2Blonds 4get 2Blondes - Spike/Eric Northman - NC17
Title: 2Blonds 4Get 2Blondes
Fandom: AtS/True Blood crossover
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Spike/Eric Northman
Warning(s): Porn w/out much Plot
Beta(s): Unbeta'd but proofread
scot25 prompt: Rough (probably as rough as I'll ever get since I seem to be a marshmallow!) and fc_smorgasbord buffet prompt : strangers
Disclaimer: Neither of them are mine, which is a damn shame cos the things I could do with them (this being one example)...
Summary: Two blonds in the same place at the same time, both needing to forget (if only for a little while) 2 other blondes...
Inhaling deeply, Spike looked over at his sleeping companion. Not his usual type - not at all. Swedish/Norwegian maybe, very very tall (tall enough to make Peaches have to look up), broad shoulders, slim hips and very long legs. Muscular and strong - strong enough that Spike was feeling the more than pleasant ache that said he had been well ridden. He had definitely got what he needed. But now he was left wanting but not sure what and whether it was even possible....
Caritas was just what he needed. Peaches was stressed - pulled taut with tension and taking it out on Spike every fuckin' chance he got, or at least that's what it felt like. Sometimes he just wanted to physically pull Angel's head out of his ass, but on nights like tonight, when he knew why Peaches was worried he just had to get away.
Taking a deep gulp of his JD, Spike sighed, turning slightly as the stool next to him was taken.
"Bourbon, neat". Deep voice, with a slight accent had him turning fully to look at the stranger. Tall, natural dark blonde, sharp cheekbones and as he turned towards Spike curiously, piercing eyes. "Yes?"
"Maybe. Depends wot you're asking". He smiled, appreciating Spike's quick wit. His drink arrived and he saluted the bleached blond before downing it in one. "Woman?"
"Yes".
"Know wot that's like". Gesturing to the barman again, Spike ordered two more drinks - one for him, one for the blond who intrigued him. They each reached for their glasses, clinking them together. "Buffy".
"Sookie". For a moment they were both lost in their own thoughts, then Spike shook off his melancholy. No point to it - died a champion, learnt his lesson - wasn't gonna get burnt by that flame again. "Eric".
"What?"
"My name is Eric. I thought you should know who's name you'll be calling". Open-mouthed, Spike looked up into those light eyes, captivated by the twinkle.
"And wot makes ya think I'll be calling out anyone's name?"
"We are both seeking a moment of peace. Violence is not required, else why attend a bar with an anti violence spell? Perhaps we could find that moment of peace together?" One eyebrow rose, but Eric didn't seem in the slightest bit concerned that Spike might say no. For a moment, Spike wanted to walk off - repay Eric's arrogance with rejection. But then he stopped and thought about it. Couldn't get that moment of peace with Peaches - too much history. But to be held, to share, just for one night? Yeah, that was what he was looking for. Just a moment out of time.
Nodding once, he turned towards the barman once more. "Bottle of each of those to go. And key to one of Lorne's upstairs room - and oi, make sure it's a nice one, yeah?"
The room was fine, what Spike saw of it anyway. Which wasn't a lot. As soon as he stepped through the door and turned on the light, Eric swept him over to the bed, tossing him onto it and joining him before he had landed from the first bounce.
"What are ya?"
"What do you think I am?"
"Not like any I've met before". Eric smiled crookedly then let his fangs drop. It made Spike itch to feel them. It was different - no ridges - but definitely familiar.
"No family resemblance?" Spike smiled and shook his head, allowing his gameface to show. Eric gasped, fingers reaching to trace the sensitive brow ridges, sliding down his nose, caressing his cheekbones and then tracing his lips. Opening his mouth, Spike trapped the finger between his teeth, teetering on the edge of biting. "Do it". Slice of movement, rich taste of blood, like crack into his system. Rushing round his body with a fizz that arched his back.
"Fuck!" Smirking once more, Eric reached down and took his mouth, tongue delicately working through the fangs to delve into the cool, wet depths, learning Spike from the inside. Not caring, Spike allowed his tongue to thrust into Eric's mouth, the slicing of the muscle causing his hips to jerk. Eric moaned, his voice deep and husky as he savoured the taste of Master Vampire from another line. Distant cousin, young but oh so strong. One to be savoured, cherished - one to court, protect - one to desire at your back.
Four hands moving at once - leather jackets shoved onto the floor. Black tee-shirts joining them. Bare chest to bare chest, stroking, kneading, learning. What caused a sigh. What made a moan. What pulled out a deep dark groan. What jerked hips together, rubbing, teasing. All the while kissing - deep, searching, cool, wet, mouths together. No need to breathe so no need to part. Jeans an unwanted obstruction they laughingly removed and that was new - being able to laugh during this passion.
Sighs as hardness released and pushed together - steel covered in moist velvet.
"Please - " a sigh, a plea as large hands pushed two lengths together, then stroked them gently, slowly. Gathering momentum, harder, firmer, faster. Gasps for unneeded air, jerking hips. A face pushed into the curve of his neck, the feel of fangs sliding into his skin causing a deeper moan, almost a purr as the lips moved downwards - past his collarbone, the sensitivity of a pectoral muscle, the hardness of a nipple. Another slice, more suction and feeling like he would die a true death if Eric didn't hurry up, didn't move down and take him in his mouth, suck him in and down and "AH" at last! Hands sliding through blond strands unable to grip, caressing the shapely head and guiding it, hips moving in counterpoint. So close, but not yet not yet until another slice, the feel of fangs digging in enough to make him scream as he came - gushing as hands gripped and pressed to hold that head in place, to make that feeling last forever.
Panting, needing the air as he was moved onto his front, a pillow wedged beneath his hips, firm, strong hands pulling and moving him where he was wanted. Oh yes, to be wanted - as himself, for himself. Rare as to be almost never - rare as to be precious.
A feathery touch at the base of his spine, stroking downwards to the top of his cleft, a delicate scratching before sliding between his cheeks and moving down, ever down. A shifting on the bed, reaching, and back. The click loud in the room as finally able to stop panting and just feel as Eric parted his cheeks and pressed in with a slick finger. "Oh God" pulled from him as the finger slid deep, was joined by another, twisting, turning, pressing until they found the sweet spot, rubbed it, caressed it until he was writhing, once more hard and thrusting into the pillow.
And then the feel of strong legs pushing his apart, lithe hips moving into him, the press of a heavy body reassuringly cool. And all the while murmuring in an unknown language, the words unimportant as the meaning drifted over him - want, need, strong, soft, tight. Larger, harder pressure squeezing, forcing itself in in the most delicious way until "älskling" moaned in his ear as Eric covered his body with his own, pressing deep and holding firm.
"Wot the fuck are ya waiting for?" he moaned, desperate for Eric to move, to fuck him properly.
"For that" he replied, voice husky, deep as he began to work his hips. Long, leisurely strokes, all the time in the world to draw this out, make the moment last. And he did - make it last. Drew it out until Spike was almost sweating, mewling, whining as he humped against the pillow, reaching between his legs to stroke/grab Eric's balls, anything to make him move faster, take him harder. Until finally Eric could hold back no more, a cry of "Oh knull" dragged from him as he finally let himself go, his hips a blur of movement as he threw his body into Spike's pushing deeper, harder, faster.
Caged by the bigger body, Spike could only brace himself, shifting his legs apart and accepting Eric's almost desperate thrusts. Reaching back with one hand, he grabbed a handful of Eric's hair, pulling him closer so that he could turn his head and kiss him. Awkward, but so hot - lips and teeth clashing, as Eric fucked harder and harder. Humping the pillow below him, unable not to with Eric pumping deep within him, gritting his teeth as he tried so hard not to come. Eric's angle changed so that each entry was gliding/stroking/brushing past his sweet spot and he was unable to hold back any more. Jerking hips, muscles squeezed tight as he shot off against the pillow, head dropping forward in exhaustion.
The tightness of Spike's grip pushing him over the edge, Eric dived forward and sank his fangs into the back of Spike's neck, caging the smaller man with his arms, legs, body, fangs as he let out all of his anger, fear, hate - and the emotions he didn't know what to do with, the emotions Sookie evoked that he didn't want to face.
Gently pulling out of Spike, he slumped over to one side, reaching out to turn the other's face towards him. Drowsy blue eyes, pouting, swollen lips, the look of a man well-fucked, sated. Slicing a finger, he painted Spike's mouth with the blood, watching intently as the pink tongue darted out and lapped it all up, the flush under the skin as 1,000 year old blood shot through his system.
"Told ya I wouldn't be calling your name". Drowsy smirk, no longer cocky but almost soft.
"The moment is not over". Tugging close and surrounding each other as they sank into sleep, resting for now. Until their next moment.
Crushing his cigarette in the ashtray, Spike climbed carefully off the bed. Shrugging into clothes, glance drawn often to the slumbering figure. Poised to leave, one last look straight into those curious eyes.
"Fangtasia. Shreveport". Spike nodded, blew a kiss and left.
älskling = Swedish for darling
knull = Swedish for fuck (according to free translation)
Fandom: AtS/True Blood crossover
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Spike/Eric Northman
Warning(s): Porn w/out much Plot
Beta(s): Unbeta'd but proofread
scot25 prompt: Rough (probably as rough as I'll ever get since I seem to be a marshmallow!) and fc_smorgasbord buffet prompt : strangers
Disclaimer: Neither of them are mine, which is a damn shame cos the things I could do with them (this being one example)...
Summary: Two blonds in the same place at the same time, both needing to forget (if only for a little while) 2 other blondes...
Inhaling deeply, Spike looked over at his sleeping companion. Not his usual type - not at all. Swedish/Norwegian maybe, very very tall (tall enough to make Peaches have to look up), broad shoulders, slim hips and very long legs. Muscular and strong - strong enough that Spike was feeling the more than pleasant ache that said he had been well ridden. He had definitely got what he needed. But now he was left wanting but not sure what and whether it was even possible....
Caritas was just what he needed. Peaches was stressed - pulled taut with tension and taking it out on Spike every fuckin' chance he got, or at least that's what it felt like. Sometimes he just wanted to physically pull Angel's head out of his ass, but on nights like tonight, when he knew why Peaches was worried he just had to get away.
Taking a deep gulp of his JD, Spike sighed, turning slightly as the stool next to him was taken.
"Bourbon, neat". Deep voice, with a slight accent had him turning fully to look at the stranger. Tall, natural dark blonde, sharp cheekbones and as he turned towards Spike curiously, piercing eyes. "Yes?"
"Maybe. Depends wot you're asking". He smiled, appreciating Spike's quick wit. His drink arrived and he saluted the bleached blond before downing it in one. "Woman?"
"Yes".
"Know wot that's like". Gesturing to the barman again, Spike ordered two more drinks - one for him, one for the blond who intrigued him. They each reached for their glasses, clinking them together. "Buffy".
"Sookie". For a moment they were both lost in their own thoughts, then Spike shook off his melancholy. No point to it - died a champion, learnt his lesson - wasn't gonna get burnt by that flame again. "Eric".
"What?"
"My name is Eric. I thought you should know who's name you'll be calling". Open-mouthed, Spike looked up into those light eyes, captivated by the twinkle.
"And wot makes ya think I'll be calling out anyone's name?"
"We are both seeking a moment of peace. Violence is not required, else why attend a bar with an anti violence spell? Perhaps we could find that moment of peace together?" One eyebrow rose, but Eric didn't seem in the slightest bit concerned that Spike might say no. For a moment, Spike wanted to walk off - repay Eric's arrogance with rejection. But then he stopped and thought about it. Couldn't get that moment of peace with Peaches - too much history. But to be held, to share, just for one night? Yeah, that was what he was looking for. Just a moment out of time.
Nodding once, he turned towards the barman once more. "Bottle of each of those to go. And key to one of Lorne's upstairs room - and oi, make sure it's a nice one, yeah?"
The room was fine, what Spike saw of it anyway. Which wasn't a lot. As soon as he stepped through the door and turned on the light, Eric swept him over to the bed, tossing him onto it and joining him before he had landed from the first bounce.
"What are ya?"
"What do you think I am?"
"Not like any I've met before". Eric smiled crookedly then let his fangs drop. It made Spike itch to feel them. It was different - no ridges - but definitely familiar.
"No family resemblance?" Spike smiled and shook his head, allowing his gameface to show. Eric gasped, fingers reaching to trace the sensitive brow ridges, sliding down his nose, caressing his cheekbones and then tracing his lips. Opening his mouth, Spike trapped the finger between his teeth, teetering on the edge of biting. "Do it". Slice of movement, rich taste of blood, like crack into his system. Rushing round his body with a fizz that arched his back.
"Fuck!" Smirking once more, Eric reached down and took his mouth, tongue delicately working through the fangs to delve into the cool, wet depths, learning Spike from the inside. Not caring, Spike allowed his tongue to thrust into Eric's mouth, the slicing of the muscle causing his hips to jerk. Eric moaned, his voice deep and husky as he savoured the taste of Master Vampire from another line. Distant cousin, young but oh so strong. One to be savoured, cherished - one to court, protect - one to desire at your back.
Four hands moving at once - leather jackets shoved onto the floor. Black tee-shirts joining them. Bare chest to bare chest, stroking, kneading, learning. What caused a sigh. What made a moan. What pulled out a deep dark groan. What jerked hips together, rubbing, teasing. All the while kissing - deep, searching, cool, wet, mouths together. No need to breathe so no need to part. Jeans an unwanted obstruction they laughingly removed and that was new - being able to laugh during this passion.
Sighs as hardness released and pushed together - steel covered in moist velvet.
"Please - " a sigh, a plea as large hands pushed two lengths together, then stroked them gently, slowly. Gathering momentum, harder, firmer, faster. Gasps for unneeded air, jerking hips. A face pushed into the curve of his neck, the feel of fangs sliding into his skin causing a deeper moan, almost a purr as the lips moved downwards - past his collarbone, the sensitivity of a pectoral muscle, the hardness of a nipple. Another slice, more suction and feeling like he would die a true death if Eric didn't hurry up, didn't move down and take him in his mouth, suck him in and down and "AH" at last! Hands sliding through blond strands unable to grip, caressing the shapely head and guiding it, hips moving in counterpoint. So close, but not yet not yet until another slice, the feel of fangs digging in enough to make him scream as he came - gushing as hands gripped and pressed to hold that head in place, to make that feeling last forever.
Panting, needing the air as he was moved onto his front, a pillow wedged beneath his hips, firm, strong hands pulling and moving him where he was wanted. Oh yes, to be wanted - as himself, for himself. Rare as to be almost never - rare as to be precious.
A feathery touch at the base of his spine, stroking downwards to the top of his cleft, a delicate scratching before sliding between his cheeks and moving down, ever down. A shifting on the bed, reaching, and back. The click loud in the room as finally able to stop panting and just feel as Eric parted his cheeks and pressed in with a slick finger. "Oh God" pulled from him as the finger slid deep, was joined by another, twisting, turning, pressing until they found the sweet spot, rubbed it, caressed it until he was writhing, once more hard and thrusting into the pillow.
And then the feel of strong legs pushing his apart, lithe hips moving into him, the press of a heavy body reassuringly cool. And all the while murmuring in an unknown language, the words unimportant as the meaning drifted over him - want, need, strong, soft, tight. Larger, harder pressure squeezing, forcing itself in in the most delicious way until "älskling" moaned in his ear as Eric covered his body with his own, pressing deep and holding firm.
"Wot the fuck are ya waiting for?" he moaned, desperate for Eric to move, to fuck him properly.
"For that" he replied, voice husky, deep as he began to work his hips. Long, leisurely strokes, all the time in the world to draw this out, make the moment last. And he did - make it last. Drew it out until Spike was almost sweating, mewling, whining as he humped against the pillow, reaching between his legs to stroke/grab Eric's balls, anything to make him move faster, take him harder. Until finally Eric could hold back no more, a cry of "Oh knull" dragged from him as he finally let himself go, his hips a blur of movement as he threw his body into Spike's pushing deeper, harder, faster.
Caged by the bigger body, Spike could only brace himself, shifting his legs apart and accepting Eric's almost desperate thrusts. Reaching back with one hand, he grabbed a handful of Eric's hair, pulling him closer so that he could turn his head and kiss him. Awkward, but so hot - lips and teeth clashing, as Eric fucked harder and harder. Humping the pillow below him, unable not to with Eric pumping deep within him, gritting his teeth as he tried so hard not to come. Eric's angle changed so that each entry was gliding/stroking/brushing past his sweet spot and he was unable to hold back any more. Jerking hips, muscles squeezed tight as he shot off against the pillow, head dropping forward in exhaustion.
The tightness of Spike's grip pushing him over the edge, Eric dived forward and sank his fangs into the back of Spike's neck, caging the smaller man with his arms, legs, body, fangs as he let out all of his anger, fear, hate - and the emotions he didn't know what to do with, the emotions Sookie evoked that he didn't want to face.
Gently pulling out of Spike, he slumped over to one side, reaching out to turn the other's face towards him. Drowsy blue eyes, pouting, swollen lips, the look of a man well-fucked, sated. Slicing a finger, he painted Spike's mouth with the blood, watching intently as the pink tongue darted out and lapped it all up, the flush under the skin as 1,000 year old blood shot through his system.
"Told ya I wouldn't be calling your name". Drowsy smirk, no longer cocky but almost soft.
"The moment is not over". Tugging close and surrounding each other as they sank into sleep, resting for now. Until their next moment.
Crushing his cigarette in the ashtray, Spike climbed carefully off the bed. Shrugging into clothes, glance drawn often to the slumbering figure. Poised to leave, one last look straight into those curious eyes.
"Fangtasia. Shreveport". Spike nodded, blew a kiss and left.
älskling = Swedish for darling
knull = Swedish for fuck (according to free translation)