So when I conceived this little piece of smut I didn't really figure going past Chapter 2. But some very kind reviews suggested I continue and I am nothing if not a people-pleasing praise whore, so here we go. Maryann is very back-burnered and Eric has already been invited to Sookie's house. He just has. I tried to watch Shake and Fingerpop online and write in why he's got an invite and the internet was having none of it. So "suspension of disbelief" por favor. Got this idea from a Buffy fic called Sleeptalking by Nautibitz. If you're into Spike and you don't know Nautibitz...you're welcome.
Sookie didn't think she'd ever been more bone tired and glad to be home. Good thing she lived alone; she couldn't have held a conversation or dealt with another person if she'd wanted to.
She was physically and mentally shot. Emotionally, she was even more depleted. Shutting the front door behind her, she dropped her jacket, purse, bottle of water and keys to the floor in one shrug, and immediately dove facedown on the couch.
Ugh.
Facing Bill after what she'd done with Eric had been ugly and exhausting. She hadn't told him the whole story; he didn't want to hear it. But he knew she'd "been with" him. The whole talk had been awful and ended with her feeling sick to her stomach. She'd never felt more acutely uncomfortable for such a long stretch of time. She tried to apologize but, despite her honesty, he blamed Eric for almost everything—for tricking her, for seducing her. At the end he had said he wanted space to sort out how he was going to handle it. She didn't argue. It wasn't the time to say so but she wanted the same thing.
In fact, she wanted distance from the whole lot of them. Not just because she couldn't get Eric out of her head—though that was becoming a real problem—she needed some normalcy for a while. Well, maybe in my case normalcy is relative, but stability at the very least.
When she felt like she could move again, she hung her jacket in the closet and her purse on its little hook. She put away everything but the suitcase; that could wait until tomorrow. Thank the good Lord she didn't have to be at work until five.
After brushing her teeth and twisting her hair into a clip, she ran herself a bubble bath and lowered herself into it. The water was steaming hot and felt absolutely wonderful. Too bad it can't wash away your sins. She rested her head against the cool tile and before she knew it, she had dozed off and away from her racing thoughts.
When she woke up hours later, she had to blink a few times to figure out where she was. Her fingertips were pruny and her back was stiff. The water around her had gone tepid.
*****
The next day after work, she was determined to take the bull by the horns.
"Fangtasia, your date with debauchery."
Only Pam could make an underworld of blood and sex sound mundane. Still, it was good to hear her voice.
"Hi Pam, it's Sookie, is Eric available?"
"Sookie! What a treat, I take it you made it back from your adventures in Dallas unscathed?"
"Barely," she breathed. She could hear muffled voices and the click of Pam's heels walking through the bar, which wasn't quite in full swing, but was well on its way. Maybe that's why she hadn't seemed as put-upon as usual. Or maybe she was just glad to have her other half back in town.
"The master is all yours," Pam mused.
And Eric was on the line, in pure Alpha-boss mode, "I am here."
"Well lucky me."
"Sookie, my angelic temptress, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I'll keep this very brief."
"Such a tease," he sighed with a hint of genuine disappointment.
"I'm going to tell you what I told Bill."
That stopped him dead. "...You told Bill?"
"That I'm taking a break from vampire world."
Oh.
"Dallas took a lot out of me. I was almost blown to bits and got saddled with this stupid bond and that night we...we..." she came up short.
"Nights."
"What?"
"Plural," he corrected.
"Whatever. You can consider the lapse in judgment singular."
We'll see.
"I know you'll be in Bon Temps this week when you take your turn for maenad patrol," she went on, "I just ask that you please leave me alone. I wasn't built for this stuff; I need a break from you all."
There was a long pause. "So you're contacting me to tell me not to contact you?"
"Yes."
He leaned back and rested his feet on his desk.
"Alright, then. You've told me."
Not an affirmative answer but she knew further argument would only provoke him.
"That's all. Thank you. Goodnight."
"So Bill is part of this vampire hiatus as well?"
"If you know he is, why are you asking me?" she deflected rhetorically.
He laughed. He liked her feisty. She snorted when he told her so.
"Sookie," he purred, changing tactics, "do you like what I do to you?"
God yes, I've been fixating on it all day. "You're a pig."
"That's not an answer."
"That's not an appropriate question."
"Are you aware of the extent to which you let convention limit you? 'Decent'...'appropriate'...those aren't real things, my dear, merely social constructions."
"Oh you mean manners? As a matter of fact, the assumption that manners and consideration aren't 'real' is exactly the kind of thing I'm taking a break from."
"Maybe I'll drop by for tea after my patrol."
"You're impossible. I'm not your after-hours entertainment. Don't try to see me." Then after a beat, "And don't send me anything either." Good. Firm and direct. That's how he needed to hear it.
"Sookie?"
"What?"
"What are you wearing right now?"
"Goodnight, Eric." In those two words, he could hear the tiniest unintentional smile in her voice before she hung up.
He grinned at the phone, twirled the receiver like a baton and placed it on his desk without a sound.
Oh endearingly obstinate Sookie. If I wasn't planning to pay you a visit before, I most certainly am now.
*****
Sookie laid the book face down on her lap and turned back to her dinner. Her afternoon at work had been trying—an unexpected large party (college kids on a road trip) had burst in at two o'clock, boisterous and demanding, and stayed until four-thirty. To top it off, four of them were clear broadcasters teeming with the usual petty, vulgar thoughts of insecure teenagers. It was grating.
She'd dashed out as soon as her shift was over, barely stopping to good-bye Sam with a kiss on the cheek, eager for the sanctuary of her own home. Her exhale of relief was audible as she stepped through the threshold of her back door. First order of business, ditch the work clothes. She chucked them in the hamper in favor of black yoga pants and a cream tank top, then padded into the living room and flicked on the TV just in time to catch Law and Order: SVU. Hey, we all have our guilty pleasures. Plopping down on the floor, she spread out her nail file, red polish, and toe separators in front of her.
The evening was starting to look up. Her mood had lightened as she leisurely cooked dinner for one. She set the table with the nice dishes, put some wildflowers in a vase, and made herself some iced tea as the sun set. Checking out her spread, she congratulated herself for taking charge of her own happiness. That's right, sisters are doing it for themselves.
At least the day's irritation had kept her mind off her guilt. And the gut-wrenchingly magnetic blond thorn in her side. Um, til now. Oops. It had been three days since she'd banished him, and so far, he seemed to be complying.
Except.
It felt like he was always there in the corner of her thoughts. If he wasn't front and center, it was only because necessity dictated she focus on something specific, and he would wait patiently until whatever everyday distraction was gone.
More than that though, and she realized it was borderline diagnosable, she felt...watched. All the time.
She knew it wasn't physically possible. But she could swear she felt his eyes on her as she went about her day: working, stepping into the shower, brushing her hair, watching TV, falling asleep. The worst part was, it made her, kind of...pose a little. Twirl her hair as she did the laundry. Arch her back as she stretched and changed clothes after work. Select a more flattering bra; add a coat of mascara.
She stopped herself whenever she noticed she was doing it, of course, but it was infuriatingly subconscious.
Savoring the chicken and dumplings alone at her kitchen table, she noted it didn't seem depressing, this party of one, just nice. The recipe had been Gran's and it was comforting to have something so familiar. And knowing she was the one who had recreated it empowered her.
The book was a new one—mystery, not romance this time—and it was doing an excellent job of taking her mind off things. People. Vampires. Vampire.
So, of course, right on cue, when she swallowed her last bite, the doorbell rang.
Oh it better not be.
The annoyance was clear on her face when she opened the door. "We talked about this."
"We did. We have, ah, differing viewpoints on the matter. And might I add your toes look beautiful."
"Don't start with me Eric, just go. I've had a long day and I'm not in the mood."
He breezed past her, into the living room. "Would you like to be?"
"No. I would like you to buzz off." she backsassed, stomping back into the kitchen without looking at his smirk. She gathered up her plate and silverware in a huff.
Unexpectedly, he was right at her back, dipping his mouth to her ear. "And yet," he gamely pointed out, "You do not rescind my invitation. Now why is that, Sookie?" he taunted, his lips touching her soft skin, his hands attending her inner elbows where he could feel her pulse.
She turned around, which put their faces only inches away. "I will."
He slowly leaned forward, closing the distance, and she arched back over the table, away from him. But she was only so limber and didn't exactly have anywhere to go.
He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You know," he said thoughtfully, sliding his fingers from her jawline to her voice box, tightening his touch into a firm grip. "I could simply take you if I really wanted to. You could be silenced and incapacitated in a matter of seconds. Less. Or I could drag you outside, where a rescinded invitation is meaningless, and let you scream all you want. No one would hear you."
Her heart was pounding in her temples. Being taken sounded...terrible, right? Terrible? Stoppit. Focus. She really should be offended. And probably a little more scared. But he was just so achingly gorgeous. Her hunger for him colored every other reaction. Deep breath. Be strong.
Without warning he loosened his grip and smiled mischievously. He let his fingers fall down to her collarbone and looked from there up to her face.
"I don't think so," she said with a steadiness that impressed him. He allowed her to push his arm away and wiggle out of his grasp. She walked toward the door and indicated the exit. "Go patrol. You have no business here."
Au contraire.
He stalked toward her.
"And Eric," she said right as he reached her, "I will uninvite you."
"Sookie," he patronized. He cupped her jutted-out chin gently in his hand and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, studying it. "No," he chided and tilted his head, "you won't."
And before she could do it out of spite, he vanished out the door. Always with the exit lines.
Why on Earth didn't she just say it? Her empowered happiness was gone and suddenly she was filled with anger at herself. It was as though she could muster up so much determination and resolve so long as she didn't have to actually see him. In his presence, when she needed them, her defenses crumbled like a paper fortress.
At least she'd held her ground this time. That was a good first step. She would build on that and learn to resist him. He was a manipulative jerk. An arrogant, selfish, beautiful, seductive...shit. She returned to the table and moved the pile of dishes to the sink. She washed, dried, and put them away. Then the cooking pans. Then she wiped down the counter. Before she knew it she was cleaning out the stovetop burners and reorganizing the Tupperware.
She couldn't clean forever, but she did successfully redirect herself. See, she could do this. She finished her evening routine, unpacked her suitcase and went to bed feeling accomplished but unsatisfied.
*****
There, he'd done his time. His patrol in the woods had been uneventful. If he left now he could still finish payroll tonight and not have to worry about it tomorrow.
But not before stealing one last voyeuristic peek at a certain spirited little blonde, whom, he could feel, was fast asleep. How adorable was her little show of willpower today? He flew to her house and peered through her bedroom window.
Sure enough, sprawled on her stomach, head turned toward him, limbs splayed about, there she was. Her brow had wrinkled in her sleep. He had a particular fondness for her like this. The sass and banter was entertaining to be sure, but Sookie like this was so peaceful. Spread out under her sheets, free from her busy little head, vulnerable to all the things that go bump in the night. It was like seeing behind the curtain, behind all her defenses and distrust.
She twisted her legs in her sheets and turned her head to the other side, resettled and, to his amusement, her lips fluttered. Dreaming? Oh this could be fun.
He lifted the window silently and slipped into her bedroom. Even the air seemed undisturbed. The tone of her dreams didn't reach the bond, and her sleep felt to him like soft static.
He sent lust through the bond, experimentally. She pulled one knee over a pillow it looked like she'd fallen asleep hugging and stretched her back just slightly. Hmm. Curious. Though possibly coincidence. In the name of scientific integrity, he sent another wave of desire to her, this one laced with the emotional imprint of their night together.
"Mmmm," she said low in her throat.
Well, well, well, what do we have here.
He pulled her sheets back carefully and was pleasantly surprised by what he saw underneath. She was naked but for a pair of thin white cotton underwear.
"Eric..." she whispered.
He froze in place. Her eyes were still closed. Oh really?
He leaned over her and caressed the curve of her hipbone, watching her face, feeling his way to the softness of her stomach.
"Eric...touch me...please... anything..."
Oh, Miss Stackhouse. You are in so much trouble.
Eric was excited in every sense of the word. Winning and exploiting the upper hand was what he did best; he was in his element.
Still poised over her body, he lowered himself to brush his nose and lips against her earlobe, kissing the vein right below it. "Sookie," he said soothingly and almost inaudibly, "I want you to surrender. Don't fight me, just let me take over." As he spoke to her, he stroked her hip unobtrusively.
"Mmmm..." she said smiling.
For a brief moment he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair. She really was just mouthwatering. He moved his lips back to the pulse point under her jawbone, feeling her chin on one cheek and her shoulder on the other. Her skin was so soft. He felt the warmth of her body on his mouth, and let his hands move down her back to her bottom. He liked this full part of her very much. Still fondling her backside, he raised himself up a little so he could see her whole body and began methodically tracing his fingertips from the sensitive valley at the bottom of her butt, forward to where she was warmest, to circle and return, in a teardrop shape.
Her lips were twitching again, but not forming actual words. He was enthralled by this new little game.
"Unh..." she was groaning, her forehead knit tighter.
Teasing her like this was invigorating, and he sent another rush of arousal at her for good measure, still tickling her between her legs through her worn-thin panties. He pushed his fingers as far forward under her as he could, massaging her mound and lower belly gently, then pulled back the few inches to her clit where he circled again, this time with more pressure.
She moved with him mindlessly, all control relinquished in sleep.
He fingered the edges of her underwear, so plain, so personal. His fingers slipped beneath the elastic and glided into her softness. She pressed back against him, moaning louder. He wanted to hear his name again. He really…really liked that.
Even more, he reveled in how wet she got for him, how quickly she became ready if not willing. No matter, her body would trump her will eventually. Plus, it was very enjoyable to watch her in distress.
He began massaging her in earnest, holding the elastic aside with the edge of his index finger, giving the others room to explore her with impunity. In her relaxed state, she was climbing the hill to release sooner than usual. With his other hand, he unzipped his jeans and freed himself smoothly. It was with this hand he dipped two fingers into her and returned to his own need, spreading her warm wetness over himself and stroking downward.
He worked them both in the same rhythm, watching her whole body churn in unison with his fingers. He felt her inner muscles clench down as she buckled beneath him. It was a rush to see her jerking and shaking, mumbling incoherently. He speculated as to how she was interpreting this in her dreams.
His efforts expertly dragged and slowed to draw out her unconscious orgasm, inadvertently slowing his own pace, keeping with her.
He withdrew his hand as she finished, still breathing hard but relaxed.
As she stretched contentedly and shifted her weight, he touched her shoulder and pulled it back, "Turn, lover, let me look at you," he said quietly to no one. She did turn onto her back and spread her body wide, completely open and vulnerable to him.
He felt himself twitch. Her underwear had stayed pushed to the side and with her legs parted, he could see all of her. He fixated there as he clenched his jaw and came into his own hand, barely stifling a roar.
He closed his eyes as his aftershocks slowed and opened them again to see her completely oblivious. God, she was so beautiful.
He took two fingers, still coated with the product of his release, and pushed them into her, the cool fluid warming immediately as it soaked into her. As he twisted and pulled back his hand, he adjusted her elastic.
He indulged in one more look at her peaceful little body, then pulled the sheets up over it, almost like tucking her in.
Placing a gentle kiss on her lips, he slipped back out the window into the night.