Short fic: Age before beauty. (True Blood/Moonlight, Eric & Josef, PG-13.)
Age before beauty. Okay, this is new for me, so please forgive any inaccuracies. It's a True Blood/Moonlight crossover. Eric and Josef, PG-13 for language, general snark at Mick and Bill's expense (bless.) This is, obviously, for the_grynne. Darling, I'd follow you into any fandom.
"He thinks sin is catching," he says, and swigs his drink empty. It leaves a wide red streak on the glass, like a church window. He rolls the droplets back and forth.
"Your companion is nervous."
Josef glances behind him, scans the bar- sure enough, Mick is at the corner, sipping from a bottle; giving everyone around him a glare of such puritan intensity that it ought to be taking the skin off of a few backs. A female vampire leans across the bar to lick her companion's wrist, and Mick's eyes practically bulge in their sockets. So much for the jaded Los Angeles attitude. Josef shrugs, turns back to his host.
"He thinks sin is catching," he says, and swigs his drink empty. It leaves a wide red streak on the glass, like a church window. He rolls the droplets back and forth.
"He does remind me of a priest," Eric says with a thin, wry smile. "Inexperience breeds suspicion."
They watch the other patrons from their vantage point; most of them are busy with lovers or chew-toys, though a few have paused to throw territorial glances at Josef, sitting so close to Eric's right hand. He'd be amused at his own sidestep into the power structure if he wasn't about two hundred years older than everybody else in the room. Fuck the provincials, Josef thinks. He glances over at Mick, who is now staring intently at the bottle in his hands.
"Look at this." Josef shakes his head. "He's probably trying to find out how many carbs that shit has." A waitress sets another glass down at Josef's side; he picks it up, savoring the slight warmth of the liquid. Eric is still silent. "Do you remember when everything was interesting ? Every woman, every meal, every argument ?"
"No," says Eric.
"Me neither." Josef indicates Mick with a slight nod of his head. "He does. And it's different." He shrugs. "Different is something."
The door opens and there's a shift of attention pronounced as a ripple in a pond. A dark-haired guy with a sullen face and a stretch of wrinkled cotton shirt slinks in, pulling a human girl along at his side. His arms are stiff, his posture formal. He nods at Eric before going to the bar and Eric nods back. The couple passes and Josef smells something good- the clean smell of sun-dried linens and grass, girl's shampoo and sweat. She looks at Eric and Eric looks both at her and past her with practiced disinterest.
"Hi," says the yellow-haired girl, with evident good manners, as she's led off to a table in the corner. She waves to Pam, slouching in a wing-back chair. "Hiya, Pam." Pam, improbably, gives her a smile.
The bar adjusts.
"I find myself," Eric says at last, "in a similar situation."
"Your situation smells delicious," Josef observes.
"Don't think," Eric replies, calmly, "that your age would keep me from ripping your arms off and feeding them back to you."
"Not my age." Josef finishes his drink. "My beauty, maybe."
And Eric laughs.
"He thinks sin is catching," he says, and swigs his drink empty. It leaves a wide red streak on the glass, like a church window. He rolls the droplets back and forth.
"Your companion is nervous."
Josef glances behind him, scans the bar- sure enough, Mick is at the corner, sipping from a bottle; giving everyone around him a glare of such puritan intensity that it ought to be taking the skin off of a few backs. A female vampire leans across the bar to lick her companion's wrist, and Mick's eyes practically bulge in their sockets. So much for the jaded Los Angeles attitude. Josef shrugs, turns back to his host.
"He thinks sin is catching," he says, and swigs his drink empty. It leaves a wide red streak on the glass, like a church window. He rolls the droplets back and forth.
"He does remind me of a priest," Eric says with a thin, wry smile. "Inexperience breeds suspicion."
They watch the other patrons from their vantage point; most of them are busy with lovers or chew-toys, though a few have paused to throw territorial glances at Josef, sitting so close to Eric's right hand. He'd be amused at his own sidestep into the power structure if he wasn't about two hundred years older than everybody else in the room. Fuck the provincials, Josef thinks. He glances over at Mick, who is now staring intently at the bottle in his hands.
"Look at this." Josef shakes his head. "He's probably trying to find out how many carbs that shit has." A waitress sets another glass down at Josef's side; he picks it up, savoring the slight warmth of the liquid. Eric is still silent. "Do you remember when everything was interesting ? Every woman, every meal, every argument ?"
"No," says Eric.
"Me neither." Josef indicates Mick with a slight nod of his head. "He does. And it's different." He shrugs. "Different is something."
The door opens and there's a shift of attention pronounced as a ripple in a pond. A dark-haired guy with a sullen face and a stretch of wrinkled cotton shirt slinks in, pulling a human girl along at his side. His arms are stiff, his posture formal. He nods at Eric before going to the bar and Eric nods back. The couple passes and Josef smells something good- the clean smell of sun-dried linens and grass, girl's shampoo and sweat. She looks at Eric and Eric looks both at her and past her with practiced disinterest.
"Hi," says the yellow-haired girl, with evident good manners, as she's led off to a table in the corner. She waves to Pam, slouching in a wing-back chair. "Hiya, Pam." Pam, improbably, gives her a smile.
The bar adjusts.
"I find myself," Eric says at last, "in a similar situation."
"Your situation smells delicious," Josef observes.
"Don't think," Eric replies, calmly, "that your age would keep me from ripping your arms off and feeding them back to you."
"Not my age." Josef finishes his drink. "My beauty, maybe."
And Eric laughs.