Author's Note: This is in reality the first story which we co-authored. As to its being posted second to "Whiskey Remedies," we had not had the foresight to compose this tale upon a media to which the both of us would have daily access, and so it had taken us five months to complete (enough so that it might be divvied into chapters for posting). For a story possibly comprising of only a triad of parts, this has been a great, if long, maiden voyage for us, and we hope that you will enjoy devouring it as much as we did writing it.

Italicized text by Mary

Regular by Ann

Godric had never understood why so many poets considered watching a companion sleep to be so fascinating; perhaps it was because that their partners generally did not appear to have passed on during the day—these partners being their children, no less. Yes, such a course of thought was certainly probable. Chin cradled in his palm, he studied Eric's unmoving form, and his stomach twisted in feelings he knew were not entirely paternal.

Eric was having a daymare. It had been at least a hundred years since the last time he'd been graced with visions of anything outside of the usual nothingness of daylight-induced death, but he knew this could not be reality. Sookie and Bill were sitting at a table in Fangtasia, the only customers remaining in the closed bar, and in the complete silence he could hear every word of their trivial exchange. But there were only two words to hear.

"Sookehh..." Bill would say.

"Beel…" Sookie would counter.

And then it would start again, like a skipping record, and Eric could not stop it. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He was fused to his throne, stuck listening to the monotony.

"Sookehh..."

"Beel…"

"Sookehh…"

It was relentless. Godric had told him before of the repetition of time, how if you live long enough everything came back to itself. But this was ridiculous. It was torture. He would tear out his own fangs to escape it…if he could move.

"Beel…"

"Sookehh.."

"Beel..."

Finally, Eric bolted back to life with an uncharacteristic gasp.

The sudden opening of his child's eyes and his intake of breath were entirely unexpected, and the guilt which Godric felt at his own reflexive flinching was nearly as painful as the routine sight of his "dead" child. A parent was supposed not to show such a weakness… and the lack of indication of detection of this weakness upon his son's face brought only momentary relief, for what he saw instead upon Eric's visage was much, much worse. He reached out and smoothed a lock of fair hair back from his child's brow. "All is well, my son. Sleep may show us our worries and fears, but in the end it is all merely fabrication. You are safe here."

His Maker's voice had never been more welcome to Eric's ears. It broke through the twang of his daymare with a splash of steady clarity. The brush of Godric's hand wiped away the horror, and he couldn't help but lean into the touch even as he shunned the idea of needing comfort. He exhaled in relief, "I hate southern accents."

Godric blinked; to say that his Progeny's words were contrary to the dark images which his own mind had been conjuring would have been an understatement. The horrors which clouded the past—his solitary years and those he had spent with his child—in no way involved the verbal inflections of the American South. But again, as he sadly had become so adept at doing, he covered his reaction with a kind smile, sliding his fingers down to caress the side of Eric's face. "I know I may sound like a human doctor of the mind for speaking so, but you know that you may tell me anything without fear of scorn on my part. There is no shame in fear; it is natural, helping us to survive."

Eric smiled at the familiar lesson in Godric's words, and then smiled wider when he realized his Maker was smiling too. It was all so familiar: the way Godric's fingers felt against his face, the way he laid with a hand supporting his face, the way he watched him so intently. It brought back many other nights, and Eric's eyes raked over the shape of Godric's body automatically. "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself," he quoted dryly.

"Indeed." Godric felt his skin prickle at the pass of his child's eyes—but where was the wisdom of objecting at a pleasurable sensation? He traced Eric's jaw line with his thumb, back and forth, feeling both the strength in the muscle there and a semblance of pride for what his offspring had become in his otherworldly life: a greater warrior than either of them might have dreamt him to have been as a human. They were a pair of the most ultimate of predators, skillful… "Are you hungry, my child?" He heard the at-first unintended double-entendre behind his own words and decided he in no way regretted them. Why should he? The bond between them had, after all, many layers…

Eric's fangs snapped down immediately in answer. His gaze dropped, trying to follow the path of Godric's thumb. He thought about how it would feel in his mouth, "Do you mind?"

Godric's eyelids flickered, once, twice; the sensation of his own predatory implements clicking into place caused him to salivate the tiniest bit, and he swallowed. "No." He was setting such a terrible example of control of the self—he knew it to be so—but was his child's reaction not prior to his own? Did that indeed make it a more positive example? He certainly yearned so… "Not in the slightest."

Eric twisted his head sideways in one quick movement, scraping the sharp edge of his fang across the end of his Maker's thumb. He caught the gash between his lips and took a pull of blood before the wound could heal. Even the sweetest human had nothing on Godric; Godric was life. He grabbed his wrist instinctively as an unintelligible sound, almost a whimper, thrummed through his chest.

Godric inhaled sharply at the brief sting of pain, the sound shuddering into a guttural moan as he exhaled at the feel of the warm, wet tongue of his child. He dipped his head and began to kiss his way up Eric's neck; the feel of his lips against the taunt tendons caused a shudder to rack through him as he responded to both the actions of his child and of himself. To have been in each other's company as such for a thousand years, and for everything to feel as blessedly wonderful as it did the first time, an age ago… it was pleasantly maddening.

The kissing up his neck prompted Eric to fill his mouth with blood again. When he swallowed, he was very aware of the bobbing of his throat under Godric's lips. His free hand found the front of Godric's shirt, rubbing across the span of his collarbones, picturing the tattoo hidden there. The sharp spikes of ink emphasized the iron tang of the blood.

The two thousand-year-old boy was stilled by Eric's touch upon the tattoo of bondage; though the contact was regrettably yet through his shirt, it spoke of sexuality in a way that was almost perverse, and though it likewise spoke of his human life, his thoughts were more on the former… After a moment he was able to resume his course, and his lips trembled by his Progeny's ear: "You have no qualms with your own skin, child—what hesitates you to bare mine?"

There was no command in his Maker's voice as it vibrated against Eric's ear, but his hands seized the fabric of the shirt so roughly, they seemed possessed anyway. Patience was not one of his strongest virtues, and he tore the cloth carelessly. He released Godric's wrist, surrendering the thumb in favor of the recently-exposed jugular vein. He drove his nose into his shoulder, inhaling, and then paused. "You smell different," he observed, sucking in another experimental lungful.

"How so?" he gasped softly at the pressure of Eric's lips upon his skin. In truth he had never noted a change of his own scent; he had been so immersed in that of his child—forest-driven, almost bear-like… and even had Eric's scent not been imprinted upon his nasal passages, how would he have kept track of changes in his own scent over the span of two thousand years?

"More…industrial… Modern, like the city…" Godric had always had a distinctly earthy smell. Eric thought it stemmed from spending so many days buried underground. But the air in his nostrils was trampled over with the busyness of the latest era, and the whiff of the savage life they'd lived was gone. "I don't like it," Eric decided.

Godric took his child's face in his hands and gently adjusted it until they were eye-to-eye. "I am sorry." He felt the gentle smile lift the corners of his mouth again as he said, though he had no way of knowing Eric's thoughts on his scent, "Would you prefer I went to one of the local parks and rolled around in the earth, to mask the bad smells, before we continue in our intimacy, broder?"

Eric considered. The idea of seeing Godric in the dirt again appealed to him more than he ever thought it would. But he wasn't willing to stop what they were doing for a trip to the park. "You could do it afterward…" he offered. "As long as you let me roll around with you."

Godric laughed softly. "Why would I not?" They had embraced often enough beneath the earth, though such were unfortunately often more the product of necessity to escape the sun than true intimacy—though perhaps this was for the better, considering soil's tenacity in creeping into crevasses of the body where it had no business to be intruding… Godric's tongue flickered over his fangs at the thought.

Eric felt himself grin at Godric's laugh, and then leaned over to kiss him when he noticed the absurd expression trying to rip his face into halves. It had no place on his face. He pressed his blood-coated tongue against his Maker's before pulling away abruptly. He fingered the waistband of Godric's pants. "Nobody wants to do anything with their hands anymore."

Godric allowed himself to lean into his child's touch. "You contradict yourself, Eric." He nipped lightly at his Progeny's lips, Eric's blood smearing upon their mouths as they kissed. Godric tangled his fingers in Eric's hair, reveling in its softness.

A thrill shot through Eric. He'd received a lot of praise in his thousand years, and he knew he deserved all of it. But Godric's distinct pronunciation of his given title was the highest compliment he'd ever been paid. No matter how many times he heard it, it never lost its effect. The hand at Godric's waistband circled around to his back. "Life is a puzzle of contradictions, my child," he said, mimicking his Maker's accent.

The two thousand-year-old boy laughed; the imitation was nearly an exact copy. "Ought I now fear the use of my own voice against me?" He touched the tips of their noses together, caressing the back of his child's neck. The neck was such an intimate place for many creatures; for humans and vampires most of all…

"That really depends on your point of view," Eric said with a useless breath. The touch to the back of his neck unnerved him, and he twisted in supernatural speed to pin Godric beneath him. Of course he could never truly pin Godric anywhere. But that just made him enjoy it all the more.

"Do kindly enlighten me on the subject." The turn in their positions bothered him not in the slightest—these were the few occasions where he enjoyed being beneath his Progeny… His skin tingled at every place where it met Eric's, and not for the first time Godric wished he were into the habit of sleeping with nothing but the sheets to cover him. Godric yearned for a pulse then, simply so he could feel the racing of his own heart…

"For example," Eric eyed Godric intently, lifting his brow with significance, "this perspective is quite… flattering." He resumed kissing him as his palm slid down the boy's side, fingers clutching at what was left of his Maker's clothes. He used the material to pull Godric closer. "Have I told you how much I like these pants?"

"Not that I can recall, no." Having been asked such a question by his Progeny far more times than remembrance was possible, Godric found the inquiry to be almost expected—although, stunningly enough, Eric had never yet used such as a precursor to deeper intimacy… which was something Godric would certainly have remembered. But then Godric recalled the preceding statement of his child's, and could not help smiling once more. "Were I yourself, I would not have deemed your physical position to be flattering… it is merely erotic."

Eric snickered. 'Erotic' sounded almost as good as his name in Godric's voice, and he tried to think of ways he could get him to say it again in the near future.

Godric raised his eyebrows at the sound of his child's laughter, though he yet smiled. "I was unaware that I said something amusing. But different things amuse different people…" He placed his hand once more upon Eric's face, stroking his cheek with his thumb. "And sometimes the amusements between two people are in agreement."

"It was the way you said it." Eric smirked back at his Maker, staring into gray eyes so impossibly old and so impossibly young that sometimes even he found it a little unsettling. He turned his face into Godric's shoulder, and began waging war on the skin of his throat.

Godric felt a guttural moan slip past the confines of his vocal cords at the feeling of Eric's lips and teeth upon his neck. He ran his tongue over his own fangs in a failed attempt to soothe the throbbing of the gums from which they were extended. The feeling of his child's mouth upon his throat had always been so pleasantly ironic… He began to trace the muscles of Eric's neck and shoulder blades, enjoying the rippling resistance upon his fingertips. And the entirety of it was his…

Suddenly Eric was pure Viking, pillaging and conquering without mercy. His mouth jerked downward, whipping across the inky collar there like wild fire. His hands fisted around Godric's arms, groping the designs on his biceps roughly. He could feel every line of Godric beneath him, and it all felt so fucking- Eric retreated with a Swedish curse.

The feel of his child's lips upon the inked bondage marked in his skin was always so powerful, yet so full of restraint… it sometimes became nigh unbearable to receive for a period of extent. But then Eric ceased caressing him with a curse, and Godric's stomach clenched. "What is it?"

Eric forcibly slowed his movements. His hands released Godric's arms, his fingers running over them with abrupt gentleness. He reached an arm up to support himself, and widened the distance between their bodies. The headboard of the bed held his focus for a moment. "Nothing," he said finally, voice more than a little strained.

The change in Eric's strength of touch was pleasant, yes, but it was also worrisome. Godric brushed the fair locks back from Eric's brow once more, and strangely feared that the gesture which had begun their intimacy might suddenly end it. "Tell me. Please."

"There's nothing to tell." Eric shifted to grab hold of Godric's pants- with the intention of taking them off this time. He played with the drawstring until it came untied. "I really do like these. They make you look like a sexy Buddhist monk."