A/N Yes, two chapters within the space of a week - don't faint! As I mentioned, I'm on holiday, so writing is much MUCH easier when I don't have the day to day tedium of work to contend with.

Many thanks to Northman Maille (alisonbynumbers) who's beta'ing skills just get better and better and better (or should that be beta and beta and beta... okay, fine, I'll stick to the day job), and thanks to Jan_of_arc who feeds me brain beans without even trying now... her pressure cooker must be on the stove all the time!

This chapter has a lot of references in it to Rocky Horror - if you've not seen it or you don't like it, sorry! There will be a few explanations in my footnote.

Disclaimer: Not my sheep, I just chase them around the field a bit. They, and their barn, belong to Charlaine Harris. Oh - And Rocky Horror's not mine either... Richard O'Brien wrote it, don't think he owns the rights now though...

The Souvenir

Chapter 14

It's just a jump to the left...

I walked through the door and instinctively dropped my keys in the crimson dish.

It had been six months, but I was on autopilot as I made my way to the desk and pushed the 'on' switch to my desktop computer.

Nothing happened.

I looked at my in-tray and saw there were no letters.

I pushed the button on the answer machine – no messages.

There was a slight cough behind me.

My autopilot switched itself off as I looked to the heavens and sighed.

"This is why you're not meant to be here," she said as she used my antique paper-knife to carefully slice open one of the many envelopes which sat beside her on the butter-soft sofa. "Your clothes are on the bed. And don't bother with the computer in your bedroom either, everything's disconnected."

Pam opened another envelope and assessed its contents as I; shoulders slumped, walked towards the bedroom.

A memory returned to me; like the addict I was, I remembered a secret supply, but my body language must have given me away.

"If you think I didn't find the crackberry in your sock drawer then you're insulting my deep and twisted ability to read you like a book Eric." She slid the knife along another envelope fold. "Lafayette has your tickets, they're fabulous seats and you've paid a lot of money for them, so go get pretty. I will be here all night, just as I promised. Now go and entertain the lady, just as you promised."

.-oOSOo-.

And then a step to the right...

"Would'choo hol' still girl? I's gonna burn yo' lily white scalp if you don't stop wit' the dancin'!"

I couldn't help myself. Rocky Horror, live, in England, with the original Riff Raff playing the narrator, and we had some of the best seats in the house. Lafayette claimed he knew someone who worked for the theatre, but how many people can one man know? I mean really? In a country he doesn't live in! Someone had spent a lot of money on this, and I was willing to place a lot of money on that someone being Eric. I felt real uncomfortable about that. I offered to pay for my ticket but Lafayette wouldn't take my money; I made a mental note to pay for all the drinks.

"Don't tell me you're not excited Lafayette! Richard O'Brien! The man WROTE the thing! I'm so stoked I could spit!" My brain caught up with my mouth and I corrected myself. "Not that I spit…"

His amusement and annoyance showed in one flick of his fine green eyelids; his hip pushed to the right, his head cocked to the left. "Honey, I likes the Rocky Horror, it's got some fine specimens o' men in it, but if you wants me to believe you's this hoppin' over some old bald English dude, you's dizzy girl! If choo tells me you's all squirmin' fo' somethin' tall and blond, we might be mo' on the money."

Who was I kidding? He was right. I was looking forward to the show, but the thought of seeing Eric had my stomach all of a flutter in antici…pation.

.-oOSOo-.

With your hands on your hips...

My dreams had been filled with the same blond coming to my rescue, one fantasy after another: dressed in tarnished and battered armor he saved me from a dragon. In a flouncy shirt, waistcoat and hose he protected my honor by dueling with a dark-haired cad. Agitated and disheveled, wearing a tailored tweed suit, he released me from the train tracks that the mysterious stranger in the top hat and cape had tied me to not moments before, and we embraced as the train hurtled past in a silent movie soundtrack. But these dreams frustrated and annoyed me; I am not the weak and feeble woman. Gran had raised me to be a lady, that much is true, but having manners and being polite does not mean I need a man to rescue me at every turn; she also taught me to be strong and independent.

I had an unusually late start that Friday, when the sun is up then so am I. Groggily I made my way to the kitchen and blinked a "good morning" at Lafayette who laughed at my state and put coffee and cereal on the table in front of me.

I was hung-over.

In a hazy corner of my addled brain I started to ponder what was up with Eric; he obviously wasn't just your average farm-hand. I was real curious about what he did, who he was, why he was so alone. He'd gone out of his way to be nice to me, I could see that, and I had seen that he almost went out of his way to avoid pretty much everyone else. It seemed that he knew people at Y Gafr's well enough to acknowledge them, a nod here, a grunt of recognition there, but I'd seen him speak to no one, other than Sal. I hadn't seen him speak with anyone that is until he had declared me his in front of the entire bar! After that he sat down and chatted with everyone as though they were all long standing friends and everyone seemed just fine with him.

But I told myself I'd think about it later, once the pounding in my head eased up.

Once Eric joined our little gaggle around the table, drinks started to flow faster, and everything got real blurry. I remembered being very disappointed and surprised that Eric had told Lafayette to take me home, but in the cold and painfully sober light of morning I was actually kind of grateful. Nothing overly embarrassing was springing to mind, so I stared vacantly into my bowl of corn flakes, contented that the night ahead hadn't been ruined before we'd got to the theatre.

Lafayette spoke to me; at least I'm sure there were words, but all they did was cause a throbbing in my head. I gazed up at him and he chuckled.

"Choo gonna hurl?"

I shook my head and winced at my actions.

"Okay, we's gone ge'choo somethin' fo' tonight. Choo got summer dresses wi'choo right?"

A slow nod was all I could manage, but it was enough.

"Got a plain one? In blue o' pink? A white purse? I sho' you aint got a straw Sunday hat. White ballet pumps?"

So many questions. The idea of letting my hot forehead drop into the ice-cold milk that the cornflakes were floating in was mighty tempting, but I forced myself to answer. "Dress, yes. Purse, hat, shoes, no. Got any Advil?"

A knowing smile spread across his glossy lips, and as he opened his hand, two beautiful blue capsules sat in his palm. Never had Advil looked so delightful, so pretty, so… oh fudge, maybe I was feeling a might sick after all.

When I was finally sober enough to drive, Lafayette fed me sandwiches full of greasy goodness for lunch and we set off. It was just the pair of us, heading to our basic little twin room at a Premier Inn. I didn't know what Eric was doing with his day, but apparently he was going to meet us at the theatre; I figured he had chores on the farm to see to as Andre didn't look like the type who could manage heavy lifting.

Laf had called ahead to a load of different thrift stores that we had to call into on our route to Manchester. By the time we reached the city I had an almost perfect "Janet" costume, including a 1970's lilac coat dress in a horribly itchy nylon, a cream straw hat, complete with a silk flower that looked like it had died a few decades ago, a white sling purse, and white ballet pumps that were marked two sizes too small for me yet fit perfectly.

The clack of the curling irons brought me back to the hotel room chair, and Janet stared back at me from the mirror.

.-oOEOo-.

Bring your knees in tight...

The foyer was teeming with enthusiasts and virgins alike. Programmes were being bought, drinks consumed and photographs taken of those of us in the better costumes.

The wig was itchy, hot and uncomfortable but I was pleased to note how easily I slipped back into the stilettos. Pam had done her research and I had a wonderfully comfortable outfit made for someone of my size, well, as comfortable as a basque, stockings and frilly pants get. I was pleased that she'd taken the effort to get 'real' items, and not some fancy dress costume, not that I planned on wearing it again in a hurry, but the quality of some of these things didn't last 5 minutes, let alone a whole night of dancing.

My make-up I'd managed myself; it had been a while, but applying lip liner and kohl is like riding a bicycle – at first you damage yourself horribly and look like a fool, but you get there in the end. The only thing I was missing was the chunky pearl necklace, which Pam pulled from her handbag and fastened around my neck.

"I made this, but don't think I'm getting soft! I couldn't buy one for your neck size." She turned me round and held my shoulders. "It doesn't mean I like you!"

I remembered the hug we'd shared as I put my arm around another Rocky Horror virgin and smiled for the camera. I missed Pam; she might be my assistant but she's also my best friend. I sighed quietly to myself and again reminded myself that having no friends outside work had helped get me where I was.

When I spied the queer in a t-shirt offering to make me a man in just seven days, I realised she wouldn't be far from him. I excused myself from another eager virgin and made my way over.

I tapped Lafayette on the shoulder. "Where is she?" There was no hint of anxiety in my voice, but from his smirk it was probably showing in my eyes.

"She here." He waved his colourful drink in the direction of another photo call. She looked the part: an innocent creature with curiosity and desire raging under the surface.

I strutted over and caught her eye. I heard a slight gasp escape her lips and what sounded like "Oh My!"

"Oh don't get strung out by the way I look." I crooned and gave a slight shimmy. "'Don't judge a book by its cover. I'm not much of a man by the light of the day, but by night I'm one hell of a lover!'"

I tried not to smirk as I noticed, from the corner of my eye, it wasn't just Sookie who swooned, but my eyes were only for her, and hers were fixed on no one but me. People asked for photos and probably took them, but we ignored them, heard nothing, noticed even less; the only sensation was her lips on mine.

This was going to be a great night.

"Shall we go in lover?" I asked her.

"I'm not your lover," came her protest.

"Not yet"

My put my hand on the small of her back and ushered her to our vantage point. Pam was right, they were great seats.

.-oOLOo-.

But it's the pelvic thrust...

I's funkin' sexy, aint many as sexy as me, but when I's under pressure to perform it jus' gets that li'l bit harder, choo know?

They was actin' like Angelina and Brad from the moment the play started, and I was thankin' Jesus not to be stuck between them. When Eddie's body was showed to the audience Sookie's face found its way into his blond chest and the fucker grinned at me like he got this all on he own. I shot him a look to remin' him he owe me, he owe me big.

A cab took us to Canal Street after the show and I dragged us into the club wit' the prettiest crowd. We wasn't the only Rocky Horror rejects out and about, but Eric draw the stares like a flame draw the moths. One bitch accuse him of havin' a beard, but his eyes and ears was only for Sook, which was lucky for the stupid big mouthed hooker; Eric got a punch meaner than he stare when he angry, an' insultin' Sookie might jus' release the beast.

They stayed for an hour, 'til I was sho' I had me a bed fo' the night, then I gave him the nod, an' he took her back to our room.

.-oOEOo-.

That really drives you insane...

She was tipsy, though thankfully not as drunk as she'd been the night before. I wanted to take her naked body in my arms and enjoy everything, but I wanted her sober when I did. I had to know this was what she truly wanted.

But by gods were my balls blue.

Six months! I'd not known the touch of a woman for six months, despite all Sal's attempts, and oh how I wanted Sookie. It was all I could do to keep from showing the world how much I wanted her; those frilly pants left very little to the imagination.

There was no reception desk which meant there was no receptionist to notice that I wasn't the same man who checked into the hotel with her. We were giggly and contented in one another's company, my hand on the small of her back, hers on the frills of my pants.

She was increasingly hard to resist. I had only intended on showing her back to the hotel room, but the door was open, and from under the brim of her hideous cream hat, her eyes beckoned me in.

"Oh, won't you come in?" she asked, her soft lashes batting like a newly pupated butterfly. "Oh kiss me darling!"

I leant down and enjoyed her delicately silken lips. Her hands gripped the back of my head and pulled off my wig, my hair falling about my face. She gasped in mock horror.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" she squealed "It's you!"

"I'm afraid so Sookie, but isn't it nice!"

Lightly she beat my chest and shook her head "Oh you beast! You Monster! You tricked me! I wouldn't have! I never, never..."

I loosely held her wrists, let the door close behind me and gently directed us towards one of the two single beds. "Yes yes, I know, but it isn't all bad is it?"

As she lay back I knelt on the floor and slid my hands up her smooth, nylon hugged thighs and gripped her bottom with the lust of a man who had waited for this moment all his life. Hooking my fingers into the waist band of her tights I nuzzled the warmth between her legs with my nose; her squirming almost made me forget myself and let my primal instincts take over, but I bit the inside of my cheek to bring myself back to earth.

"You really found it quite pleasurable." I teased as I pulled her tights to her knees.

She giggled as she protested "Oh, stop, I mean help, Oh Brad! Oh Brad!"

"Brad? Who the fuck is Brad?" I laughed. "And would you like him to see you like this?" I pushed her legs up over my shoulders and nuzzled her again.

I lifted myself up again and rested an elbow on the bed.

"I was saving myself." Her voice was husky and wanting.

My hand crept up the inside of her gratifyingly firm thigh and my fingers stroked her dewy heat, lightly spreading her lips and losing myself inside her. "Well I'm sure you're not spent yet."

The soft moan that broke from her throat encouraged my fingers deeper. She pulled herself up onto her elbows and looked at me with all seriousness. "Promise you won't tell Brad?"

Using my thumb to make her gasp I grinned at her. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

She collapsed back. It wasn't long before she was screaming my name.

.-oOSOo-.

Let's do the time warp again!

I wanted more. I wanted to writhe over him, naked and sweating, I wanted to please him as he was pleasing me. I wanted it all.

Instead he made my head explode and my body convulse then wrapped himself around me as we lay on my bed. He stroked my hair and spoke to me softly in a language I didn't understand until I drifted off.

It was morning when I woke, and Lafayette was curled up in the bed next to mine.

I wondered if I'd dreamed it all, if my overly frustrated imagination had gone into overdrive, but there were a pair of giant pumps at the side of my bed, and a brown curly wig on the bedside table.

I grinned coyly and let out a contented sigh as I touched where he had touched.

I really had given myself over to absolute pleasure.

A/N - Crackberry - if you've not heard this term before then yes, it is a reference to a Blackberry - the smart phone that every business-person seems to have permanently attached to their hand. Not just for business people though - I know a few hippies who are hooked on their blackberries. The term was coined by the media for the addiction that people had to these phones.

Someone in the gay club accuses Eric of having a beard - this is a term for a woman dating a gay man who's not prepared to admit he's gay (or so I've been led to believe) - i.e. it's something to make him look more masculine. I.e. the guy is suggesting that Eric's gay and Sookie's his beard. Sorry to spell it out, but even my very gay-aware husband didn't get it.

Lines from Rocky Horror I've used:

"Antici...pation" (the famous way in which Tim Curry as Frank N Furter kept us waiting for the end of the word)

"In just seven days, I can make you a man!" (Song lyrics which appear as the slogan on Lafayette's t-shirt. He's not in costume because in my story, he hates Rocky Horror, he's only going because... well... because of reasons that I'm not sharing in an A/N, but he figured that he could probably re-use the t-shirt again later)

"Oh don't get strung out by the way I look... but by night I'm one hell of a lover!" (Song lyrics - Frank N Furter sings these - and that is who Eric is dressed as, even though I don't say it specifically, anyone who knows the film/play will recognise the costume he's wearing)

The entire lemon scene is Eric and Sookie mocking role-playing a scene from the film/play. Sookie mentions Brad who is the boyfriend of Janet, the character Sookie is dressed as.

The last line is again a reference to Rocky Horror, the final song includes the lyrics "Give yourself over to absolute pleasure." And if I was in Sookie's shoes and Eric was offering, I'd do the same - wouldn't you!