Show Me The Ropes
Title: Show Me the Ropes
Author: Septemberoses
Fandom: True Blood/(En Forelskelse crossover)
Characters: Eric/Carsten, then Godric/Eric
Rating: NC-17 for bondage, non-con, dub-con, games, plotless porn, angst, toys, abuse
Summary: Some desires are easier to satisfy than others. And there are consequences, anticipated and otherwise.
Word Count: 6,000.
Disclaimer: None of these characters is mine.
Part I
"Tell me again why you want to do this?"
"I don't know. I just do. I want to try it." Carsten met Eric's steady gaze, refusing to look ashamed.
"So, you're just … curious."
Carsten shrugged.
"Why, do you think it's disgusting?" He'd thought Eric would be all over the idea, he wasn't expecting to have to explain himself. It irritated him. "Forget about it if you don't want to do it. It's fine."
Eric laughed.
"Oh, don't sulk like that. I want to do it," Eric said. His face was so close that Carsten could have counted his eyelashes. He leaned in even closer and licked Carsten across the mouth. "I'm more than happy to do it."
"You probably don't even know how to tie a proper knot," Carsten grumbled.
The room was stifling. They had the thermostat pushed up as far as it would go, the way Carsten liked it. It was steamy from their bath earlier. They were both still damp, Carsten could already feel the sweat beading on his forehead. The trolley with the remainder of his meal was pushed over in the corner. Eric had been jerking him off slowly, Carsten going red in the face while answering Eric's embarrassingly detailed questions about every guy Carsten had hooked up with since Eric's last visit to Copenhagen.
Carsten knew Eric had some of that information already from the vampires shadowing Carsten every night when he went out. Some of them acted like Carsten shouldn't be out there screwing around, even though he had Eric's express permission, and if they carried tales back to Eric, fine. He'd taken the advice of one of Eric's vampire friends, one of the few who'd actually been friendly, and was trying not to push things quite so far, maybe lubricated with a little less alcohol. But he hadn't cut back on the actual sex, including with men who were older and more experienced. Eric wanted to hear it all, especially the bits that were squirm-inducing.
"How does that feel?"
Eric had produced thick canvas cuffs, padded with terrycloth, which he'd wrapped carefully around Carsten's wrists and ankles; now he was tugging on them. Carsten didn't understand how that was going to work, and he was a little disappointed. This looked like one of those easy-to-use Velcro-strap sex-shop sets bought by boring people like his parents … which, wow, totally unerotic idea. He pushed it firmly from his mind. His parents having sex was not something he ever wanted to contemplate.
"I thought you were going to tie me up?"
"And I thought it might be good if you didn't have to go home and explain rope burns to your mother. You still might bruise a little."
"Oh." Carsten had spotted the large metal D-ring on each cuff. Well, this would have to do. It was their first time, after all, and Eric probably had some experience in this department.
They'd had a funny sort of an argument the last time Eric visited. Carsten had been playing a game he liked, where he suddenly tried to struggle away while they were fooling around. Only at some point Eric had flipped him face-up on the bed and held him down using just his fingertips, so that Carsten couldn't move at all.
"No," Eric had said, looking Carsten in the eye. Eric looked very serious, almost angry. "Don’t do that. I don't like it."
"But why?" He liked to fight like that. He liked to feel how strong Eric was.
"Because I could hurt you. Accidentally, while you're playing about like that. I could push too hard, or grab you the wrong way. And I'm not going to hurt you. I don't want to hurt you. Do you understand?" And Carsten had nodded, chastised. He understood by then how strong Eric actually was, how careful he was while they played. Eric could dangle Carsten upside down by one foot as if he weighed nothing, while he laughed and all the blood went to his head. If Eric grabbed Carsten too hard he'd break something. Like Carsten's leg, maybe.
But then, this time, before Eric's visit, Carsten had brought up the business of the ropes. He really was curious. Being tied up sounded like fun, plus then he could struggle and yell all he wanted, and Eric wouldn't mind. He'd spent a lot of time with fantasies like that - being tied up, being fucked, being dominated, or even punished - but he couldn't bring himself to ask any of the boys his age, the ones he knew, to do this, it was too weird and embarrassing. Plus, what if one of their moms came home and caught them at it? God, he'd die. But he also knew, after finding himself handcuffed in a bar for a few anxious minutes recently, that he couldn't trust strangers with that sort of thing. The obvious solution was Eric.
"What do we do now?" Carsten looked at the fabric around his wrists.
"Now, my little deviant, we talk." Eric took Carsten's face into his hands and shifted his head until they were eye to eye. "Are you hearing me? This is important. Lesson one. What's your favorite color?"
"Red."
"Yes. It's red. Like those wonderful little red underpants you wear for me because you know how much I like them. Red, which also happens to be the color of a stop sign. Red's your safe word. Say it. Say 'red.'"
Carsten did, feeling foolish.
"While we're playing, if something hurts, or you get scared, or you want me to stop, for any reason at all - do you understand? -- for any reason at all - you say 'red,' and I'll stop what I'm doing immediately and find out what's wrong. Red's an easy safe word. In your case, tonight, if you say or do anything that worries me, I'll stop right away. But you can't rely on that, that's the whole point of a safe word - this way you can yell 'no' or 'stop' all you want, nobody stops, it's part of the game. Do you understand?"
Carsten nodded.
"Don't play games like this unless you've got a safe word, and don't ever let anyone tie you up unless you trust them completely. All right? Good."
Eric turned him face down and slid a single length of white rope through the rings on the cuffs, threading it so that it fed across Carsten's back from side to side and from wrist to ankle. The rope was thick and smooth. There was a long, extra length of it hanging down in the middle where it crossed. It felt strange. Carsten could still move, though. The rope was slack and it didn't hurt.
"Aren't you going to tie me to the bed?"
"Well, that wouldn't show much imagination on my part, would it? And this way I can move you around any way I like."
"But it's too loose."
"Oh?" Eric grinned at him and tugged the end of the rope and just like that Carsten's wrists and ankles were pulled up behind him. They were all connected, the rope slipknotted in a way Carsten didn't understand.
Carsten wiggled on his stomach, testing the ropes. He thought … if he just bent his knees … he could-
"Ow."
Eric slapped him on his ass, which he realized was pretty exposed.
"Stop that," Eric said, his voice calm. He pulled again on the extra rope, and Carsten felt the whole thing tighten. He definitely couldn't pull his knees forward now.
"That's a pretty picture," Eric said. And then he smacked Carsten again, so hard that he flinched.
"You didn't say anything about spanking."
"Well, you're all tied up, aren't you?" Eric leaned in close to his ear. "I can do anything I like to you now. Which brings us to lesson two. Always discuss with your bondage partner ahead of time what your hopes and dreams are for the evening. Remind me to explain hard limits and soft limits to you later on, after I've fucked you good and proper."
Carsten thought for a moment. He still couldn't quite believe this was finally happening.
"I could yell for help."
"Yell away, then. The room's soundproofed, you know that. You'll tire yourself out, that's all. If you're a good little boy I'll give you a sip of ale. You'll be wanting that when I'm finished, trust me."
The ropes slipped loose, tightened, and Carsten found himself in more or less the same position he'd just been in, only face-up, his arms and legs bent underneath. It was a good thing he was strong and flexible.
"Comfortable?"
"No, not really."
And then Eric was pulling something across his eyes. A blindfold. The room went black. Carsten turned his head to one side and then the other, but it did no good.
"Eric …"
"Yes?" He could hear Eric fiddling with something.
"I didn't ask to be blindfolded."
"No, you didn't, did you?" Eric sounded thoughtful. Carsten felt his hips being lifted, and then something soft like a towel slid underneath.
"Now. Keep your knees apart, just like that." Well, that would be easy enough; it would have hurt to try to bring them together.
Carsten felt Eric's hand between his legs then, but it wasn't doing what he'd expected. It was really strange, not being able to see. Eric was putting some sort of cream on him; it smelled vaguely familiar.
"Don't move. I mean it." Eric said it softly. Carsten held still. As soon as he felt the scrape against his skin he understood.
"Eric - fuck, Eric, you can't shave me. Eric, I have to take gym-"
"Don't swear, that's not nice … do you boys get sweaty and then undress in the locker room together? Take a hot shower, soap each other's backs? Lucky lads. I know I'd have loved gym." The razor was still scraping, in very small, precise movements.
"Eric." Carsten couldn't help laughing. Eric stroked his cock a few times, his hand full of shaving cream, until Carsten shivered.
"Be good now and don't move, I'd hate to nick you."
"Eric … what am I supposed to say if someone sees?"
"Well, how about telling them you asked your kinky old vampire boyfriend to tie you up, and then he shaved all your nether bits … mmmm, that's lovely."
When he was through Carsten felt a warm, wet cloth press against his skin. He felt especially naked down there.
"What's it look like?"
"Outstanding. I should have done this months ago." Eric's cool lips brushed the damp, clean skin. "All right. Over now … I'm not quite finished." And then Carsten was turned, the ropes adjusted again and his knees bent toward his chest, and he felt the delicate touch of the razor in a place that made him gasp.
"Now, then." Eric removed the blindfold and loosened the ropes a bit, although they were still snug. Carsten stared up at him. Eric's face had taken on a remote, angry appearance. "We're going to discuss your punishment for disobeying me so flagrantly."
"But … what did I do?" Carsten asked, confused. He had never disobeyed Eric that he knew of.
"You know perfectly well what you've done," Eric said, his voice cold. "We've spent quite some time already tonight discussing it. In detail. Did you really think you could go out and fuck around behind my back and I'd never hear anything about it?"
"But - but- you said-"
"Don't interrupt me while I'm speaking. You're in enough trouble already."
Carsten stared at him, shocked. And then he understood.
"Are you going to deny it?" Eric asked him, an eyebrow arched. Carsten gathered his scattered thoughts, took a deep breath and dove into unfamiliar water.
"You're never even here! I only see you every few months," Carsten shot back, his tone deliberately defiant as he warmed to his subject. "You can't seriously expect me to wait-"
Eric hoisted Carsten's feet in the air unceremoniously and then Eric's open palm connected with the bare skin at the top of his thigh. It stung enough that Carsten's eyes teared up.
"No! It's not fair, it's not fair!" Carsten kicked furiously, uselessly. He was free now, free to fight, to yell, to kick as hard as he wanted.
Eric swatted him again. And again. And again, in almost the same place, just below the curve of his ass. It hurt like hell. Carsten yelped.
"You're going to apologize to me properly for your behavior," Eric said, a new, hard edge to his voice, "and when I think you're sufficiently remorseful - which might take awhile, the way you're acting - you'll be punished."
There was no clock in the room, so as usual Carsten had no idea what time it was. Overjoyed at the situation, he'd resolved to go on for hours before they got to the remorse part, but he had the sense that it hadn't taken Eric that long to reduce him to something that actually felt like remorse, which was different and unexpected and made it even better. Objectively he knew he was fine. But being swatted over and over again like an overgrown child while Eric held his feet in the air and ignored his feeble protests was so humiliating. And it hurt - this wasn't the handful of playful spanks he'd gotten in the past. His skin throbbed from the top of his ass down to his lower thighs. He hoped he wasn't black and blue.
He looked at Eric, their eyes meeting. Eric kept watching his face as he hit him.
"I'm sorry," Carsten blurted. His eyes filled with tears as soon as he said it.
Eric paused, his hand scant inches from Carsten's tender skin.
"I'm sorry," he said again, riding a confusing wave of emotions. He'd been hard for ages and he wanted to come, but he also thought he might cry. He swallowed his sob instead. "I'll behave from now on, I promise."
He was bent low, blindfolded again, his knees tight against his chest and his feet wide apart. Eric's fingers worked at him - two, it felt like. The jelly, or whatever it was, was icy cold. It was hard to relax or even breathe properly, trussed up like that, but he tried his best. He was pretty sure what was coming next. Eric was being patient, not rushing him, waiting until he could feel that Carsten was ready. After awhile he slipped in a third finger. Carsten had already lost the sense of where he was on the bed or even which direction he was facing.
Then Eric's fingers slipped out and Carsten felt something else - not at all what he expected, something totally unfamiliar, something cold and metallic. It gave him a warm feeling low in his belly and at the same time he felt his face flush.
"No, no, Eric … please." His voice quavered.
He'd been stunned by Eric's collection of toys in Shreveport, but Eric didn't have anything like that in the hotel room when he visited, at least not that he brought out for Carsten, who found the idea nasty. He couldn't imagine buying them. Or having them around his house. Or bringing them out to use … or cleaning them after. The whole concept made him wince, even though he knew he was being ridiculous. Eric had laughed at him in Shreveport, called him squeamish, but that had been the end of it.
"Please, I don't want that." He didn't want it, didn't want one of those hard, inhuman things up in him.
He realized Eric had stopped. He was waiting for something and Carsten thought about what they were doing and what he'd asked for and been given and how things might go and he could say red and he rejected that idea instantly.
"No fucking way are you sticking that thing in me," he growled, any signs of remorse suddenly gone. He fought against it as hard as he could, knowing he couldn't win, managing to pull away, moving forward slightly on the sheets. It felt great to fight like that; he couldn't resist it. He lurched forward on the sheets a second time. It was really hard to move.
"Are you finished struggling?" Eric asked.
Carsten shook his head, clenched his teeth, and hurled himself forward again as hard as he could. He moved maybe another few centimeters. The ropes tightened as he did so; Eric must be pulling on the loose end. He wondered what he looked like.
"Are you finished?" Eric asked again, his voice low.
Carsten growled and tried again, only the ropes were so tight now he couldn't wriggle forward. He pulled and strained and realized he was done. He couldn't move at all. He lowered his head.
"How about now?" The same quiet question.
"Yes." Carsten answered, panting, and turned his forehead into the mattress, pressing it down. He felt Eric's hand on his hip, and the thing, cold and metallic and strange, begin to push into him. It was very heavy and large, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. Eric waited until he relaxed, and then began again. Eric would push it forward a bit - he seemed to know just when it became almost too much - and then he'd stop, slide it slowly almost all the way out, and then start to push it in again, each time going a little further, angled down in a way that brought forth a low, helpless moan from Carsten. This thing, whatever it was, was huge, and it didn't get any warmer as the minutes passed.
Nothing they had done before felt like this. There was nothing for him to do but submit, taking deep breaths, the way Eric told him to. He gave up trying to decide whether what he was feeling was pleasure or pain. His skin still throbbed and tingled where Eric had hit him. He wished he wasn't on his knees; he wanted so much to grind himself into the mattress. Which was probably why Eric had him trussed like this.
When it was in all the way it felt enormous and heavy and obscene, and Carsten knew it wouldn't come out until Eric removed it. Carsten tried. He pushed against it, felt pain, stopped immediately. Then Eric was lifting and angling it again, inside him, applying steady pressure.
"I've given some thought to this problem," Eric said. "Since you need to keep occupied between my visits." Carsten felt the thing inside of him shift. "And, since I own you, obviously you'll do as I say. From now on. Won't you, Carsten?"
"Yes."
"Yes, Eric." He repeated it dutifully.
"Good. So, I've been making some arrangements. Twice a week you'll visit an apartment nearby - I'll give you the key -- and I've selected some suitable men." The thing in him was stretching him impossibly as Eric continued to press on it. "You'll service them in whatever way they want, I don't care whether you find them appealing or not."
"No, no, Eric, please-"
"If you leave them unsatisfied with your efforts I'll know."
'I - I can't - please-"
"Oh, yes you can. You’d be surprised what you can do if you put your mind to it."
He began to whimper.
"Carsten. Does that hurt?"
He tried to obey, to answer, to say no, but he couldn't form the words.
"Carsten - answer me."
And then he came, shuddering, his shoulders straining against the ropes.
Eric shifted the ropes and tightened them again instantly, and Carsten was up in the air all of a sudden, tilting, and then upside down - and then over - over even more -
"-stop, Eric -" What was the word? What was it?
"Red, red -" he gasped.
He was down on the bed again before he even said it a second time, the ropes suddenly slack, and Eric slid off the blindfold immediately, his hand cupping Carsten's cheek. Carsten blinked, disoriented and slightly queasy.
"Carsten, what is it? Carsten?"
"Eric, I …" Now he felt embarrassed. "I'm sorry."
"Are you hurt?"
"No. I thought … I got scared. I guess. I thought I was going to fall. I got turned around or something. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry." Eric pulled the rope loose from one of Carsten's wrists.
"But … but I'm really sorry, Eric. Please, I don't want to stop."
"That's enough," Eric said, his voice quiet, gentle. "That's enough for tonight."
"Open your mouth. No, wider." Eric was smiling, Carsten propped against him. The cool glass touched Carsten's lips. Ale. Eric fed him a swallow, and waited, and then fed him another. It was wonderful. He couldn't believe how thirsty he was.
"Would you like another?"
"Yes."
"Say 'please.'"
Carsten did. Eric teased him with this one, not tipping the glass at first, and then tipping it too much, so that it spilled on him. His shoulders ached, and his thighs, and his ass was pretty sore, although he wasn't going to complain. He felt like it had gone on forever and that it was over so soon. He couldn't believe he'd flipped out like that.
"Eric-"
"Ssssshhhh. No talking. Just relax for a minute. Yes, that's it. Lean against me. Close your eyes. Hang your head forward."
Carsten felt the oil poured across his shoulders, and then Eric's strong fingers moving across them and down his back, along the spine, working on all the muscles, kneading all the tightness out as Carsten's back and arms were slowly bent in the opposite direction from the way he'd been tied. Eric braced him against his chest and pulled his arm forward; the tension in that shoulder magically disappeared. It felt indescribably good. After a few minutes of this, Carsten lay completely limp against Eric. He felt quietly exultant. It meant something, to be punished by Eric.
"How's that?"
Carsten turned his head slightly and kissed Eric's chest.
"Perfect."
"Nothing hurts?"
"No."
"Liar. How sore are you?"
"Really, Eric, I'm fine. I promise."
"Mm. Delicate little thing, you've bruised a bit more than I expected. You've got skin like a baby."
"I don't care."
"Well, I do. I'm not sending you home looking like you've been beaten. We'll see, if it gets any worse I'm healing you before you leave."
"All right." He kissed Eric's chest again, his eyes closed. Then he wouldn't have to worry about the fang marks, although he wasn't in any hurry to let go of the pain. It made tonight real, it bound them together. But Eric's blood did that too.
"Here. Lie down on the bed. Let me work on your legs or they'll be sore tomorrow as well."
"Eric? Eric, can we please do that again some time?"
Eric kissed him.
"I must be rubbing off on you."
Carsten was on his back, his hips bolstered on a pillow, one of his legs straight up against Eric's chest and the other hooked, weightless, over Eric's arm. He couldn't talk, there was nothing more to say.
Eric's hand was stroking him. Carsten could do this all night, for the rest of the week, for a year. He could lie here like this, in this hot room, on his back, letting Eric fuck him.
It always hurt at the beginning, and even more so tonight, he really was sore. Of course, it still didn't hurt anywhere near as much as it did that very first time, at Eric's, last summer, when Carsten wasn't sure he could go through with it if it was going to hurt like that. Eric was always careful, but he was big, and no matter how ready Carsten was, there was a moment that reminded him of that night. In this position Eric could go deep, the way Carsten especially liked. Further. And further. The first time they'd done it facing each other like this, with Carsten on his back and his legs up, he'd been astonished by the fact that he could come from that pressure inside of him, that place Eric nudged against, and nothing else. He'd actually let out a funny, surprised yell, which Eric still teased him about. He'd had no idea. When it happened that way it felt like three or four orgasms bundled into one.
He looked up at Eric. He knew Eric didn't want to hurt him when they did this. But Carsten wanted to be hurt, just a bit, it felt good to have Eric so deep inside him, and Eric knew this as well. He somehow understood. Carsten felt his blood running across his chest. Eric had bitten him just above his nipple, it was still oozing. Eric leaned down and latched onto the place again, drinking from him. It had taken awhile to get used to the heavy smell of blood when they fucked, the taste of his own blood in Eric's mouth. When Eric was getting close he'd press his fangs against Carsten's chest, or sometimes his neck, and they would come, Eric bending him almost double, deep inside him.
Part II
Godric did not come to this place very often, for a number of reasons, not least of which was the difficulty it created with Eric. But during this visit he'd been unwilling to resist its pull. Because he was there - standing above Godric right now, although Godric, his neck securely chained to the cold, uneven stone, could not turn his head far enough to see the astonishing beauty in that cruel face, the large fangs gleaming like polished bone against the lovely dark skin. That massive body, the sheen of his oiled torso and legs, lit by the candles … Godric had done the oiling himself, admiring the vampire's musculature, his huge thighs, his biceps and calves. Godric came barely to his chest.
Another blow. Godric screamed, but what came from his throat at this point was more of a hoarse croak. The smell of blood was thick in the room. Blood dripped from his neck, his arms, his legs, his back, pooled and congealed on the stone beneath him. His own blood, offered tonight, a worthy sacrifice.
Please stop oh stop stop
Another blow. He was begging in Swedish now, with no particular aim in mind. Nasir didn't speak Swedish. He spoke French, English, and the Arabic of his native Tunisia. They'd first made their acquaintance in Paris, where Nasir was a longtime resident working in microbiology at L'Institut Pasteur. Godric had approached him in a club after a few discreet inquiries.
Another blow. Had his rib cracked? Possibly. Nasir's foot came to rest firmly at the base of Godric's spine, pinning his hips to the floor, reminding him not to struggle. It would be the chains soon, Godric could not control the primal instinct to flee much longer. He allowed himself a single, heartfelt sob. He could beg in French if he wanted to, but it wouldn't do him any good at all, and Nasir would find it tedious and gag him. And Godric wasn't yet ready to be gagged.
Godric steeled himself as he opened the door to his hotel room. He was still weak and very tired, this would be difficult. He was tempted to crawl under the coverlet, but the presence of Eric on the other side of that door, in such torment, was impossible to ignore. He shuffled back to the bed and sat down on the edge again. He simply could not remain standing another moment. His eyes drifted shut. He heard the door being closed. The room was completely silent, the way the desert air is still before the first crack of thunder.
"What the fuck was that?"
He did not have the strength … he needed to sleep.
"Did you hear me? Answer me." The barely-controlled fury in that beloved voice. In the electrified room. Really, if he were anyone else he'd be cowering.
"Open your eyes and look at me." Eric's hand under his chin. He could feel Eric there, inches from his face.
"Godric." He opened his eyes. Eric's rage was magnificent. Godric knew himself to be extraordinarily lucky.
"I can feel that. No matter how hard you try to hide it from me. Especially at the end … you do understand that, don't you?" Eric's voice broke, partly from anger and partly because he was trying desperately to control his other emotions. "I can feel all that pain, your fear--" Eric would not mention the rest of it, which disgusted him. Even him. They had had this fight before. Countless times.
"It went further … I forgot -"
"-don't fucking make excuses to me! Not to me, not tonight, not about that!"
Godric resisted the entirely inappropriate urge to laugh. He had overheard two humans, a man and his long-suffering wife, having almost this exact argument several nights prior. He'd peered into their kitchen window from the darkness outside, watched the wife with fascination as she'd raged at the man, clutching the carving knife in her hand. Eric's face looked much the same.
"You may strike me if you wish. If it would make you feel better."
Eric had hit him during one of these disagreements, long ago, so hard that Godric's spine had snapped and his skull had split against the stone pillar he'd crashed into, at the far side of the capacious bedroom of their villa. When he'd regained consciousness it had taken him a few confused moments to understand Eric's anguished wails as he clutched Godric to his chest. Now it was Eric who looked as if he'd just been struck - which was not at all what Godric had intended. He had meant it sincerely, and Eric had thought otherwise.
"I'm sorry." Godric said it softly. His voice was still not quite healed. He watched the muscle in Eric's jaw twitch.
"I hate - I hate that you -" Eric choked on his words. "If you'd only let me-"
"No. You can't." Godric said it plainly. "You can't do this for me, Eric." It was the one thing Eric could not do for him. Not properly, anyway. This was impossible. They had been around and around so many times, it made Godric dizzy.
"Eric." He was bone-tired. He struggled for the words. "I … " He cleared his throat, tried again. "It's better this way. I can hardly love you less for being unable to hurt me the way I need to be hurt." He carefully avoided the word punished, in hopes of avoiding sending Eric further into orbit. Beyond certain limits, his was a compulsion which Eric would never accept. When it wasn't tiresome, it was strangely endearing.
"Eric … please … I need to rest." He wanted nothing but to crawl into bed and to sleep. He was weak, he'd lost a lot of blood. He'd fed from a human after but at his age it wasn't the same as having his own blood in him. Or Eric's. And he would not ask that of Eric, not now, it was too much for either of them. Tomorrow he would be fine.
He toppled backward onto the soft mattress, his muscles relaxing instantly. He had fallen over after all … or had Eric pushed him backward? He watched as if standing outside his own body. He heard a tearing sound and realized his pants were being tugged down, pulled off his legs. Eric hadn't bothered to undo them. This was vexing. He liked those trousers very much. Eric knew that … Eric's hands were at his own waist, unbuckling his leather belt as Godric watched. Unfastening the button on his jeans.
No, not now. Please. Godric mustered the last of his strength and began to crawl across the duvet, trying to get underneath it, desperate for the escape of sleep. Eric caught him by the ankle, pulled him back, turned him over. Godric did not want this at all. And then he felt his legs being lifted, bent apart, the searing pain as Eric pushed his way in, rough and unkind. Godric's vision swam; he could smell his own blood in the room, although he'd showered and dressed and then got rid of his ruined clothing, he knew how it upset Eric … he felt the zipper from Eric's jeans cutting uncomfortably into the back of his thigh, heard the rhythmic metallic clink of the belt buckle as Eric thrust into him, hurting him deliberately. It had started to rain, the droplets caressed his face, his parched lips, easing the worst of it. He willed his eyes to focus. Eric was crying silently.
"I can hurt you - I can hurt you-"
Godric's tongue crept from his mouth, trying to find the errant drop of blood that had splashed against his lips, so hungry Eric lowered his tear-stained face streams and rivulets no Eric no I cannot stop myself I cannot stop
Eric's body shook with his sobs. He shifted himself slightly, dug his fingers into the back of his maker's head and lifted it, forcing Godric's mouth against his neck, where the fangs, already out at the taste of blood, scraped the skin.
Creosote and saltbrush … pinon, juniper, chamisa. The desert air smelled of resin and damp earth after the rains had passed, now it was clear and cool. Each step he took was silent, following the path of the coyotes that turned occasionally and gazed at him with their yellow eyes. He could hear the low, mournful whistle of a train passing miles away in the distance, across the arroyos and beyond the mesa. There were crickets singing tonight. The legend said it was they who called the rain.
Godric opened his eyes. The ground was unusually soft … had he been dreaming? Eric was behind him, pulling him tight, the fierce possessiveness of a boy with his favorite stuffed bear. Godric blinked. It was the wood smoke that had awakened him, the smell of meat roasting on the campfires … how odd, there were no stars tonight, and the moon had not yet risen. He was suddenly hungry, it must be the smell of the meat, he'd never stopped desiring it.
He lifted his head, looked around himself in the darkness, and remembered where he was -- not outdoors, but in a hotel room, in bed. He flexed his hand, stretched a leg, testing it. He was well healed, thanks to Eric who, despite his death-grip on Godric, was deeply asleep, exhausted. Godric had not wanted to command him, although it would have been infinitely easier. It had taken quite some time to calm Eric sufficiently so that they could rest.
Godric closed his eyes, allowing himself to fall back into his reverie. Not only had he gotten his much-needed punishment, but he'd had Eric's fury, and then the beauty of the stillness in his head after. The cool, clear night after the storm, when everything had been washed clean here in the desert … his stomach rumbled, he was ravenous, he had no idea where his hunger ended and Eric's began. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. Eric was always hungry for something, and drinking that blood in quantity aroused his own hunger in unpredictable and interesting ways. He tried to sleep, but it was no use.
Eric did not stir as Godric slipped from underneath his arm. His eyes opened, unseeing, as he was turned. He let out a small, frightened grunt as Godric's slick fingers slid into him.
"Be still," Godric whispered, his voice gentle.
He pressed his lips to Eric's back, over and over. Godric did not linger there long. The mist rose before him and far away he heard Eric cry out as he drove into him, slaking his thirst.
Author: Septemberoses
Fandom: True Blood/(En Forelskelse crossover)
Characters: Eric/Carsten, then Godric/Eric
Rating: NC-17 for bondage, non-con, dub-con, games, plotless porn, angst, toys, abuse
Summary: Some desires are easier to satisfy than others. And there are consequences, anticipated and otherwise.
Word Count: 6,000.
Disclaimer: None of these characters is mine.
Part I
"Tell me again why you want to do this?"
"I don't know. I just do. I want to try it." Carsten met Eric's steady gaze, refusing to look ashamed.
"So, you're just … curious."
Carsten shrugged.
"Why, do you think it's disgusting?" He'd thought Eric would be all over the idea, he wasn't expecting to have to explain himself. It irritated him. "Forget about it if you don't want to do it. It's fine."
Eric laughed.
"Oh, don't sulk like that. I want to do it," Eric said. His face was so close that Carsten could have counted his eyelashes. He leaned in even closer and licked Carsten across the mouth. "I'm more than happy to do it."
"You probably don't even know how to tie a proper knot," Carsten grumbled.
The room was stifling. They had the thermostat pushed up as far as it would go, the way Carsten liked it. It was steamy from their bath earlier. They were both still damp, Carsten could already feel the sweat beading on his forehead. The trolley with the remainder of his meal was pushed over in the corner. Eric had been jerking him off slowly, Carsten going red in the face while answering Eric's embarrassingly detailed questions about every guy Carsten had hooked up with since Eric's last visit to Copenhagen.
Carsten knew Eric had some of that information already from the vampires shadowing Carsten every night when he went out. Some of them acted like Carsten shouldn't be out there screwing around, even though he had Eric's express permission, and if they carried tales back to Eric, fine. He'd taken the advice of one of Eric's vampire friends, one of the few who'd actually been friendly, and was trying not to push things quite so far, maybe lubricated with a little less alcohol. But he hadn't cut back on the actual sex, including with men who were older and more experienced. Eric wanted to hear it all, especially the bits that were squirm-inducing.
"How does that feel?"
Eric had produced thick canvas cuffs, padded with terrycloth, which he'd wrapped carefully around Carsten's wrists and ankles; now he was tugging on them. Carsten didn't understand how that was going to work, and he was a little disappointed. This looked like one of those easy-to-use Velcro-strap sex-shop sets bought by boring people like his parents … which, wow, totally unerotic idea. He pushed it firmly from his mind. His parents having sex was not something he ever wanted to contemplate.
"I thought you were going to tie me up?"
"And I thought it might be good if you didn't have to go home and explain rope burns to your mother. You still might bruise a little."
"Oh." Carsten had spotted the large metal D-ring on each cuff. Well, this would have to do. It was their first time, after all, and Eric probably had some experience in this department.
They'd had a funny sort of an argument the last time Eric visited. Carsten had been playing a game he liked, where he suddenly tried to struggle away while they were fooling around. Only at some point Eric had flipped him face-up on the bed and held him down using just his fingertips, so that Carsten couldn't move at all.
"No," Eric had said, looking Carsten in the eye. Eric looked very serious, almost angry. "Don’t do that. I don't like it."
"But why?" He liked to fight like that. He liked to feel how strong Eric was.
"Because I could hurt you. Accidentally, while you're playing about like that. I could push too hard, or grab you the wrong way. And I'm not going to hurt you. I don't want to hurt you. Do you understand?" And Carsten had nodded, chastised. He understood by then how strong Eric actually was, how careful he was while they played. Eric could dangle Carsten upside down by one foot as if he weighed nothing, while he laughed and all the blood went to his head. If Eric grabbed Carsten too hard he'd break something. Like Carsten's leg, maybe.
But then, this time, before Eric's visit, Carsten had brought up the business of the ropes. He really was curious. Being tied up sounded like fun, plus then he could struggle and yell all he wanted, and Eric wouldn't mind. He'd spent a lot of time with fantasies like that - being tied up, being fucked, being dominated, or even punished - but he couldn't bring himself to ask any of the boys his age, the ones he knew, to do this, it was too weird and embarrassing. Plus, what if one of their moms came home and caught them at it? God, he'd die. But he also knew, after finding himself handcuffed in a bar for a few anxious minutes recently, that he couldn't trust strangers with that sort of thing. The obvious solution was Eric.
"What do we do now?" Carsten looked at the fabric around his wrists.
"Now, my little deviant, we talk." Eric took Carsten's face into his hands and shifted his head until they were eye to eye. "Are you hearing me? This is important. Lesson one. What's your favorite color?"
"Red."
"Yes. It's red. Like those wonderful little red underpants you wear for me because you know how much I like them. Red, which also happens to be the color of a stop sign. Red's your safe word. Say it. Say 'red.'"
Carsten did, feeling foolish.
"While we're playing, if something hurts, or you get scared, or you want me to stop, for any reason at all - do you understand? -- for any reason at all - you say 'red,' and I'll stop what I'm doing immediately and find out what's wrong. Red's an easy safe word. In your case, tonight, if you say or do anything that worries me, I'll stop right away. But you can't rely on that, that's the whole point of a safe word - this way you can yell 'no' or 'stop' all you want, nobody stops, it's part of the game. Do you understand?"
Carsten nodded.
"Don't play games like this unless you've got a safe word, and don't ever let anyone tie you up unless you trust them completely. All right? Good."
Eric turned him face down and slid a single length of white rope through the rings on the cuffs, threading it so that it fed across Carsten's back from side to side and from wrist to ankle. The rope was thick and smooth. There was a long, extra length of it hanging down in the middle where it crossed. It felt strange. Carsten could still move, though. The rope was slack and it didn't hurt.
"Aren't you going to tie me to the bed?"
"Well, that wouldn't show much imagination on my part, would it? And this way I can move you around any way I like."
"But it's too loose."
"Oh?" Eric grinned at him and tugged the end of the rope and just like that Carsten's wrists and ankles were pulled up behind him. They were all connected, the rope slipknotted in a way Carsten didn't understand.
Carsten wiggled on his stomach, testing the ropes. He thought … if he just bent his knees … he could-
"Ow."
Eric slapped him on his ass, which he realized was pretty exposed.
"Stop that," Eric said, his voice calm. He pulled again on the extra rope, and Carsten felt the whole thing tighten. He definitely couldn't pull his knees forward now.
"That's a pretty picture," Eric said. And then he smacked Carsten again, so hard that he flinched.
"You didn't say anything about spanking."
"Well, you're all tied up, aren't you?" Eric leaned in close to his ear. "I can do anything I like to you now. Which brings us to lesson two. Always discuss with your bondage partner ahead of time what your hopes and dreams are for the evening. Remind me to explain hard limits and soft limits to you later on, after I've fucked you good and proper."
Carsten thought for a moment. He still couldn't quite believe this was finally happening.
"I could yell for help."
"Yell away, then. The room's soundproofed, you know that. You'll tire yourself out, that's all. If you're a good little boy I'll give you a sip of ale. You'll be wanting that when I'm finished, trust me."
The ropes slipped loose, tightened, and Carsten found himself in more or less the same position he'd just been in, only face-up, his arms and legs bent underneath. It was a good thing he was strong and flexible.
"Comfortable?"
"No, not really."
And then Eric was pulling something across his eyes. A blindfold. The room went black. Carsten turned his head to one side and then the other, but it did no good.
"Eric …"
"Yes?" He could hear Eric fiddling with something.
"I didn't ask to be blindfolded."
"No, you didn't, did you?" Eric sounded thoughtful. Carsten felt his hips being lifted, and then something soft like a towel slid underneath.
"Now. Keep your knees apart, just like that." Well, that would be easy enough; it would have hurt to try to bring them together.
Carsten felt Eric's hand between his legs then, but it wasn't doing what he'd expected. It was really strange, not being able to see. Eric was putting some sort of cream on him; it smelled vaguely familiar.
"Don't move. I mean it." Eric said it softly. Carsten held still. As soon as he felt the scrape against his skin he understood.
"Eric - fuck, Eric, you can't shave me. Eric, I have to take gym-"
"Don't swear, that's not nice … do you boys get sweaty and then undress in the locker room together? Take a hot shower, soap each other's backs? Lucky lads. I know I'd have loved gym." The razor was still scraping, in very small, precise movements.
"Eric." Carsten couldn't help laughing. Eric stroked his cock a few times, his hand full of shaving cream, until Carsten shivered.
"Be good now and don't move, I'd hate to nick you."
"Eric … what am I supposed to say if someone sees?"
"Well, how about telling them you asked your kinky old vampire boyfriend to tie you up, and then he shaved all your nether bits … mmmm, that's lovely."
When he was through Carsten felt a warm, wet cloth press against his skin. He felt especially naked down there.
"What's it look like?"
"Outstanding. I should have done this months ago." Eric's cool lips brushed the damp, clean skin. "All right. Over now … I'm not quite finished." And then Carsten was turned, the ropes adjusted again and his knees bent toward his chest, and he felt the delicate touch of the razor in a place that made him gasp.
"Now, then." Eric removed the blindfold and loosened the ropes a bit, although they were still snug. Carsten stared up at him. Eric's face had taken on a remote, angry appearance. "We're going to discuss your punishment for disobeying me so flagrantly."
"But … what did I do?" Carsten asked, confused. He had never disobeyed Eric that he knew of.
"You know perfectly well what you've done," Eric said, his voice cold. "We've spent quite some time already tonight discussing it. In detail. Did you really think you could go out and fuck around behind my back and I'd never hear anything about it?"
"But - but- you said-"
"Don't interrupt me while I'm speaking. You're in enough trouble already."
Carsten stared at him, shocked. And then he understood.
"Are you going to deny it?" Eric asked him, an eyebrow arched. Carsten gathered his scattered thoughts, took a deep breath and dove into unfamiliar water.
"You're never even here! I only see you every few months," Carsten shot back, his tone deliberately defiant as he warmed to his subject. "You can't seriously expect me to wait-"
Eric hoisted Carsten's feet in the air unceremoniously and then Eric's open palm connected with the bare skin at the top of his thigh. It stung enough that Carsten's eyes teared up.
"No! It's not fair, it's not fair!" Carsten kicked furiously, uselessly. He was free now, free to fight, to yell, to kick as hard as he wanted.
Eric swatted him again. And again. And again, in almost the same place, just below the curve of his ass. It hurt like hell. Carsten yelped.
"You're going to apologize to me properly for your behavior," Eric said, a new, hard edge to his voice, "and when I think you're sufficiently remorseful - which might take awhile, the way you're acting - you'll be punished."
There was no clock in the room, so as usual Carsten had no idea what time it was. Overjoyed at the situation, he'd resolved to go on for hours before they got to the remorse part, but he had the sense that it hadn't taken Eric that long to reduce him to something that actually felt like remorse, which was different and unexpected and made it even better. Objectively he knew he was fine. But being swatted over and over again like an overgrown child while Eric held his feet in the air and ignored his feeble protests was so humiliating. And it hurt - this wasn't the handful of playful spanks he'd gotten in the past. His skin throbbed from the top of his ass down to his lower thighs. He hoped he wasn't black and blue.
He looked at Eric, their eyes meeting. Eric kept watching his face as he hit him.
"I'm sorry," Carsten blurted. His eyes filled with tears as soon as he said it.
Eric paused, his hand scant inches from Carsten's tender skin.
"I'm sorry," he said again, riding a confusing wave of emotions. He'd been hard for ages and he wanted to come, but he also thought he might cry. He swallowed his sob instead. "I'll behave from now on, I promise."
He was bent low, blindfolded again, his knees tight against his chest and his feet wide apart. Eric's fingers worked at him - two, it felt like. The jelly, or whatever it was, was icy cold. It was hard to relax or even breathe properly, trussed up like that, but he tried his best. He was pretty sure what was coming next. Eric was being patient, not rushing him, waiting until he could feel that Carsten was ready. After awhile he slipped in a third finger. Carsten had already lost the sense of where he was on the bed or even which direction he was facing.
Then Eric's fingers slipped out and Carsten felt something else - not at all what he expected, something totally unfamiliar, something cold and metallic. It gave him a warm feeling low in his belly and at the same time he felt his face flush.
"No, no, Eric … please." His voice quavered.
He'd been stunned by Eric's collection of toys in Shreveport, but Eric didn't have anything like that in the hotel room when he visited, at least not that he brought out for Carsten, who found the idea nasty. He couldn't imagine buying them. Or having them around his house. Or bringing them out to use … or cleaning them after. The whole concept made him wince, even though he knew he was being ridiculous. Eric had laughed at him in Shreveport, called him squeamish, but that had been the end of it.
"Please, I don't want that." He didn't want it, didn't want one of those hard, inhuman things up in him.
He realized Eric had stopped. He was waiting for something and Carsten thought about what they were doing and what he'd asked for and been given and how things might go and he could say red and he rejected that idea instantly.
"No fucking way are you sticking that thing in me," he growled, any signs of remorse suddenly gone. He fought against it as hard as he could, knowing he couldn't win, managing to pull away, moving forward slightly on the sheets. It felt great to fight like that; he couldn't resist it. He lurched forward on the sheets a second time. It was really hard to move.
"Are you finished struggling?" Eric asked.
Carsten shook his head, clenched his teeth, and hurled himself forward again as hard as he could. He moved maybe another few centimeters. The ropes tightened as he did so; Eric must be pulling on the loose end. He wondered what he looked like.
"Are you finished?" Eric asked again, his voice low.
Carsten growled and tried again, only the ropes were so tight now he couldn't wriggle forward. He pulled and strained and realized he was done. He couldn't move at all. He lowered his head.
"How about now?" The same quiet question.
"Yes." Carsten answered, panting, and turned his forehead into the mattress, pressing it down. He felt Eric's hand on his hip, and the thing, cold and metallic and strange, begin to push into him. It was very heavy and large, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. Eric waited until he relaxed, and then began again. Eric would push it forward a bit - he seemed to know just when it became almost too much - and then he'd stop, slide it slowly almost all the way out, and then start to push it in again, each time going a little further, angled down in a way that brought forth a low, helpless moan from Carsten. This thing, whatever it was, was huge, and it didn't get any warmer as the minutes passed.
Nothing they had done before felt like this. There was nothing for him to do but submit, taking deep breaths, the way Eric told him to. He gave up trying to decide whether what he was feeling was pleasure or pain. His skin still throbbed and tingled where Eric had hit him. He wished he wasn't on his knees; he wanted so much to grind himself into the mattress. Which was probably why Eric had him trussed like this.
When it was in all the way it felt enormous and heavy and obscene, and Carsten knew it wouldn't come out until Eric removed it. Carsten tried. He pushed against it, felt pain, stopped immediately. Then Eric was lifting and angling it again, inside him, applying steady pressure.
"I've given some thought to this problem," Eric said. "Since you need to keep occupied between my visits." Carsten felt the thing inside of him shift. "And, since I own you, obviously you'll do as I say. From now on. Won't you, Carsten?"
"Yes."
"Yes, Eric." He repeated it dutifully.
"Good. So, I've been making some arrangements. Twice a week you'll visit an apartment nearby - I'll give you the key -- and I've selected some suitable men." The thing in him was stretching him impossibly as Eric continued to press on it. "You'll service them in whatever way they want, I don't care whether you find them appealing or not."
"No, no, Eric, please-"
"If you leave them unsatisfied with your efforts I'll know."
'I - I can't - please-"
"Oh, yes you can. You’d be surprised what you can do if you put your mind to it."
He began to whimper.
"Carsten. Does that hurt?"
He tried to obey, to answer, to say no, but he couldn't form the words.
"Carsten - answer me."
And then he came, shuddering, his shoulders straining against the ropes.
Eric shifted the ropes and tightened them again instantly, and Carsten was up in the air all of a sudden, tilting, and then upside down - and then over - over even more -
"-stop, Eric -" What was the word? What was it?
"Red, red -" he gasped.
He was down on the bed again before he even said it a second time, the ropes suddenly slack, and Eric slid off the blindfold immediately, his hand cupping Carsten's cheek. Carsten blinked, disoriented and slightly queasy.
"Carsten, what is it? Carsten?"
"Eric, I …" Now he felt embarrassed. "I'm sorry."
"Are you hurt?"
"No. I thought … I got scared. I guess. I thought I was going to fall. I got turned around or something. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry." Eric pulled the rope loose from one of Carsten's wrists.
"But … but I'm really sorry, Eric. Please, I don't want to stop."
"That's enough," Eric said, his voice quiet, gentle. "That's enough for tonight."
"Open your mouth. No, wider." Eric was smiling, Carsten propped against him. The cool glass touched Carsten's lips. Ale. Eric fed him a swallow, and waited, and then fed him another. It was wonderful. He couldn't believe how thirsty he was.
"Would you like another?"
"Yes."
"Say 'please.'"
Carsten did. Eric teased him with this one, not tipping the glass at first, and then tipping it too much, so that it spilled on him. His shoulders ached, and his thighs, and his ass was pretty sore, although he wasn't going to complain. He felt like it had gone on forever and that it was over so soon. He couldn't believe he'd flipped out like that.
"Eric-"
"Ssssshhhh. No talking. Just relax for a minute. Yes, that's it. Lean against me. Close your eyes. Hang your head forward."
Carsten felt the oil poured across his shoulders, and then Eric's strong fingers moving across them and down his back, along the spine, working on all the muscles, kneading all the tightness out as Carsten's back and arms were slowly bent in the opposite direction from the way he'd been tied. Eric braced him against his chest and pulled his arm forward; the tension in that shoulder magically disappeared. It felt indescribably good. After a few minutes of this, Carsten lay completely limp against Eric. He felt quietly exultant. It meant something, to be punished by Eric.
"How's that?"
Carsten turned his head slightly and kissed Eric's chest.
"Perfect."
"Nothing hurts?"
"No."
"Liar. How sore are you?"
"Really, Eric, I'm fine. I promise."
"Mm. Delicate little thing, you've bruised a bit more than I expected. You've got skin like a baby."
"I don't care."
"Well, I do. I'm not sending you home looking like you've been beaten. We'll see, if it gets any worse I'm healing you before you leave."
"All right." He kissed Eric's chest again, his eyes closed. Then he wouldn't have to worry about the fang marks, although he wasn't in any hurry to let go of the pain. It made tonight real, it bound them together. But Eric's blood did that too.
"Here. Lie down on the bed. Let me work on your legs or they'll be sore tomorrow as well."
"Eric? Eric, can we please do that again some time?"
Eric kissed him.
"I must be rubbing off on you."
Carsten was on his back, his hips bolstered on a pillow, one of his legs straight up against Eric's chest and the other hooked, weightless, over Eric's arm. He couldn't talk, there was nothing more to say.
Eric's hand was stroking him. Carsten could do this all night, for the rest of the week, for a year. He could lie here like this, in this hot room, on his back, letting Eric fuck him.
It always hurt at the beginning, and even more so tonight, he really was sore. Of course, it still didn't hurt anywhere near as much as it did that very first time, at Eric's, last summer, when Carsten wasn't sure he could go through with it if it was going to hurt like that. Eric was always careful, but he was big, and no matter how ready Carsten was, there was a moment that reminded him of that night. In this position Eric could go deep, the way Carsten especially liked. Further. And further. The first time they'd done it facing each other like this, with Carsten on his back and his legs up, he'd been astonished by the fact that he could come from that pressure inside of him, that place Eric nudged against, and nothing else. He'd actually let out a funny, surprised yell, which Eric still teased him about. He'd had no idea. When it happened that way it felt like three or four orgasms bundled into one.
He looked up at Eric. He knew Eric didn't want to hurt him when they did this. But Carsten wanted to be hurt, just a bit, it felt good to have Eric so deep inside him, and Eric knew this as well. He somehow understood. Carsten felt his blood running across his chest. Eric had bitten him just above his nipple, it was still oozing. Eric leaned down and latched onto the place again, drinking from him. It had taken awhile to get used to the heavy smell of blood when they fucked, the taste of his own blood in Eric's mouth. When Eric was getting close he'd press his fangs against Carsten's chest, or sometimes his neck, and they would come, Eric bending him almost double, deep inside him.
Part II
Godric did not come to this place very often, for a number of reasons, not least of which was the difficulty it created with Eric. But during this visit he'd been unwilling to resist its pull. Because he was there - standing above Godric right now, although Godric, his neck securely chained to the cold, uneven stone, could not turn his head far enough to see the astonishing beauty in that cruel face, the large fangs gleaming like polished bone against the lovely dark skin. That massive body, the sheen of his oiled torso and legs, lit by the candles … Godric had done the oiling himself, admiring the vampire's musculature, his huge thighs, his biceps and calves. Godric came barely to his chest.
Another blow. Godric screamed, but what came from his throat at this point was more of a hoarse croak. The smell of blood was thick in the room. Blood dripped from his neck, his arms, his legs, his back, pooled and congealed on the stone beneath him. His own blood, offered tonight, a worthy sacrifice.
Please stop oh stop stop
Another blow. He was begging in Swedish now, with no particular aim in mind. Nasir didn't speak Swedish. He spoke French, English, and the Arabic of his native Tunisia. They'd first made their acquaintance in Paris, where Nasir was a longtime resident working in microbiology at L'Institut Pasteur. Godric had approached him in a club after a few discreet inquiries.
Another blow. Had his rib cracked? Possibly. Nasir's foot came to rest firmly at the base of Godric's spine, pinning his hips to the floor, reminding him not to struggle. It would be the chains soon, Godric could not control the primal instinct to flee much longer. He allowed himself a single, heartfelt sob. He could beg in French if he wanted to, but it wouldn't do him any good at all, and Nasir would find it tedious and gag him. And Godric wasn't yet ready to be gagged.
Godric steeled himself as he opened the door to his hotel room. He was still weak and very tired, this would be difficult. He was tempted to crawl under the coverlet, but the presence of Eric on the other side of that door, in such torment, was impossible to ignore. He shuffled back to the bed and sat down on the edge again. He simply could not remain standing another moment. His eyes drifted shut. He heard the door being closed. The room was completely silent, the way the desert air is still before the first crack of thunder.
"What the fuck was that?"
He did not have the strength … he needed to sleep.
"Did you hear me? Answer me." The barely-controlled fury in that beloved voice. In the electrified room. Really, if he were anyone else he'd be cowering.
"Open your eyes and look at me." Eric's hand under his chin. He could feel Eric there, inches from his face.
"Godric." He opened his eyes. Eric's rage was magnificent. Godric knew himself to be extraordinarily lucky.
"I can feel that. No matter how hard you try to hide it from me. Especially at the end … you do understand that, don't you?" Eric's voice broke, partly from anger and partly because he was trying desperately to control his other emotions. "I can feel all that pain, your fear--" Eric would not mention the rest of it, which disgusted him. Even him. They had had this fight before. Countless times.
"It went further … I forgot -"
"-don't fucking make excuses to me! Not to me, not tonight, not about that!"
Godric resisted the entirely inappropriate urge to laugh. He had overheard two humans, a man and his long-suffering wife, having almost this exact argument several nights prior. He'd peered into their kitchen window from the darkness outside, watched the wife with fascination as she'd raged at the man, clutching the carving knife in her hand. Eric's face looked much the same.
"You may strike me if you wish. If it would make you feel better."
Eric had hit him during one of these disagreements, long ago, so hard that Godric's spine had snapped and his skull had split against the stone pillar he'd crashed into, at the far side of the capacious bedroom of their villa. When he'd regained consciousness it had taken him a few confused moments to understand Eric's anguished wails as he clutched Godric to his chest. Now it was Eric who looked as if he'd just been struck - which was not at all what Godric had intended. He had meant it sincerely, and Eric had thought otherwise.
"I'm sorry." Godric said it softly. His voice was still not quite healed. He watched the muscle in Eric's jaw twitch.
"I hate - I hate that you -" Eric choked on his words. "If you'd only let me-"
"No. You can't." Godric said it plainly. "You can't do this for me, Eric." It was the one thing Eric could not do for him. Not properly, anyway. This was impossible. They had been around and around so many times, it made Godric dizzy.
"Eric." He was bone-tired. He struggled for the words. "I … " He cleared his throat, tried again. "It's better this way. I can hardly love you less for being unable to hurt me the way I need to be hurt." He carefully avoided the word punished, in hopes of avoiding sending Eric further into orbit. Beyond certain limits, his was a compulsion which Eric would never accept. When it wasn't tiresome, it was strangely endearing.
"Eric … please … I need to rest." He wanted nothing but to crawl into bed and to sleep. He was weak, he'd lost a lot of blood. He'd fed from a human after but at his age it wasn't the same as having his own blood in him. Or Eric's. And he would not ask that of Eric, not now, it was too much for either of them. Tomorrow he would be fine.
He toppled backward onto the soft mattress, his muscles relaxing instantly. He had fallen over after all … or had Eric pushed him backward? He watched as if standing outside his own body. He heard a tearing sound and realized his pants were being tugged down, pulled off his legs. Eric hadn't bothered to undo them. This was vexing. He liked those trousers very much. Eric knew that … Eric's hands were at his own waist, unbuckling his leather belt as Godric watched. Unfastening the button on his jeans.
No, not now. Please. Godric mustered the last of his strength and began to crawl across the duvet, trying to get underneath it, desperate for the escape of sleep. Eric caught him by the ankle, pulled him back, turned him over. Godric did not want this at all. And then he felt his legs being lifted, bent apart, the searing pain as Eric pushed his way in, rough and unkind. Godric's vision swam; he could smell his own blood in the room, although he'd showered and dressed and then got rid of his ruined clothing, he knew how it upset Eric … he felt the zipper from Eric's jeans cutting uncomfortably into the back of his thigh, heard the rhythmic metallic clink of the belt buckle as Eric thrust into him, hurting him deliberately. It had started to rain, the droplets caressed his face, his parched lips, easing the worst of it. He willed his eyes to focus. Eric was crying silently.
"I can hurt you - I can hurt you-"
Godric's tongue crept from his mouth, trying to find the errant drop of blood that had splashed against his lips, so hungry Eric lowered his tear-stained face streams and rivulets no Eric no I cannot stop myself I cannot stop
Eric's body shook with his sobs. He shifted himself slightly, dug his fingers into the back of his maker's head and lifted it, forcing Godric's mouth against his neck, where the fangs, already out at the taste of blood, scraped the skin.
Creosote and saltbrush … pinon, juniper, chamisa. The desert air smelled of resin and damp earth after the rains had passed, now it was clear and cool. Each step he took was silent, following the path of the coyotes that turned occasionally and gazed at him with their yellow eyes. He could hear the low, mournful whistle of a train passing miles away in the distance, across the arroyos and beyond the mesa. There were crickets singing tonight. The legend said it was they who called the rain.
Godric opened his eyes. The ground was unusually soft … had he been dreaming? Eric was behind him, pulling him tight, the fierce possessiveness of a boy with his favorite stuffed bear. Godric blinked. It was the wood smoke that had awakened him, the smell of meat roasting on the campfires … how odd, there were no stars tonight, and the moon had not yet risen. He was suddenly hungry, it must be the smell of the meat, he'd never stopped desiring it.
He lifted his head, looked around himself in the darkness, and remembered where he was -- not outdoors, but in a hotel room, in bed. He flexed his hand, stretched a leg, testing it. He was well healed, thanks to Eric who, despite his death-grip on Godric, was deeply asleep, exhausted. Godric had not wanted to command him, although it would have been infinitely easier. It had taken quite some time to calm Eric sufficiently so that they could rest.
Godric closed his eyes, allowing himself to fall back into his reverie. Not only had he gotten his much-needed punishment, but he'd had Eric's fury, and then the beauty of the stillness in his head after. The cool, clear night after the storm, when everything had been washed clean here in the desert … his stomach rumbled, he was ravenous, he had no idea where his hunger ended and Eric's began. The corner of his mouth twitched upward. Eric was always hungry for something, and drinking that blood in quantity aroused his own hunger in unpredictable and interesting ways. He tried to sleep, but it was no use.
Eric did not stir as Godric slipped from underneath his arm. His eyes opened, unseeing, as he was turned. He let out a small, frightened grunt as Godric's slick fingers slid into him.
"Be still," Godric whispered, his voice gentle.
He pressed his lips to Eric's back, over and over. Godric did not linger there long. The mist rose before him and far away he heard Eric cry out as he drove into him, slaking his thirst.