Chapter 24:
Endings and Beginnings
x
Portland, 1971
"I didn't know this many vampires lived in the Pacific Northwest," Sookie observed, gazing out at the crowded floors of Ravenscroft. The line outside wrapped around the block, the werewolves monitoring capacity. Pam looked both thrilled and smug, her arms crossed in front of her, one leg canted outward, a heel tapping against the newly-laid wooden flooring. Sookie had to hand it to her. Pam knew how to make a venue that everyone would be dying to be at, were most of her clientele not already dead.
"I think it'll calm down in a few weeks," she said, trying for modest. "Everyone wants to come check out the shiny new toy. Looks like some of the vamps in here traveled a long way, I recognize a few of them from a coven up near Canada."
Sookie let out a low whistle. That was an awful long trip just for a night at a strip club. Then again, these types of services, so public and open, were new to the supernatural community. She, herself, knew how few things truly felt new after an immortal existence. Anything with even a hint of commodity would attract even the most unlikely beings. From her vantage point, she could see both the stage and the bar. There was a cluster of werewolves jockeying for shots near a pair of annoyed teenage-looking vampires, though their appearance surely did not betray their true age. Two vampires made eyes at each other across the dance floor. A King she recognized from a distant state sauntered through the door. Madeline swung deftly around a stripper pole, clad in bits of lingerie, her face alight in joy. She always did love the attention on her. And, boy, did she have it.
Many were dancing, many were chatting, many were intermingling joyously. It felt so… human. It looked human. At the root of things, everyone just wanted a night to have fun, let loose. Sookie swiveled around, her long blonde hair half pulled back in a ponytail, the tips left down brushing the top of her waist. She'd worn a halter held fast by two thin strings, one at the top of her breasts and the other at her lower back, paired with jeans whose wide bottoms brushed the floor. Eric had been in a sour mood lately, unwilling to partake in any of Pam's festivities at Ravenscroft. It was a melancholic attitude she sometimes found him in, particularly in the period after Godric's death. He'd fall in, fall out. She'd help him through it as she always did.
She tugged on their bond, tingeing it with lust so he knew what he was missing. She felt his response, part reluctance, part resistance, part pure stubbornness.
"Pam, would you do me a favor?" Sookie asked, mischievously inspired.
Pam raised an eyebrow in response, waiting.
"I'm going to dance with some wolves. Want to show Eric what he's missing?"
"Naughty," Pam smirked, tilting her head slightly in acquiescence. "Off you go."
Sookie made sure Pam was tracking her while she dove into the thick, thrumming crowd. The music and bodies pulsed around her, an intoxicating mixture of the cool vampires and the boiling hot werewolves. She found the cluster of wolves at the bar, their rowdiness quieting at Sookie's arrival. The watched her appraisingly, likely curious as to what a human was doing in the supernatural bar. The wolves were oblivious to Sookie's scent, her actual supernatural bent, but they were not immune to the amount of tanned, golden skin she was showing.
"Got an extra shot?" she asked, smiling coyly for Pam's benefit. What Pam saw, Eric saw. And what Eric saw was what mattered.
One of the wolves nodded, passing her an overflowing shot glass of murky brown liquid. She knocked it back, the heat pouring through her like liquid fire, landing in her belly and swirling around. She felt as hot as the wolves, and just as daring.
"Want to dance?" one of them finally asked after several moments of expectant waiting. He was large and muscled, as most werewolves were, oversized with the gruff attitude of someone who spent the majority of their life outdoors, in the woods. Sookie nodded, placing her hand in his as they walked together to the dance floor.
He was a good dancer, despite his size. He hovered near her, respectful at first, hands brushing the tops of her jeans, calloused fingers on her bare skin. She twirled before him, carefree, sneaking peeks at her bond with Eric. It was relatively quiet, muted. Sookie lifted her hair, determined now. She would show her neck, commit herself more fully to the part. She was laying her trap, determined to snare her prey. Sookie draped her arms around the wolf's neck, feeling the scratch of his dark beard. His eyes flashed greedily, a small smile on his lips. Sookie realized then that she would've found him attractive, perhaps wanted to get to know him more. In another life, one in which she hadn't given herself so completely to Eric.
There was a flash of fire through her bond, as potent as the whiskey in her gut. Sookie grinned. Game, set, match.
Two songs later, the warm hands of the wolf were abruptly replaced by a pair of cold, sure ones. Sookie's eyes were closed, one with the music, letting the beat carry her, her cheeks flushed, beads of sweat dotting her temples. She heard the wolf's muted protestation, chanced a trip into his mind to see what the wolf saw. It was hazy, as all impressions wolves gave, but the image was clear enough. Eric, the ancient vampire all supernatural beings in the area knew to stay clear of, had taken his place. His fangs were not out but the message was clear. Mine.
Sookie opened her eyes to reveal Eric's face before her, his hair wild from sleep, his body draped in black. She dipped her hands under his leather jacket, reaching around to his back, holding him to her.
"Are you done brooding?" she asked under the music, letting her fingers linger beneath his wifebeater, warming his skin with a gentle pulse. He jolted, dropping toward her, the electricity closing the space between them, his hands woven into her hair.
"You've forgotten the back of your shirt," he replied instead, ignoring her question, letting his hands trail lower, ghosting over the ties that held the fabric to her sticky skin, twirling the excess around and around and around.
"It's the style. Do you like it?" she asked, looking up at him through her lashes.
"I do," he answered, "as does everyone else."
She scoffed.
"Territoriality is unbecoming," she scolded, pulsing away from him then back to his arms. "They all know I'm yours, anyway," she continued, loud enough for supernatural ears to hear.
His eyes gleamed, one cold palm resting on her neck where the remnants of his last bite–taken in haste amidst their fevered lovemaking–still remained. Eric's fangs snicked out, just a suggestion, his thumb brushing over the thin skin of her clavicle, running through the sweat that gathered there.
"Let's get out of here," he murmured, the oldest trick in the book.
"How original. Is that how you get all the ladies?" she teased, letting the pulse of the music drag them together then away, together then away.
"Only the one that matters," he grinned, flashing his fangs at her, blinks of playful danger beneath the flashing strobe.
Outside, the rain came down in torrents, sparks of lightning on the distant horizon. Fat, turgid drops splashed between them. Humans criss-crossed the streets, ducking in and out of awnings, hailing taxis that sprayed the sidewalks with fans of water. Sookie ran out into it. It was summer, after all. The air was hot, cloying. At this time of year, the rain was a gift. A balm. She raised her face up to the sky, welcoming the drops sparkling beneath the roiling clouds above.
Eric watched her from beneath the eave, standing beside the werewolf bouncer who looked as though he wished to be a thousand feet farther away. Eric, however, was oblivious, the small smile on his face growing as Sookie raised her arms, her hair plastered to her skin, her eyes bright, the rain washing everything away.
"Would you like to go higher?" Eric called over the sound of water on pavement, beckoning upward with his chin. Sookie knew what he was asking. She grinned, nodded. Eric stepped out into the tumult, wrapping her beneath his jacket. With a slide and a jolt, they flew into the storm.
Coast of England, 1380
"Watch out for the air pockets!" Godric shouted, his eyes tracking Eric in the distance. From their spot on the beach, Sookie could barely see Eric anymore, just a speck amongst the clouds. Godric stretched out, the starlight glancing atop his pale skin, giving him her favorite ethereal glow. It was a chilly night, the salty brine of the seawater filling her nostrils, the grains of sand soft as down beneath her. Godric took off his jacket, handing it to her as the temperature steadily dropped. She used it as a blanket, huddling beneath the excess fabric in a cocoon.
"Is he improving?" Sookie asked, peering into the night. Godric shrugged, arms above him, legs splayed below, eyes hardly open. If she didn't know any better, Sookie would think him asleep.
There was a strong gust of wind. Eric twisted and turned, then, like a meteor, came crashing down, a crater of sand around him. He stood up, moving his neck this way and that, brushing off his shoulders. A frightened crab skittered away down the coastline, the caw of an angry seagull in the distance.
"I said to watch out for air pockets," Godric said calmly as Eric approached, his posture tight with frustration.
"I was," Eric snapped, plopping himself aggressively beside Sookie. He unlaced his boots, turning them over and dumping the sand back to where it belonged. "Are you too cold?" Eric asked, running his hand along the jacket that now covered Sookie, his voice significantly gentler.
"I'm fine," Sookie smiled. Godric stood, suddenly alive once more.
"Come," Godric said, his hand outstretched toward Eric. "I'll teach you how to feel them. It's quite simple, the difference in the air pressure. It's like a tickle against the skin." Before Eric could respond, Godric flew up, graceful, elegant, silent.
"Show off," Eric grumbled under his breath, though, without hesitation, he followed his Maker skyward.
Naples, 1055
Sookie awoke on a bed layered with the softest fabrics she'd felt in recent memory. She curled up like a cat, burrowing beneath the textures, the colors. Around her, there was a slight perfume, something earthy and floral, like a garden in springtime. The tinkle of a windchime sounded in the breeze and, when she opened her eyes, she realized the windows were thrown wide open, welcoming in the night. She stared out through them, at the flickering glow of the city beneath, the lanterns and candles little speckles dotting the rolling, undulating fabric of villages below.
Sookie didn't want to get up, the warm glow of the candle at her bedside bathing her in a semi-circle of light. She felt perfectly content to stay in that bed forever, perfectly satisfied to smell the wind as it wafted through the sheer curtains draped over the stone window frame, the animal skin beneath which she lay, her hair tangled. She catalogued her body, testing its readiness, the stiff muscles and the sore areas. Godric had taken a vacation, citing his desire to leave them to their own devices. And they had taken full advantage, spending each night together in the bed, hardly bothering to leave for sustenance or exploration, instead choosing to re-learn each other's forms, their hidden nuances, their skin and their touch and their taste.
She'd slept in later than expected, which was perhaps why she didn't expect their return. The door to the room slammed open, Sookie clutching her sheets to her chest, guarding her nakedness in a futile gesture. Godric swaggered in, stumbling over his feet, Eric right behind. Each had blood dripping from their mouths, down their clothes to their drawstring trousers. Eric's hair was wild, tangled and long, Godric's close-cropped cut spiky and shorn. His tattoos peeked out from beneath his mangled clothing, a wicked smile atop his fanged teeth.
"Sookie!" he shouted, flashing to the bed, straddling her legs atop the blankets. "Eric tells me of the fun you had in my absence."
"Godric, what on earth?" she asked, flabbergasted, glancing to Eric tripping over his own feet in the corner.
"Well, we had fun tonight, too," he grinned.
"I can see that," she smirked.
"You were sleeping, you can't come when you're sleeping." Godric's words slurred, he dropped his body down beside Sookie's, a flurry of fabric.
"Move," Eric grumbled, pulling at his Maker's leg until Godric rolled over a few feet, pushing himself against Sookie in the newly-created space, rutting against her leg through the fabric like an animal. "Sookie," he murmured, his hands clumsily reaching beneath the blankets, fumbling against her breast. "Very nice," he grinned boyishly, his bloodied lips a stark contrast to his innocent expression.
"How much did you drink tonight?" Sookie asked, careful of the smile playing on her own lips.
Eric only grinned wider, reaching up to touch Sookie's nose with his fingertip.
"How much?" she tried again.
"A lot!" Godric shouted from his place at the foot of the bed. He then began laughing inexplicably, such pure joy that Sookie could feel it flow through him to Eric, then through Eric to her own body. Sookie giggled then, unable to help herself, until all three of them lay on the bed laughing at nothing, at no one.
Eric began to undress, caring not for his Maker, pulling his shirt over his head and untying his trousers, the dirtied, bloodied fabric dropping to the floor with haste. Godric's eyes were closed, a small grin on his face, like he'd slipped into some middle space between dream and reality, hovering on the edge of consciousness. Eric threw back the blankets, sliding in beside Sookie, gathering her into his chest. He was already hard, waiting, his cool breath against her neck, his body cradling hers from behind. His actions were clumsy yet tantalizing, his tongue tracing a line up the back of her neck, his fingers in her hair then moving downward, clutching her breasts, twirling her nipples, moving lower, brushing across her belly button and between her legs until she was arching against him, her breathing hot and heavy.
"Eric," she murmured, reaching back to grasp him, feeling the thrust against the back of her legs, her butt.
"Don't let me interrupt," Godric said suddenly, with a sly edge. He disappeared from the room as if he were never there at all, the door closed before Sookie could blink. Sookie could care less anyway, enveloped as she was by Eric, his cold, hard form wrapping around her, pressing down upon her, insistent, insisting. She pushed him until he lay on his back, forced his hands above his head. He moaned roughly, low and deep, when her tongue dipped into his mouth, teeth traveling along his jaw, biting at his earlobe.
"I want more," he requested, his drunkenness endearing, lifting any veil placed upon him until he was pure want, pure need. She felt his fingertips dig into the soft skin of her hips, her belly, pulling her down onto him until he was sheathed completely inside of her. She gasped at how ready he was, his sudden thrust causing her eyes to roll back. Sometimes, she marveled at how much she wanted him, needed him. How she desired it all, his face creased with pleasure beneath her, his blonde hair intermingling with her own, their coloring so similar, like puzzle pieces designed to match. His fangs, coated with stranger's blood, did not bother her. In that regard, his need outweighed what she could provide. But in this regard, with him splayed out, reaching toward her, grasping her, wanting her, she gave all of herself. She met his need with her own and beckoned him further, asking for more and more and more.
He crushed her to him, flipping them over until he hovered above her, their bodies sliding against each other roughly, with aggression. There was a wildness to his tone, to his actions. Like this was the beginning, the ending, and everything in-between. Perhaps it was. She clutched him to her as hard as she could, feeling the muscles tremble beneath his skin, the flex and release of each thrust, his growl as he thundered into oblivion, gasping against her neck, lapping at her sweaty skin with his tongue. But she wasn't ready yet, she wasn't done yet.
"Keep going," she whined, feeling him relax against her, the sleepy stillness of his body coming to fruition. He pushed himself up with his forearms, tracing her eyebrows with his fingers, seeing her need there and everywhere. Grunting, he pushed himself down her body, attending to her in all of her favorite spots. She draped her legs over his shoulders, letting his face rest between them, letting him bring her to the edge she so desired every single night after night after night. It wasn't long before she was shaking around him, the gasps of her breaths the only sound in the room, fully satisfied.
Eric rolled onto his back, splayed beside her like he'd just run a marathon, absurdly still, his eyes closed.
"Min kärlek," he whispered, addressing her in awe and in gratitude.
"Min kärlek," she repeated, curling into his side, feeling the solid planes of him beneath her, a welcome heaviness taking over her body, beckoning her back into the warm embrace of sleep.
Paris, 1810
"Stop pulling at it," Sookie reprimanded as Eric's fingers had once again found themselves inside the cravat at his neck.
"It's stifling," Eric grumbled, walking behind Sookie as patiently as he could muster, the leather of his shoes squeaking against the cool marble beneath them. Sookie had heard of the Louvre right when it was built, followed its opening and the glamorous parties, traced the art in each exhibit back to its source, and desired more than anything to see it in person. Who was he to deny her such a pure request, even if it left him uncomfortable in situation and finery?
She was positively brimming with excitement, her long dress whispering on the stone, the layers of fabric shielding him from the skin he wished to see, more beautiful to him than any painting hung up on the cold, unfeeling walls around them. He trailed her as she explored, hovering on pieces that felt, to him, like repeated versions of things he'd already seen in the past. The originals were lacquered with protective coatings, their varnish turning the portaits oily, the color of mustard and just as shiny. None of the humans seemed to care that the original intent was butchered by years of decay, their faces open with awe at the works before them.
Through Sookie, he could appreciate their existence, the need to turn an experience into something permanent, something tangible and accessible to all. But he did not want to share what he saw with anyone. He wanted to covet, to protect, to keep safe. He imagined painting the scene before him, of Sookie's smile, her cheeks a bright pink as she stared at a particularly stunning landscape, a European farm at the crux of sunset. It would not capture what he felt, the moment he was living. He would not be able to envision its permanence, its essence. The painting would be just another lovely girl in a museum, her regal posture and careful hairstyle one of many.
He couldn't bear for it to be interpreted that way. Not when each moment together held more importance to him than anyone else could possibly understand, not the most inexperienced voyeur nor the most astute art critic. No, he would remember each moment for what it was inside his own mind, the perfection must live forever within him. A banquet of memories, a slideshow of paintings, a private museum for him and him alone.
Louisiana, 2011
"Sheriff," Sookie whispered against his chest, a hand pressed against him.
"Say it again," he replied hoarsely, thrusting into her.
"Sheriff," she said, her lips on his nipple. "Sheriff." On his jaw. "Sheriff." On his lips.
Scottish Highlands, 1420
In their half a millennia together, Sookie could count on one hand the amount of times she'd seen Eric cry. Even in those moments, the tears of blood were begrudging at best, a single line down his cheek, wiped away in haste. Moments of frustration, of fear, primarily for her or for Godric. Never for himself.
This, however, was different. They sat together in a cave, lit by the dying embers of a fire, mindful not to cast too much light, not to alert any nearby to their location. It was a tenuous, dangerous time. There was so much death, so much destruction. The fairies came back in full force after The Northman's disappearance, picking off newborn vampires practically for sport. They were losing more and more to the cause and the older vampires grew unwilling to create more for Russell's army. Plus, they hadn't succeeded in capturing a single fairy, not a single day of sunlight earned from the carnage. The futility turned reckless and what remained of the vampire army fled, an uprising forcing Russell to abandon his relentless battle.
Now, there were whispers of a hunt. A hunt for The Northman.
They stayed hidden, but they were not thinking of imminent danger. No, they were mourning. Sookie, for her dear friend and Eric for his Maker.
"Godric is gone," he whispered, staring into the dead space between them, eyes focused on nothing. His tears were relentless, bloodshot eyes leaking blood down his cheeks, onto his chest and thighs. Sookie tried to brush them off as best as she could, her hands coated in it, thick and viscous and slippery. She tried to push herself into his lap again, wrapping her arms around him, using her body for comfort. He stayed perfectly still, a statue carved in marble, his cheek pressed against the top of her head.
"I'm so sorry," Sookie whispered, though it was futile. No amount of apology would soothe the grief Eric was experiencing. Sookie knew that. Still, she attempted it, running her hands down his back, kneading the stiff muscles with her fingers. To her surprise, he loosened slightly, his body unlocking. His hands encased her and, for a moment, she thought he was going to hug her in return. Instead, he lifted her up slightly, moving to the corner of the cave where a pile of blankets lay waiting. He set her down upon them, caressing her cheek with one hand, a gesture of thanks and of parting.
"I need to be alone," he admitted. "For a little while."
"I understand," she whispered, though she wanted more than anything to stay with him. Parting was a painful thing that felt permanent until it wasn't. Though he was still before her, she already hoped for his return, waited for it, wished for it. He gave her a sad smile, so brave when surrounded by his sorrow, then disappeared into the night.
Virginia, 1699
The ship rocked back and forth, back and forth. She could hear the waves slap against the sides, the groan of the wooden structure as it fought against the power of the water. Sookie stumbled slightly, using the light of her hands to guide her through the pitch black cargo hold, climbing over luggage and boxes and sacks of grain and mulch. It smelled potent beneath the ship, a mixture of mildew and salt and wet, moldy fabric. Sookie followed her bond to Eric, looking for the long-coffin shaped box he waited in.
She groaned when she found it, the coffin hidden beneath piles of luggage, worn, leathery boxes knocking against each other in the waves. Sookie cast a quick glance over her shoulder to ensure no curious eyes had followed her, then blasted a shock of power at the tower of belongings, blowing them aside until the coffin revealed itself before her. She knocked three times, their signal, then watched as a cloud of dust puffed up, the lid sliding open. Eric peered at her warily, his face gaunt and pale.
"We're just offshore, docking in under an hour. You must see," she grinned, trying to temper the excitement in her voice.
"I need–" he began but she shushed him, reaching out her forearm. The times she'd been able to come down and feed him had been few and far between, the journey across the Atlantic far more tumultuous than she'd expected. It was long, arduous, and packed to the brim with humans all searching for a second life in a New World. His fangs sunk into the thin skin of her arm quickly, the familiar pressure of the languid pulls as he drank, using his other hand to pull her closer, to stroke her side in gratitude. Sookie felt the rough coating of his tongue close her wound, his formerly-hungry eyes half-lidded in satisfaction.
"Come on," he beckoned, pulling on his arm. He extracted himself from the coffin, stretching though he did not need to do so, then lifted her into his arms, traveling effortlessly atop the cargo and depositing her on the rickety wooden stairs.
"I've been waiting to do that," he grinned cheekily, pinching her butt as they climbed.
"Hey!" she protested, though she smiled over her shoulder. They reached the top deck, walking to the bow of the ship. A few humans cast curious glances their way, taking in the tall, striking stranger who had not shown face once the entire journey. Sookie sensed some trepidation within them, but most were preoccupied with the sight before them: a new world, expansive and raw and waiting.
The bright stars above them gave the shoreline an ethereal glow, the thick trees crowded together all the way up to the beach. Nestled between the gravid forest was an outcropping, a man-made fort that flickered with signs of life. Humans could be heard in the distance, running up and down the dock, shouting to each other, preparing for the people and supplies on the approaching vessel. Their vessel.
"What do you think?" Sookie asked, looking up at Eric's stoic face, his silence.
"I think it's incredible," he finally said.
"What do you picture?" she asked, her arms around his waist, the jut of his hips in her stomach.
"A farm with just us on it. A small cottage. You, naked, in front of a fire." He winked at her at the last part, his arm draped around her shoulder.
"Is the fire outside?" she asked playfully.
"No, inside. We've built a nice fireplace in the cottage complete with a stone chimney," he explained.
"Oh, of course," Sookie smiled. "That sounds nice."
"No one can find us on the farm. It's just you and me there, our own spot amongst the trees."
She rested her head against his shoulder, joining him in the scene. It was possible, it was attainable. Their opportunity spread before them, endless and open. Full of potential, of hope. A new start and a new foundation. They could live peacefully together in this world, in the cottage of his dreams, naked and warm in front of the fire.
Louisiana, 2020
"Sophie-Anne is here to see you, Your Majesty."
"Madeline, shut up," Eric snapped.
He hated when she called him 'Your Majesty' and she knew it. Madeline chuckled wildly, flitting from Eric's office with glee. Eric sighed, leaning back in his seat behind his desk at Fangtasia. After Russell's death, a particularly bloody coup resulted in a monarchy not by state, but by region. As newly-appointed King of the South, Eric was responsible for all territory north to Washington DC and south to the tip of Florida. It was a natural growth of power, what with his age and the fact that he was the one who personally ended Russell's reign in Mississippi. He wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect, but Sookie encouraged him to try it on for size, to attempt to maintain peace and order. Plus, she enjoyed watching him torture rule-breakers just about as much as anyone.
Sophie-Anne sauntered into his office, her head bowed. He preferred Fangtasia to the regal set-ups the other area Kings and Queens had, but that didn't mean he commanded any less respect. Especially from the likes of Sophie-Anne.
"Your Majesty," she said solemnly, face to the floor.
"What is it," he replied shortly, clicking his pen with his finger. He could sense Sookie's arrival in the club, her heartbeat louder than the rest, their bond glowing. He wished to be out on the floor or back here with her, preferably naked on top of the desk.
"I wish to thank you once more for sparing my life–" she began, but he cut her off.
"I did not spare you. Sookie did. Now leave before I decide against her mercy," he spat.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"I trust there are no problems in New Orleans?" he asked with only a hint of threat.
"No, Your Majesty."
"Good. Leave," he reiterated, standing. After the debacle with Russell, Eric had wanted to kill Sophie-Anne and Bill. He wanted to do it slowly, he wanted to draw it out, he wanted to make it painful for the both of them. But Sookie had stopped him. She said she'd seen too much death, too much suffering. Plus, it was smart to keep friends closer, but smarter to keep enemies closer. She saw how they would be indebted to Eric, the loyalty that would result in lives spared. And, as always, Sookie had been right. Well, she was right about Sophie-Anne. Bill had been taken care of. After all, he'd stepped foot in Area Five after forbidden on pain of death and Eric didn't make promises he couldn't keep.
When Sophie-Anne slipped out the door, she was replaced by Sookie herself.
"Where were you?" Eric asked, eying the shopping bags in her hands.
"Pam," Sookie explained with a sigh, draping herself on the couch in exhaustion.
Eric rooted through one of the bags, pulling out a particularly lacy pair of underwear. He raised his eyebrow in question.
"Looks like I need to thank my Child," Eric tutted, dropping the string back down.
"That one was my idea, actually," Sookie grinned, reaching out to him. He took the invitation gladly, wrapping her in his arms. She was warm against him, right and sure. He was struck with the feeling of home, so intense and true. She relaxed into his touch, her nose brushing against his neck.
"So when do I get to see you in them?" he asked, toying with the strap of her bra beneath her shirt.
"Patience," Sookie scolded playfully, "We have time."
That, in and of itself, was their new and permanent truth. Their endless timeline stretched before them, unabridged and uninterrupted. It yawned wide and open, full of potential and possibility and hope. He embraced it as he embraced her, beneath him and around him, let it encompass him fully.
There was no rush. There was no wait.
Together, they had time.
x
the end! thank you so much for reading, especially the ladies that have been with me all along, commenting on every chapter. it's been a ride and i appreciate every word, every thought. thank you for spending your time with me, whether you're in quarantine or not i truly appreciate it. as always, stay healthy and stay safe x