I own Anya. Nothing else. All reviewers: you're awesome. And to whom are wondering: Anya's birthday is in a few weeks, so it won't come into play for a while. As always, the freedom of speech is upheld here. Speak away!
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A pain in the noggin woke me up.
A niggling, wriggling, dreadful itch.
Actually, it's more accurately described as "the great beast of torment dedicated to ripping open my skull," but The Beast will do fine.
Anyways...
Groaning, I rolled over in bed to encounter a hard, cool obstacle. I opened my eyes. It was Eric.
Duh...
Only it was the obnoxious, patronizingly smug, shirtless Eric that simeltaneously distracted me while irritated me. Great.
He has stupid abs.
Not wanting to deal with his arrogance today in addition to The Beast, I ducked my head under my pillow, trying to hide. Fat chance.
"So how are we feeling today?" he drawled, running a finger down my arm, "Still want that kiss?"
I could literally hear the smirk in his voice. Of course.
"Go away," my lame comeback was, muffled by the pillow as it might be. Oh, yeah, I rock. I did not want to deal him now. Not now. Not ever.
"You didn't want me to last night," he chuckled, gathering me up against his chest, pillow and all. "In fact," he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear, "You didn't want me to stop."
I swatted at him blindly with a multitude of stifled growls. I felt like a caged jungle cat.
He ignored this resistance, pulling me tighter, "And you wouldn't believe what you said in your sleep last night..."
I blushed under the pillow, remembering exactly what my dream had been about last night. It had been...an experience. Cue the chagrin.
"Shuddap!" I screamed, finally surfacing from my pillow haven, "Just shuddap!" I cringed almost spastically after each outburst, my mind feeling like it was going to blow from all the sound.
Think of atomic bombs going off in my mind. Picture Hiroshima. Okay, now, focus...see the big mushroom cloud? That's what's going on right now.
Nagasaki too.
God, hangovers hurt! Who would've thunk?
"My head hurts," I whimpered, curling into the sheets more, while clutching my trusty pillow. This sucked. Officially. No more drunkeness for moi.
A cool finger traced over my forehead lightly. "Mmm," he mused, "Learning life lessons in my bar. Seems very educational now."
"Stop talking," I whisper-growled, getting increasingly annoyed. I was in PAIN here!
"But I think this is very karmatic," Eskimo continued as if I hadn't cut in, "This is the result of you flirting with that ugly human last night."
Turning over, I narrowed at my eyes at the lean, blond Viking, "He wasn't ugly." It was worth the pain to say that. And it was true. Trey was cute.
Eric gave me an incredulous, self-centered look, while raising an eyebrow, "Were you blind?" He paused for a second, examining my now-closed-eye-internally-cringing-state, "Oh, wait. You were drunk. That explains it all."
I only moaned in response, trying to bury my face under Mr. Pillow again. Unfortunately, a certain vampire's hand prevented me from doing such, holding Mr. Pillow down so I couldn't seek refuge through him.
Ugh.
"This is growing tiresome," Eric muttered, looking at the patheticness of me, "Ginger made hangovers out to seem more exciting. You're just..." He didn't even finish his sentence, his look said it all.
I opened my mouth, ready to retort in spite of The Beast, "Well, Ginger can go suck-" and was bluntly cut off by a bleeding wrist pushed into my mouth.
"Mgghh!" my eyes widened as I tried to spit out Eric's limb, "MGGHGH!" Gross...
He glared at me, his eyes sharp as ice shards, "Drink. I won't put up with this whining any longer."
I tried to shake my head in protest, but his only other hand held me still. Slowly, despite my negatory actions and refusal to drink his blood, I felt some slide down my throat, smooth as silk.
And addicting as...chocolate? Nachos? The smell of Juicy Fruit gum? A lottery ticket? A magic 8 ball?
Nevertheless, just the taste of it broke all my control, and in seconds, I was sucking at his wrist, tugging it closer and closer to my mouth. I just wanted more. Period.
It was exquisite. The first time hadn't felt like this.
I wanted to drink Eric Northman's blood. That's a revelation in itself.
Wonder if this is what it's like to be a vampire...
As I was in awe of 'the blood,' Eric was having his own reaction to the exchange he had initiated. His expression, which had started as a wide smirk directed at my eagerness and greediness, had quickly turned to immense pleasure. Like before, his eyes rolled up slightly into the back of his head, and his fangs clicked out.
He even let out little growls of satisfaction when I drank deeper or nipped lightly with my teeth for more.
Ha! Who's in control now?
"Enough," he grunted, tearing his wrist away from me, "You've taken more than your fair share." Hmph.
I was breathing heavily from the influx of V in my system, and then I realized what I just did. I facepalmed myself, "Aw, man!"
Eskimo raised a brow, silently asking me to elaborate. He didn't have heavy breathing, darnit. He didn't even NEED to breathe. However, he did have a wild look in his eyes...
"Does this mean the dreams get worse?" I gritted my teeth, hoping for a answer that said 'No way, the second exchange cancels out the first!'. Yeah. Right.
If only...
A true smirk filled his face, erasing away unsurities for good. "Much worse," he murmured seductively, "So much worse they'll make those old dreams of yours seem like mere fluff. Though, of course, reality is incomparable to them all..." He sent me a hungry expression my way, "Sparrow."
"Eric?" I leaned as far as possible away from him, since he was still holding me close. Why couldn't have nature given humans some more in the strength department? Is that too much to ask for?
He closed the space I had just made, touching our foreheads together. There was a moment where he just stared into my eyes, his light blue meeting my darker ones.
"Isn't your headache gone?"
I blinked, touching my head reflexively. It was. The complete hangover. Disappeared. Wowsers.
"Oh," I muttered, looking anywhere but into his eyes, "Thanks."
His expression was entirely smug for a whole few seconds, basking in the glory of it, probably of being a cure-all, before he suddenly rolled out of bed and pulled me with him.
We stood together, chest to chest in front of the bed, staring again. This is starting to happen a lot...
"Now," he started, cocking his head a bit, "It's time to party."
"To 'party'? That's not really your lingo."
"It's all the rage in what the humans are saying; Pam informed me of this last week."
"Whatever, gargoyle."
"Pam," he muttered, staring expressionlessly at my 'insult.'
"What?"
And then suddenly she was there, in black spandex dress and all, looking fiesty as ever. Oh, Pam.
"You called?" his blond child drawled, looking infinitely bored.
The Viking nodded to me, "Dress her."
"Ooh," her expression perked up; she now looked positively filled with evil hopefulness, "I want to do this everyday." And with that, she dragged me off once again to the rooms of make-up and thousands of clothes.
Help.
"Make it quick!" Eric half-yelled after us, making sure that it wouldn't take two hours like last time. Me and him both.
And true to her command, Pam was quick; she didn't even give me a glance in the mirror on the way out. We returned back to Eric's bedroom where he was now dressed in a spiffy gray suit with a open-necked black button-down. It looked...drool...
Straightening his collar, he turned to us, his emotionless face turning to a grin as soon as he saw me. "Excellent, Pam, as usual," he smirked, "You know me well."
She rolled her eyes, showing some smoky eyeshadow, "Don't I always?"
"Don't we need a bouncer?"
"Already there," and in a flash, she was gone. Presumably, to guard the door from uber-weirdos. Uh...actually, that's kind of debateable, seeing some of the people that come into Fangtasia.
Oh, well.
"Ready?" he tilted his head towards the door.
"Can I at least see what I look like first?" His sigh echoed across the room as I skipped towards the mirror. Hm. Pam had outdone herself as usual. A look I could never achieve by myself.
Smoky eyes? Check.
Big, red pumps? Double check.
Slinky black dress, one-shouldered with dark-maroon feathers covering it? Check that.
Hair looking all bed-headish, kind of like Kesha, but less drunken-looking? Final check.
I was ready. For Fangtasia.
"Okay," I sighed, "I'm good. Let's go before I lose my nerve."
Snickering, he strode out of his bedroom, and out through the mutiple halls to the main bar, "Come."
I followed, again, commence with the trippy heel-stumble down the hall. Yay heels. They hurt. Power to the pain.
We reached the main bar a minute later, stopping at the edge to watch the throng of gyrating leather-clad people dance away. Loud music filled the building, almost giving me the idea that maybe the club WAS shaking. How powerful were those speakers anyways?
"Well," I took a breath, fluffing up my hair a bit, "I supposed it's up to the stage now." I gestured to his immaculate throne, which already had oglers at the base of it, waiting for their master. Kind of like dogs, they were. Human...dogs.
Eric made a negatory noise in the back of his throat, and I looked up. Still, in my heels, I was way shorter.
"I was thinking we might try something different." His eyes gleamed down at me. This was not a good sign.
The next second, I was pulled into the pulsating crowd of dancers with Eric behind me, moving my hips to the beat of the loud stereos.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I yelled, trying to whip around to face him, but ultimately failing since his hands kept my hips in check.
"Dancing," he replied, now twisting my hips every which way, "I hear it's all the rage."
I started to panic slightly. Dancing. Ack. Dancing.
"I can't dance," I felt awkward as his body slithered behind mine, slightly ashamed, "I just can't."
"You don't have to," he leaned down, his whispering giving me goosebumps, "Just follow my lead."
Wishing I could see his face as opposed to being back to front with him, I was startled as he started to grind into me, gyrating away like a pro.
Well. He did have a thousand years on me. For practice, at least.
"Relax," his husky voice drifted down to me, as I heard the click of his fangs come out. I shivered as he dragged them lightly down my neck, tracing patterns into my skin.
And that's when I broke. Mentally wise. I went back to the state when I was drinking Eric's blood.
I wanted his blood.
I wanted him.
I wanted him.
Gasping at this revelation and newfound desire, I started to move my hips on my own, back and forth, side to side.
I wanted him.
My arms slid behind me, around his neck, as I pressed myself closer. Eric growled lowly in appreciation, and that whole vibration shook through me.
I wanted him.
I started to grind back into him, reciprocating the dance. My skin started to burn like fire between our close contact. It was ectasy. It was incredible. There were no words.
I wanted him.
His hands slid up from my hips, up and up, caressing my sides. My hands had somehow threaded their way into his soft hair, something I'd been longing to do for a long time.
I wanted him.
It was the beat, a mantra. Nothing else but this, I thought as my eyes started to close, nothing else. And then a flash of color out of the corner of my eye stopped me from all other thoughts of dancing.
My eyes widened as I took in the group sitting down at a table. What the heck...?
In shock, I stopped dancing, and gyration left my system. I could feel Eric's frown on me; he must have been loving it too.
"Sparrow?" his fingers ghosted over my neck, tucking some hair into place.
I pointed, incredulously at the table in question, "Is that Sam?" I squinted further, "With Coby and Lisa?.!"