A/N:

Thank you to chiisai-kitty for going over this with me and engaging in wildly inappropriate yet hilarious email cha about sex-ed and hot chocolate.

Note: borrowed some phrases from CH, pretty sure you'll be able to figure out which ones ;) Just felt like it didn't work without them.

-_-_-_-_-_-_

For seventeen minutes Eric didn't say anything, but his body language definitely did. He glared at the window, almost daring it to start calling me names, and sat on his hands; his posture was rigid, his shoulders tense, and his eyes almost glowed white in the dark interior of the car. I drove in a deadly silence, wondering, much like the first time I had driven Eric, who was this man and how did I get myself mixed in with him.

We were halfway home before Eric spoke. "Why are vampires so hated by Weres?" he asked in a noticeably controlled tone.

I frowned. I was expecting him to talk about me or him or the Were or, hell, even Chow's ridiculous obsession with vests, but not about the socio-political relationship between two different supernatural species. "Um, I don't really know."

He looked out the window and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Schmucking Schmam" before exasperatedly running his fingers through his hair.

Searching for a way to calm him down, I gently murmured, "Listen, Eric, I want you to know that I really appreciate what you did or tried to do back there, with that whole Amanda thing, but you didn't have to. I'm used to speaking up for myself when I think it's called for. I can handle that kind of treatment."

"You shouldn't have to!" Eric exploded, turning to face me and gesturing wildly with his hands. "You shouldn't have to be used to speaking up for yourself! You shouldn't have to be used to taking insults from judgmental scum! You shouldn't have to work alone at night because your brother does not provide for you! You have done nothing to deserve any of the horrible things you so calmly describe! You are kind and intelligent and thoughtful and so much more and you shouldn't be punished because of that!"

Startled by his uncharacteristic outbreak, I snapped, "I know Eric, believe me I know. But that's just how it's always been. You can't change people, and you can't tell people how to think or how to act. You have to let them be."

Eric opened his mouth, and I realized the fundamental flaw in my argument, that Eric could tell people how to think and act because of his vampire glamoring skills. I quickly added, "You can't glamor people into liking me, Eric, that's not how it works. And besides, if you tried to attack every person who ever had a not-so-nice thought about me, you'd get pretty hurt even with your vampire strength. So don't. I mean, if I was a vampire you wouldn't feel obligated to hit people who thought poorly of me, now would you?"

"But you're not as strong as a vampire, or even a Were," he said plainly, like that explained everything, like that gave him justification.

I sighed. To him, I was vulnerable and weak, feminine and mortal; I needed to be protected at all times, like a priceless glass figurine. This was his Viking background kicking in. And if a powerful curse couldn't erase or alter this way of thinking and acting, then I knew I sure as hell couldn't. I needed to back the fuck away from the modern feminism ideas that I adhered to, because that would get me nowhere. I needed a new approach. And I couldn't afford to get pissed off at Eric and his medieval (and even earlier) mindset, because one of us needed to be rational and clearly that person wasn't going to be Eric.

What to do, what to do? I carefully replied, "I know I'm not, but even if I was I wouldn't have retaliated like that and tried to hit her. That would give her a reason to hit me back and hate me even more."

"You're saying I made it come to blows when I didn't need to," he said after several long seconds, focusing on the passing trees with disgust, like they too had insulted me.

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"I embarrassed you," he replied in a wounded voice, turning to face me and see my reaction.

"No," I replied instantly, shaking my head vehemently. If anyone was embarrassed, it should be him, anyways. But I'm pretty sure that fell under the category of what not to say to an angry vampire. "No. You didn't embarrass me, Eric. To be honest, it, uh, made me feel all squiggly inside that you liked me that much to be that angry when Amanda acted like I was a dead skunk she hit with her car."

"Squiggly?" Eric asked after a beat, his mouth turning up at the corners. Thank the Lord.

His smile was contagious. "Yeah. Squiggly. You know, warm and fuzzy. I liked knowing you wanted to protect me."

"Then it was worth it to feel that angry, to make you feel that good," he said truthfully.

It was almost too honest of a statement, something that you think but never say out loud. But I welcomed it. I casually rested an elbow on the armrest between our seats, with my hand palm face-up. I didn't want to mother-smother Eric, but I grinned toothily when he easily laced his fingers through mine.

He was quiet for the rest of the car ride, so I was too. Unlike before, it wasn't a strained or scary silence; it was more like a cozy, tired silence that Eric broke once I parked the car in the driveway. Turning to face me, he said, "I don't understand why humans can't see what an amazing person you are. It angers me."

My mouth opened and closed when I realized I didn't know what to say. No one had ever said anything like that to me. I smiled sadly and brought his hand to my lips before getting out of the car. Eric stayed in his seat, but I didn't notice until I finished walking up the porch steps. When I did, I leaned against the door frame, watching him watch me.

Finally he opened the car door and was instantly right in front of me. All I could see was blueblueblueblueblue, my new favorite color. He murmured, "Every night I find a new reason to be glad I know you."

"I know how you feel," I whispered back, leaning forward to kiss him. He met me halfway, and all of the pent-up energy and frustration he had smoothed over in the car came out to play. He backed me up against the door and nibbled and sucked and licked and kissed me halfway to next Tuesday. I loved every second of it.

I forced myself to release his face, which I had been caressing, and fumble for the doorknob behind me; of course, my hands made a few essential pit-stops at Eric's neck, back, and chest before they connected with the cold metal. Once I made contact, I opened the door and, still sucking on Eric's lip, tried to walk backwards into the house. After I stumbled, Eric lifted me up so I could wrap my legs around his waist and continue exploring his mouth without any danger of hurting myself; unlike last time, I was now able to kiss Eric without cutting my tongue thanks to all the practice I had received. And was currently receiving. Eric was a good coach.

We stayed like that for a long time, just me, Eric, and our kisses. Eric was still standing in the middle of the open doorway, and once I started shivering (from a pleasant combination of the frosty January air and the way Eric's tongue was making me feel) I breathed, "Upstairs."

Without even turning around he kicked the door closed and strode over to the stairs, all the while never breaking the kiss. I squeezed my legs tightly around him, not wanting him to drop me, and I felt something stir under his deliciously tight pants as our bodies became even closer. I repeated the motion, causing Eric to moan and start walking with a little more determination in his step.

Next thing I knew we were in my bedroom and Eric was crouching over to tenderly lay me on the bed, with one hand behind my head and the other supporting his weight on the covers. The position he was in seemed so animalistic, so predatory, but the way he was ensuring that I make contact with the warm bedspread so gently was incredibly romantic and touching.

I was properly set down with my hair fanning across the plain white comforter and my chest heaving rapidly in an attempt to refill my lungs with all of the air that had been sucked out of me. But Eric made no move to join me, choosing instead to remain standing and gaze worshipfully at me.

I slowly started inching the hemline of my shirt higher, crossing my arms in an X-shape as I lifted the cranberry sweater that Eric had liked so much over my head. I hoped he would like it better when it wasn't covering me, and I was right. The intense longing and desire in his eyes made me burn for his touch. Luckily for me, as soon as the sweater was over my head Eric was taking its place, kissing all of the skin that he'd never seen before and ogling my plain white bra like it was made of blood (which, as disturbing as it sounds, is the only way I can accurately describe Eric's expression).

I eyed the tank top that I had admired earlier, since it exposed Eric's exquisite arms and neck, but now the damn piece of clothing was downright rude and annoying for being in the way. Eric noticed my staring and removed his shirt with vampire speed; one second there was black cotton and the next there was skin and abs and muscles and nipples and I wanted to touch everything, a desire Eric quickly fulfilled when he positioned himself on top of me with his hardness pressing against my thigh.

He felt large, heavy, and magnificent. I slowly made my way down Eric's long body to reach between us and palm the only thing that was making me nervous. From what I had seen, and was now feeling for the first time, Eric's "manhood" (to use a worn phrase from the spine-cracked romance novels that up until recently had served as the most romantic parts of my small life) was very daunting and intimidating. I felt like a small-town musician who was just handed a limited-edition guitar and was told she could perform at Madison Square Garden.

What if I screwed up? What if I completely embarrassed myself because of my complete inexperience with males and their male bodies? What if I did something wrong? What if I didn't make it good for Eric?

Eric, who was the first man to see me as close to naked as I've ever been seen by a man. Eric, who always paid me compliments and made me feel good about myself and even just life in general. Eric, who trusted me more than anyone else. Eric, who knew more about me than anyone else. Eric, who was familiar with my telepathy and my virginity but was still nibbling my ear, his long hair softly brushing my chest. Eric, who in his amnesiac state could technically be called a virgin and had no other experiences to compare.

Eric, who was Eric.

Emboldened, I fumbled with the button of his black pants with one hand, as my other hand was currently stroking the back of Eric's head as he kissed the skin escaping from my bra. He rocked his hips and shuddered. As welcome as those actions were, they made it very difficult for me to focus on my task; they felt wonderful against my yearning that was building up down below. I felt my body go hot.

Once I unbuttoned and unzipped him, Eric lifted his hips so I could take off his pants, running my hands down his backside that I had often fantasized about but never actually got to touch. My eyes popped open once I realized Eric wasn't wearing any underwear. He felt every bit as good as he looked and then some. I may or may not have taken a lot of time and effort to reach that conclusion.

He pulled back to step out of his pants and while he was up he used the opportunity to free me from my jeans. I thanked him by reaching behind his head and bringing him closer to me, kissing him with everything I had.

"Are you sure, fair maiden?" Eric murmured in a thick voice.

"I've been sure ever since I came home and found myself almost scared to death at the thought of the witches taking you away from me," I answered truthfully.

And then I totally killed the romantic mood by squeaking, "Do vampires need to wear condoms?"

Eric shook his head no in the crevice of my neck, and my heart soared when he didn't laugh or pause; he just nibbled my earlobe. I didn't think he needed one (there weren't any vampire-friendly condoms at Walmart) but I wanted to make sure.

Now that that was cleared up, I made my way down and hesitantly closed my lips around his nipple.

"Bite, a little," he said, and I used my teeth, scraping lightly. His hands began to move restlessly over whatever bit of my skin they could find, stroking and teasing until they trickled over behind my back to unclasp my bra. He ducked his head and reciprocated by taking my breast in his mouth, sucking and biting while his nimble fingers played with the other one. I pressed my hands behind his head, breathing raggedly.

When his mouth closed over my other breast, his hand glided down. I reacted by rocking my hips to meet his fingers. He had long fingers. Right now I loved his fingers. And later, when he moved his face away from mine and started kissing down my body, I loved his tongue; it made me melt into a pile of Sookie goo and Eric continued licking me up until I pulled myself together after my first orgasm, which was so stupendous I wanted more.

I became closer to having my wish granted when Eric positioned himself at my entrance. "My lover," he said hoarsely, and then he pushed in.

I closed my eyes and cried out with the shock of it; I knew it would hurt and thought I had prepared myself, but still. After a few thrusts, I forgot all about the pain; I forgot all about my inexperience and hesitation and trepidation. All I could think about was Eric and how he was making me feel and how I was making him feel. It was fantastic.

After a moment, he said, "Don't close your eyes. Look at me, lover." I almost orgasmed again right there at the way he caressed his, what will always be his, endearment, but then he pulled out and I whimpered with the aching loss.

"Watch me," he said in my ear. I squirmed to try and keep him in, hazily registering that he was kissing parts of my body that I liked very much but wished he'd overlook in favor of the one part of me that really needed him right now. Even so I found myself drifting off to that happy place Eric had recently helped me discover, his fingers mercifully filled the void he had left behind.

He locked eyes with me as his mouth became closer and closer to my center, to make sure I was watching—of course I was— and he turned his face to my inner thigh, nuzzling as his fingers moved faster and faster and faster until he suddenly bit down on a place where I never would could elicit so much pleasure. So much pleasure. For an amnesiac, he sure knew what he was doing.

And once I came back down Eric was up kissing my mouth again, hungrily, sloppily, beautifully. I could taste my own fluids on him. Then he was back inside me, and it happened all over again. His moment came right after, as I was still experiencing heavenly waves of aftershocks; he shouted something in a language I'd never heard, and maybe no one had ever heard, before closing his own eyes and collapsing on top of me. I noticed that my panting was the only sound in the room, but I was too busy smiling and beaming at him, at me, at the world, to care. After a couple of minutes, he raised his head to look down, asking me to speak with his eyes.

"Eric … oh, Eric," I murmured, feeling too awed and dumbstruck to form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences. I reached up to tuck a wanton piece of hair behind his ear before continuing, "Eric, that was … I never … you made me … I'm so happy you were my first."

I would never forget this; I was confident I would never forget his taste and smell and body and touch even if an evil witch cursed me. I wanted to remember this for the rest of my life. My first time, my first pleasure, my first … love?

His eyes widened before he broke out into the biggest smile I had ever seen, not just on him but on anyone. He swooped down and kissed me his thanks in a definitely non-polite manner.

"You never said if you'd go on a date with me," he deadpanned, joining in with me as I roared with laughter.

"Of course I'll go on a date with you, sweetie," I replied, cupping his face. He beamed and nuzzled my hand with his cheek. After a few seconds passed, I shyly asked, "Eric, was it as good for you as it was for me?"

"No," he replied, and I'm pretty sure my heart stopped. "It was better, lover. You were amazing."

"You don't have to be nice, Eric," I said automatically. I wasn't fishing for compliments; I just couldn't fathom how a girl like me, with absolutely no sexual experience whatsoever, would manage to please a man. A man like Eric.

His eyes clouded darkly before he responded, "Sookie, I am telling the truth. You. Were. Amazing. You. Are. Amazing." To demonstrate, he kissed my collar bone in between words before pouring his soul into a kiss that I felt everywhere on my body, especially down below. I believed him now. Especially now that I had hard evidence of just how amazing he thought I was.

That wasn't the only part of Eric getting busy again; his hands were everywhere, encouraging my body to have its way. Before I gave myself into the feeling, I used my last lucid thought to ask Eric if he thought it'd be a good idea if I had some of his blood to heal. He was very receptive to the idea, instantly bringing up his wrist to his mouth. Before he bit down, I reached up and stopped him, unfolding his fist and extending his pointer finger. He understood and pricked his finger, and I sucked on it purposefully. Eric's blood was full of contradictions: blood shouldn't taste that heavenly but his does and I shouldn't be taking blood from the vampire but I was, even enjoying it much like a vampire.

Eric gasped and wriggled against me, and I could tell that he liked what I was doing. After I thought I'd had enough blood, I released his finger and his mouth was instantly on mine. Then he dipped his head and sucked one breast with his fangs extended, watching me as he drew a little blood and a sharp gasp from me. Eric was proving himself to be very, very creative tonight. It was a strange sensation, painful and very pleasurable. I felt like he was drawing the fluid from much lower, because that's how sensual it was. And suddenly he raised my leg so he could enter me.

It wasn't such a shock this time, and it was slower. Deliciously slower. Eric wanted me to be looking into his eyes; that obviously flicked his Bic. I enjoyed it immensely. I'd heard a lot about men who didn't care if the woman had her pleasure, or perhaps such men assumed that if they were happy, their partner was, too. I was so lucky that Eric wasn't one of them.

Eric had paid me many compliments, and I realized I hadn't said anything to him that indicated my admiration since my blubbering earlier. That hardly seemed fair. He was holding me, and my head was on his shoulder. I murmured into his neck, "You are so beautiful."

"What?" He was clearly startled, and I could feel him move his head to look down at me, his hair tickling my forehead.

"You've told me you thought my body was nice." Of course that wasn't one of the many adjectives he'd used, but I was embarrassed to repeat his actual words. "I just wanted you to know I think the same about you."

I could feel his chest move as he laughed, just a little. "What part do you like best?" he asked, his voice teasing.

"Oh, your butt," I said instantly.

"My ... bottom?"

"Yep."

"I would have thought of another part."

"Well, that's certainly... adequate," I told him, burying my face in his chest. He tensed, and I knew immediately I'd picked the wrong word.

"Adequate?" He took my hand, placed it on the part in question. It immediately began to stir. He moved my hand on it, and I hesitantly circled it with my fingers. "This is adequate?"

"Maybe I should have said it's a gracious plenty?"

"A gracious plenty. I like that," he murmured.

He was ready again (was that just him or his vampire-ness?), and honestly, I didn't know if I was. I was worn out to the point of wondering if I'd be walking funny the next day. My hands became a little frisky, traveling down the length of Eric's body, then down the length of something else. I stroked, and Eric moaned appreciatively. I stroked again, and, with some much-appreciated guidance, became more and more adventurous until I brought Eric to the same toe-curling end that he had previously given me. He cried out again in the same language as before.

Then he rolled onto his back and swung me over easily until I was straddling his waist. The moonlight shone across his profile, highlighting the golden streaks of his long hair splashed across the pillows. Though I was bearing all of me to him, I wasn't embarrassed; I wanted him to see all of me, in the same way I wanted to see all of him. The look in his eyes told me that he was memorizing this moment just like I was.

We spent the rest of the night memorizing each other's bodies. And we were studying so intently that neither of us paid attention to the phone ringing repeatedly downstairs.

-_-_-_-_-_

Now, how d'you like dem lemons?

P.S. I also entered the Lurve contest over at the Alexander Skarsgard Library Forum. It's a Generation Kill FF titled "The Big Easy: How to Cockblock Sgt. Brad Colbert" and you can read it (and find other contest entries) at: (www . alexanderskarsgardlibrary . com/forum). But before you do, you have to sign up as a member to read the stories or to post one, but it's really simple (and free) and only so mature people are reading mature stories. But I also posted the story on FF so it'll be on my author page.

Sample quotes:

1.) As soon as the song finishes, Brad remembers he's supposed to be all stoic and Iceman and whatever, so he looks out the window and exclaims, "Jesus, Ray, aim for the road, not the woman with the stroller. You're a terrible civilian driver."

"Your mom said I'm a great driver in bed. She's a civilian."

"Which mom, Ray? My biological mother, the one who deemed herself mature enough to open her legs and embark on one of the oldest and most sought-out rituals known to mankind yet did not want to deal with the responsibilities of her very adult actions? Or my foster mother, the one who felt it was beneath her highly desired upper-middle class status to sleep in the same bed as her husband and partake in the same activities that anyone with an open pair of shaved legs, much like your cream-of-the-trailer-park-crop momma, would enjoy?"

"Both of them. At the same time."

2.) "You know the world is fucked up when the jihadist-killing Marine wears Birkenstocks, the most successful rapper is a white guy, the best golfer is a black guy, the tallest player in the NBA is Chinese, France accuses the U.S. of being too arrogant, Germany doesn't want to go to war, and the two most powerful men in America, hell the whole world, are named 'Bush' and 'Dick.' Need I say more?"