants and what's left of his dignity and has done the walk of shame back to Bon Temps. He had a good time, though. He'll probably be back. Thanks to linndechir for getting dirty with me...
The light from the fire washes over them. They are in a simple hut. He holds the boy, a shepherd most likely, tanned and lean and strong, smelling of sunlight and dust, against him. The boy weeps, his back against Godric’s bare chest, trying to get away. They have torn off all his clothes. Godric has already taken him once, as has Eric, but the boy is still struggling and weeping. He is taller than Godric but it takes no effort at all to hold him; Godric has one arm draped across his chest, the other cushioning his own head as he leans against the wall. If the boy keeps on like this maybe Godric will have him again. He can feel that predatory itch somewhere deep inside him being aroused by the boy’s persistent efforts to escape.
Godric is being careful with this one. He kills often and dispassionately when it’s the most convenient thing, but he does not plan to do so tonight. Humans are so fragile, such soft creatures, with bones that break so easily and skulls that crush and veins that tear… he holds the boy as lightly as he would a dragonfly in his cupped hand. He wants this one to live. They have not taken too much blood. He is out here all alone, in this hut among the scrub and the goats. Godric makes some small soothing sounds, trying to calm him.
The boy has stopped struggling and is now watching Eric in horror. Eric kneels on the bed between the boy’s splayed legs and smiles at them both. His fangs are out. His hair shines like cornsilk in the firelight, and then he leans forward and his teeth sink into the boy’s inner thigh, where his skin is lighter, hidden from the sun. Eric’s favorite place to feed. The boy screams, then begins to writhe and moan. Godric shifts the boy’s head slightly to one side and sinks his fangs into his dirty neck again, unable to resist.
They will glamour him and leave … they could have glamoured him before they began, of course, but then the humans are like wax dolls, limp and malleable. Then Godric and Eric cannot play with them, like cats toying with a barn mouse. Having them glamoured is only one step above having a corpse.
The boy has stopped moving. He has fainted, probably from fear and loss of blood, but his heartbeat is strong and steady. They have been careful with him, not injuring him during sex. Even now Eric must be reminded to take care, or afterward the boy’s neck would be snapped, or all the blood drained from him, or he would be hopelessly torn or damaged. And then Godric would have to kill him, quickly and gently, because he will not leave them broken and waiting for death as he sometimes used to.
That boy… Godric’s mind was drifting again. Assuming he lived a full mortal life, that boy in the hut must be dead five hundred years at least.
When you are first made vampire, you are entranced with your own power. Yes, there is danger everywhere; but then again, right there in that moment, you are immortal. You are so much stronger than humans, who are (again, in that moment) something between… what? Something between insects and your next meal? So very, very fragile. So inconsequential, their lifespans like a single day.
And then perhaps, if you are lucky, if you live long enough as a vampire, everything changes. You are in a night market after gazing at the pyramids, and the moon is hanging low in the sky and it is oh so beautiful and you hear the steady drumming of human hearts in the background, again always there like crickets or a favorite song, and they - all of them, crowded around you -- they become human again in an eyeblink. You remember, just then, a little of what it means to be human. There is a very small girl in a dirty white robe eating dates, watching you with dark eyes from her father’s stall at the market. The smell of spices and dung and human sweat and smoke is everywhere. You watch that girl eating dates, and you can almost taste their sweetness yourself. She is wearing a copper bracelet. It gleams against her dark skin. You smile at her and she smiles back, tentative. Her teeth are white and straight, like blanched almonds. If she stood next to you, she would come barely to your waist, but already you see her death approaching sixty years from now, when she will be an old woman with a blind eye and five grown children...
Godric opened his eyes. It was night, he could feel it; there was light coming from somewhere he couldn't see. Focus, he told himself. He was in Eric’s nest, in a room with a stone floor on the back that would have been the dining room when the house was owned by mortals … dining. Godric tried to remember the taste of food. The room had been made lightproof. The house stood by itself on a large lot, looking a little forbidding and neglected from the outside. The inside said something different. Eric's tastes were simple but not cheap; he liked well-made things, and some of the furnishings in the house were very old.
Godric could turn his head from side to side but nothing more. His left wrist was wrapped in a silver chain which then looped around his neck - he could feel the dull pressure of the links on the floor beneath him - and then on to the other wrist. There was thin fabric between the chains and Godric’s skin so the silver only burned a little, and Eric had also gagged him; he couldn't even speak the words to command Eric to release him. Godric turned his head to the right. There in the darkness Eric slept a few feet away, curled on the floor on his side.
He had been here two days… three? His mind was slipping. Maybe the silver was poisoning him a little? It was hard to tell. Think.
Eric had clearly taken his time planning this….this… Godric failed to come up with the right word in any language he knew. Had Eric lost his mind? It was hard to believe he was still this angry. Weeks ago Godric had punished him for disobeying. The punishment was fair and quick - even Eric couldn’t deny that - if maybe a little brutal. Godric had wanted to make sure Eric remembered the lesson this time… which apparently he had, although not the way Godric had planned. Eric had even visited Dallas once since then... maybe he’d been a little distant; fine, Eric had his pride. Godric hadn’t pushed it.
What had Eric said to him before he fell asleep? I'll let you up when I'm ready. When I am ready. Eric’s expression bitter, accusing. You hurt me. You. Hurt. Me. When I am ready.... It was all a little unreal. Eric was upset and angry; this game had long since stopped being one of mutual consent. At the same time Eric was taking care not to hurt him.
He’d misjudged Eric’s tolerance, or maybe his anger. Maybe both. He smiled a little in the dark. Dangerous to underestimate Eric. These games … so many. Two days? Or three? After centuries, keeping track of a few days seemed pointless. If there was one thing he'd learned in two thousand years, it was patience. How had he let himself be put in this position? Then again, he trusted Eric with his life. He thought about that for a minute. When Eric first brought out the silver chains he’d acquiesced, thinking about Eric’s wounded pride. How could it hurt, an hour or two of Eric enjoying that kind of power? After all, they'd played this game with the chains before.
What a fool he’d been.
Ah, well. There were few surprises in his life, and Eric could still deliver them. There were not many vampires who'd lived as long as he had. Something might happen to him (probably would happen to him) to end this life eventually, but he could hardly complain at this point. The beauty of living two thousand years is that the idea of death no longer held much fear. He was death. When the end came for him, he wouldn't shrink from it. He wondered whether there was something beyond this life, even for him.
He could hear movement outside. Now that was sensible of Eric. Of course there were guards, in the house and on the grounds, making sure they were kept safe. Making sure they were not disturbed. He wondered how long Eric meant to keep him. Sooner or later one of his nest, probably Isabel, would get suspicious and come looking for him. Three days? They were probably already looking...
He shifted again slightly, making small adjustments, trying to lessen the pain and stiffness, even though he knew it was pointless. The chains held him to the cold stone floor like a fly on a glue trap. He ached from his head to his feet. He could go a long time without feeding, and anyway his current circumstances had spoiled his appetite. But if Eric gave him some of his own blood, it would take away the aches and pains in his body, which right this minute was feeling awfully ... human.
But Eric wouldn’t be giving him any blood. No, Eric had been very careful about that.
In however long he’d been here (and how long was it?) Eric had taunted and caressed and opened him, using him in every possible way before collapsing on the floor nearby in apparent exhaustion. Eric had rearranged him several times using blankets and pillows, even turning Godric over once, being careful that the silver didn't shift to bare skin and burn … and hadn't that little scene been particularly humiliating. Eric was quite the problem-solver when he focused on something. Through all that, though, the part that confused Godric was that Eric had mostly been gentle. Here Eric was, in a position to punish his maker for a change, and he hadn’t taken full advantage of it -- not really. Godric felt helplessness, anger and desire overwhelm him before he pushed it away again. Three days. I think it's been three.
He looked over to where Eric was sleeping; only now he could see that Eric’s eyes were open. They stared out blankly for a minute before shifting and meeting Godric’s in the darkness. Once again Godric felt an uneasy twinge; Eric looked unhinged, like he was no longer all there. Godric couldn't sense any real danger, but there it was - a buzzing, tangled mess of feelings - he’d never felt before coming from Eric and couldn’t comprehend. Had something else happened to him?
And then Eric was moving, slowly at first, as if he were under water. He’d made a decision, that much was clear from his face. He rolled to his side and reached out one hand and picked something up from the floor. In the dim light Godric could see it glinting: a folding knife, the blade already opened. And then Eric rose quickly to his feet and approached his maker.
Author: septemberoses
Fandom: True Blood
Pairing: Godric/Eric
Rating: NC17
Words: 2000
Summary: As it turns out, Eric was kind of mad about being punished by Godric back in Chapter One.
Author’s Note: Jason Stackhouse is not in this chapter; he has gathered up his pants and what's left of his dignity and has done the walk of shame back to Bon Temps. He had a good time, though. He'll probably be back. Thanks to linndechir for getting dirty with me...
The light from the fire washes over them. They are in a simple hut. He holds the boy, a shepherd most likely, tanned and lean and strong, smelling of sunlight and dust, against him. The boy weeps, his back against Godric’s bare chest, trying to get away. They have torn off all his clothes. Godric has already taken him once, as has Eric, but the boy is still struggling and weeping. He is taller than Godric but it takes no effort at all to hold him; Godric has one arm draped across his chest, the other cushioning his own head as he leans against the wall. If the boy keeps on like this maybe Godric will have him again. He can feel that predatory itch somewhere deep inside him being aroused by the boy’s persistent efforts to escape.
Godric is being careful with this one. He kills often and dispassionately when it’s the most convenient thing, but he does not plan to do so tonight. Humans are so fragile, such soft creatures, with bones that break so easily and skulls that crush and veins that tear… he holds the boy as lightly as he would a dragonfly in his cupped hand. He wants this one to live. They have not taken too much blood. He is out here all alone, in this hut among the scrub and the goats. Godric makes some small soothing sounds, trying to calm him.
The boy has stopped struggling and is now watching Eric in horror. Eric kneels on the bed between the boy’s splayed legs and smiles at them both. His fangs are out. His hair shines like cornsilk in the firelight, and then he leans forward and his teeth sink into the boy’s inner thigh, where his skin is lighter, hidden from the sun. Eric’s favorite place to feed. The boy screams, then begins to writhe and moan. Godric shifts the boy’s head slightly to one side and sinks his fangs into his dirty neck again, unable to resist.
They will glamour him and leave … they could have glamoured him before they began, of course, but then the humans are like wax dolls, limp and malleable. Then Godric and Eric cannot play with them, like cats toying with a barn mouse. Having them glamoured is only one step above having a corpse.
The boy has stopped moving. He has fainted, probably from fear and loss of blood, but his heartbeat is strong and steady. They have been careful with him, not injuring him during sex. Even now Eric must be reminded to take care, or afterward the boy’s neck would be snapped, or all the blood drained from him, or he would be hopelessly torn or damaged. And then Godric would have to kill him, quickly and gently, because he will not leave them broken and waiting for death as he sometimes used to.
That boy… Godric’s mind was drifting again. Assuming he lived a full mortal life, that boy in the hut must be dead five hundred years at least.
When you are first made vampire, you are entranced with your own power. Yes, there is danger everywhere; but then again, right there in that moment, you are immortal. You are so much stronger than humans, who are (again, in that moment) something between… what? Something between insects and your next meal? So very, very fragile. So inconsequential, their lifespans like a single day.
And then perhaps, if you are lucky, if you live long enough as a vampire, everything changes. You are in a night market after gazing at the pyramids, and the moon is hanging low in the sky and it is oh so beautiful and you hear the steady drumming of human hearts in the background, again always there like crickets or a favorite song, and they - all of them, crowded around you -- they become human again in an eyeblink. You remember, just then, a little of what it means to be human. There is a very small girl in a dirty white robe eating dates, watching you with dark eyes from her father’s stall at the market. The smell of spices and dung and human sweat and smoke is everywhere. You watch that girl eating dates, and you can almost taste their sweetness yourself. She is wearing a copper bracelet. It gleams against her dark skin. You smile at her and she smiles back, tentative. Her teeth are white and straight, like blanched almonds. If she stood next to you, she would come barely to your waist, but already you see her death approaching sixty years from now, when she will be an old woman with a blind eye and five grown children...
Godric opened his eyes. It was night, he could feel it; there was light coming from somewhere he couldn't see. Focus, he told himself. He was in Eric’s nest, in a room with a stone floor on the back that would have been the dining room when the house was owned by mortals … dining. Godric tried to remember the taste of food. The room had been made lightproof. The house stood by itself on a large lot, looking a little forbidding and neglected from the outside. The inside said something different. Eric's tastes were simple but not cheap; he liked well-made things, and some of the furnishings in the house were very old.
Godric could turn his head from side to side but nothing more. His left wrist was wrapped in a silver chain which then looped around his neck - he could feel the dull pressure of the links on the floor beneath him - and then on to the other wrist. There was thin fabric between the chains and Godric’s skin so the silver only burned a little, and Eric had also gagged him; he couldn't even speak the words to command Eric to release him. Godric turned his head to the right. There in the darkness Eric slept a few feet away, curled on the floor on his side.
He had been here two days… three? His mind was slipping. Maybe the silver was poisoning him a little? It was hard to tell. Think.
Eric had clearly taken his time planning this….this… Godric failed to come up with the right word in any language he knew. Had Eric lost his mind? It was hard to believe he was still this angry. Weeks ago Godric had punished him for disobeying. The punishment was fair and quick - even Eric couldn’t deny that - if maybe a little brutal. Godric had wanted to make sure Eric remembered the lesson this time… which apparently he had, although not the way Godric had planned. Eric had even visited Dallas once since then... maybe he’d been a little distant; fine, Eric had his pride. Godric hadn’t pushed it.
What had Eric said to him before he fell asleep? I'll let you up when I'm ready. When I am ready. Eric’s expression bitter, accusing. You hurt me. You. Hurt. Me. When I am ready.... It was all a little unreal. Eric was upset and angry; this game had long since stopped being one of mutual consent. At the same time Eric was taking care not to hurt him.
He’d misjudged Eric’s tolerance, or maybe his anger. Maybe both. He smiled a little in the dark. Dangerous to underestimate Eric. These games … so many. Two days? Or three? After centuries, keeping track of a few days seemed pointless. If there was one thing he'd learned in two thousand years, it was patience. How had he let himself be put in this position? Then again, he trusted Eric with his life. He thought about that for a minute. When Eric first brought out the silver chains he’d acquiesced, thinking about Eric’s wounded pride. How could it hurt, an hour or two of Eric enjoying that kind of power? After all, they'd played this game with the chains before.
What a fool he’d been.
Ah, well. There were few surprises in his life, and Eric could still deliver them. There were not many vampires who'd lived as long as he had. Something might happen to him (probably would happen to him) to end this life eventually, but he could hardly complain at this point. The beauty of living two thousand years is that the idea of death no longer held much fear. He was death. When the end came for him, he wouldn't shrink from it. He wondered whether there was something beyond this life, even for him.
He could hear movement outside. Now that was sensible of Eric. Of course there were guards, in the house and on the grounds, making sure they were kept safe. Making sure they were not disturbed. He wondered how long Eric meant to keep him. Sooner or later one of his nest, probably Isabel, would get suspicious and come looking for him. Three days? They were probably already looking...
He shifted again slightly, making small adjustments, trying to lessen the pain and stiffness, even though he knew it was pointless. The chains held him to the cold stone floor like a fly on a glue trap. He ached from his head to his feet. He could go a long time without feeding, and anyway his current circumstances had spoiled his appetite. But if Eric gave him some of his own blood, it would take away the aches and pains in his body, which right this minute was feeling awfully ... human.
But Eric wouldn’t be giving him any blood. No, Eric had been very careful about that.
In however long he’d been here (and how long was it?) Eric had taunted and caressed and opened him, using him in every possible way before collapsing on the floor nearby in apparent exhaustion. Eric had rearranged him several times using blankets and pillows, even turning Godric over once, being careful that the silver didn't shift to bare skin and burn … and hadn't that little scene been particularly humiliating. Eric was quite the problem-solver when he focused on something. Through all that, though, the part that confused Godric was that Eric had mostly been gentle. Here Eric was, in a position to punish his maker for a change, and he hadn’t taken full advantage of it -- not really. Godric felt helplessness, anger and desire overwhelm him before he pushed it away again. Three days. I think it's been three.
He looked over to where Eric was sleeping; only now he could see that Eric’s eyes were open. They stared out blankly for a minute before shifting and meeting Godric’s in the darkness. Once again Godric felt an uneasy twinge; Eric looked unhinged, like he was no longer all there. Godric couldn't sense any real danger, but there it was - a buzzing, tangled mess of feelings - he’d never felt before coming from Eric and couldn’t comprehend. Had something else happened to him?
And then Eric was moving, slowly at first, as if he were under water. He’d made a decision, that much was clear from his face. He rolled to his side and reached out one hand and picked something up from the floor. In the dim light Godric could see it glinting: a folding knife, the blade already opened. And then Eric rose quickly to his feet and approached his maker.