Author's Notes: This story picks up right where Dead in the Family left off. At the very end of the book when Dermot and Claude got in bed with Sookie I couldn't help getting considering the possibilities, especially after Claude's comments in chapter 5 about Sookie and her "beautiful points." I went searching, but apparently no one else got plot bunnies from all this.

DISCLAIMER: Charlaine Harris owns it all. It's sad, but true.

Chapter One

I've woken in some strange situations, to be sure. But right now I'm sandwiched between a gay fairy (no, that's not a pun) and one who was completely crazy until last night. Did I mention one is my cousin and the other is my uncle? I may be from the south, but damn! This situation is definitely elbowing its way to the top of the "Weird Ways to Wake Sookie" list.

Funny thing is that it doesn't bother me. I know it should, but it doesn't. In spite of the fact that Dermot has his arm wrapped lightly around my waist and Claude's hand is tucked between my thighs. Maybe it's a fae thing. They're very touchy feely, and I can't deny the warm-and-fuzzy peaceful feeling that washed over me when they climbed into bed with me, as weird as it is.

Scratch that. Now it's bothering me.

That would be because Claude is awake too, and his lips have settled on the nape of my neck. I could kill him right now. Too bad Gran's old iron trowel is in the damn garden shed. Racking my brain for the last place I had my squirt gun full of lemon juice, I whisper, "Claude."

Maybe my voice wasn't as stern as it should have been, but don't judge unless you've been at the mercy of fae touch.

"Yes, Cousin?" he whispered back. The familial title alone should have been enough to remind him that humans found this kind of thing icky. He had lived among humans long enough.

I shifted, trying to dislodge the hand between my legs. He didn't remove it, but to my relief (and some disappointment, I'm ashamed to admit- Gran would be shocked at me) I heard his head hit a pillow and after a moment his breathing changed as sleep took him again.

The next time I woke I was alone in bed, but I smelled bacon and fresh coffee.

All but forgetting our odd midnight interlude, I followed the smell of breakfast. Both fairies turned their heads to greet me, both smiling. That should have been enough to put me on my guard. Instead I poured my coffee, sank into a kitchen chair, and tucked in to the breakfast one of them had been kind enough to have waiting on the table.

Halfway through my coffee I realized Claude was still staring at me. My eyes flicked to Dermot. Nope, just Claude. Apparently my uncle found something about my kitchen fascinating, since his eyes were continually roaming. Of course, kitchens might not exist in Faery. Or maybe they were just different.

Claude was still staring. Not creepy-creature staring, or puzzled, or even boredom staring. The kind of smouldering look I associated with the cheesy romance novels that featured him on the cover.

After all my experience with vampires and weres, who aren't particularly shy, I would have said that making me blush would be pretty tough. As it turns out, I would have been wrong.

I jumped at the shock of a sudden thought, Thank God Eric is sleeping. How would he react to feeling all this through the bond?

I wasn't entirely sure, but I knew it wouldn't be by jumping for joy. Stubbornly looking my cousin- Cousin! I sternly reminded myself- in the eyes, I willed myself not to blush and steered the sparse morning chatter to the mindless but safe topic of my garden by pointing out the flowers growing around the window.

When I left the two fairies amiably debating the necessity of various local fauna, I waited until I was sure neither followed me to my room before I stepped into my bathroom. I slid the lock home. I'd had the not entirely unwelcome experience of Claude interrupting my shower while he himself was in the buff. That wasn't something I wanted to repeat, I told myself firmly.

The hot water melted away my concerns right up until I got out and realized I would have to venture into my bedroom in nothing but a towel. I'd forgotten to bring my work clothes in with me. None of my previous housemates had had quite this lack of personal boundaries. Now I really wished that Amelia was the only other person in the house.

Resigned to sneaking into my own room, I sighed and peeked out the door before throwing it open and tiptoeing in. I slipped clean panties on and was trying to find my work pants before my instincts proved correct. My bedroom door slid open and a pair of feet padded lightly across my floor. I didn't dare look up. I had seized a pair of pants, finally, and set to work trying to wriggle into them without revealing any of what Claude had recently told me were "beautiful points."

"You have less difficulty killing than you do getting into those things. Why do you insist on wearing them?" Claude mused, his voice full of mirth at the embarrassment he knew I felt. I refused to turn and see the contempt that might be marring his lovely features. Where was the warm and fuzzy feeling of last night? I was still wrestling with the pants when Claude's arms wrapped around me. His chest pressed against my back, and he leaned down to whisper in my ear, "Stop being a prude. You are fae enough; be proud of your body."

His kind words were lost on me until I re-ran them through my brain a few times. Fae touch isn't very conducive to intelligent thought.

"I have to wear pants to work, Claude, or at least shorts. Not everyone strips for a living," I shot back, obviously on auto-mouth. My brain certainly wasn't coherent enough to put a retort like that together.

Claude squeezed my waist.

Jesus! I thought, resisting the impulse to whisper Eric's name.

Eric! Shit! My vampire hubby wasn't going to be too happy about any of this. When Claude had moved in Eric had written a little love note to me saying that it was fine as long as no one was "in his lady's chambers." Last night there had been two someones, and now one of them was in again. And his touchy feely fae nature was getting way out of hand.

I could hear Dermot singing downstairs. That was definitely not the activity Claude's lips were engaged in.

"Claude!" I snapped, pulling away with more force than necessary. I stumbled a bit because of it, recovered, then looked him straight in the eye. I couldn't seem to find the words to reproach him, so I stormed out, yanking my Merlotte's shirt over my head as I went. Once I was in my car and halfway to work I considered calling Eric, but he wouldn't be awake for at least six hours. Besides, he might be only too happy to resolve the problem by eating one of my last living relatives. Instead I made a beeline for Sam.

"I'm in over my head."