Eric's eyes flew open.
He jumped the boundary between completely inert and fully conscious seamlessly, as if there was no boundary separating the two contrasting states to begin with. It was the way all vampires arose to greet the darkness, and the Viking reveled in the lack of transition. Leaping from one extreme to the next without wasting anything in the tedious cross over suited him just fine.
But Godric's bed felt too empty.
At first he wrote it off as osmosis; the unsettling barrenness of the room permeating the mattress, and the sheets, and the pillow beneath his head. Except the mattress made way for the overwhelming size of his body too easily. The sheets were tucked under him too neatly. The pillow molded to the shape of his face too exactly…
All things considered, the vacant space beside him came as no surprise. The jolt of anxiety that tore through him at the sight of it, however, was startling.
It flooded directly into his core like a burst of acid; incinerating everything it touched with a burn so sharp in it's' intensity, it had Eric dressed and out the door before his vanity could even be bothered by donning the same ensemble he'd worn mere hours earlier.
He needed to see Godric.
He darted toward the cacophony of voices that met him only a handful of steps out the door. Their tenor was harsh, and Eric was relieved by the apparent severity. Surely this was where his Maker had gone off to.
The Viking slowed to a casual stroll as he made his way into what he supposed could be considered the 'living' room of Godric's lair. Now that he'd realized the cold impersonality of the bedroom, the quality pieces of furniture here only served to make the house seem less occupied.
Yet it could not have been more crowded.
Every available couch, chair, and table was overtaken by the Dallas vampires. Eric knew Godric lived in a nest, but he couldn't imagine all of these strangers were residents here. He thought some of them might have been at the celebration of the ancient boy's return. Then again, he hadn't been interested enough in the guests to be certain.
Out of the mass of unfamiliar faces, he was only able to search out his Maker's idiotic lieutenants, Isabel and Stan. They stood in front of the seats that were meant for them- too invested in their current argument to use them for sitting purposes.
Isabel must have felt the added pressure of his attention because her head swiveled away from the cowboy to look questioningly in Eric's direction. As soon as she saw him, she stopped mid-rant and began to wade through the cluster of bodies in order to reach him.
Stan, ever the quick study, figured out Isabel ditched him in pursuit of Eric a full five seconds later. But what time he lost in his confusion was more than made up for in his careless method of approach. While Isabel meandered cautiously around the vampires standing between them, Stan barreled through the gathering mercilessly.
It occurred to Eric (as he watched Stan knock someone insignificant to the floor) that he could make this easier on them by covering some of the distance himself. But why should he? They wanted to speak with him, not the other way around. In fact, Eric would much rather not have to carry on a conversation with them. Unless they could take him to his Maker, they were useless.
So Eric remained where he was, his outward appearance the perfect blend of impassivity and expectance.
Stan was the first to get to him.
"Well?" he pressed immediately, as if he had asked a question and Eric had taken too long to respond.
"Yes, I am. And yourself?"
"Where's he?"
"If I knew that, do you think I would be wasting my time associating with you?"
Isabel finally cleared the last crooked row preventing her from joining in the exchange then. And before Stan could shoot out a fiery retaliation, she burst forth with an uninformed query of her own.
"Is Godric with you?"
"No," Eric replied, annoyed at having to repeat himself, "We just covered that. And he's not with you either, seeing as you feel the need to ask."
So where was he?
The maddening anxiety which had eased slightly at the promising noises of discord returned with a vengeance. The acid erupted all over again; the resulting pain twice as extreme. Eric could not recall feeling anything like it in his thousand years.
What is this?
Stan looked at Isabel, "They probably took him again."
"There is no way Godric would-"
"They did it once-"
"And they did it again, but left one of their own dead, here, with all of his stakes intact and all of us sleeping soundly? That makes perfect sense, Stan. Why in the fucking world didn't I think of it?"
At once the dispassionate glaze that frosted over Eric's window into their foolish bickering disappeared. This mattered to him. This was important.
"What happened?"
He looked out at the ridiculously large crowd of vampires all grouped together around him. They would not congregate like that without cause. Something disastrous had happened from the time the sun rose to when it set, and because of it Godric was missing less than 24 hours after he'd returned home from the last abduction.
How could he have let this happen to his Maker? What kind of ungrateful excuse for a vampire was he?
Neither one of Godric's lieutenants was listening to him.
"Because you're always so damn focused on things addin' up. These are fuckin' humans. They don't have half the-"
Eric grabbed a fistful of Stan's ridiculous shirt; stealing whatever he'd been about to say right out of his mouth and crumbling the meaningless words into dust. He would not be ignored.
"What. Happened."
"Eric," Isabel said, glancing behind her to make sure the open display of aggression had gone unnoticed.
Her caution came with good reason. Godric had once told him vampires were like dominos when it came to violence. Once the first chip fell, it was only a matter of time, and not much of it, before the rest came toppling down as well. It was because of this that those who did not lose their heads actually wielded the most power.
But that token of wisdom was lost on Eric when the ancient boy was involved. At the moment, he didn't care if everyone else in the room tore their fangs out and choked to death on them. As long as he found his Maker.
"That's Texas business," Stan told him with his eyes glued to the hand clutching his shirt, doing a poor job of disguising his nervousness, "It's got nothin' to do with you."
"Well, I'm making it my business. Tell me."
"Stan is right," Isabel intoned, probably the first time she'd ever spoken those three words in that order, "We need to keep this contained in the Area for as long as possible. At least until we can consult with the Sheriff."
Eric wanted to hit something. Badly.
"But he isn't here to consult with. And given his absence is most probably tied to whatever catastrophe you're hiding, I suggest you share."
"I'm sorry, Eric."
The fact that her apology sounded genuine only riled the Viking further. He shook Stan roughly, grunting in frustration.
"I could torture the information out of you," he seethed.
"Eric," Isabel said carefully, "Don't."
And after a moment of self-reflection, in which he realized how close he was to losing it, Eric released the cowboy from his grasp.
He uncurled his fingers, letting the silky fabric slip through the hollow spaces like liquid. Then he took a step away from both of them. And another. And another. Until, finally, he turned his back on them all.
Eric felt as if his entire body had been filled with lead. Acid and lead…How very pleasant.
He slouched over to the wall nearest him and leaned his backside against it. Another lesson of Godric's: sometimes the best way to find out what you want to know is through simple observation.
That is when he saw Bill and Sookie enter into the room out of the hall right next to where he was standing. It was most likely the closest he'd ever come to being happy to see the two of them together. They brought something stabilizing to the room, completely unlike the stability his Maker provided him with, but still reassuring in its' own right.
He could picture them seated at a table in his bar. They lived in Louisiana. They lived in his Area. They were his in a way that all of the others present were not. They were part of his life, his world…
His world and Godric's. Once one and the same, now entirely different. It was a hard pill to swallow.
"What's all this?" Sookie asked Bill, who, upon seeing the crowd, had taken to gripping her hand in a vice.
"This is trouble," Eric answered, drawing both of their attention, "Shouldn't the two of you be blissfully spooning at the hotel about now?"
Seeing no better option, Bill reluctantly guided his human to stand along the wall with Eric.
"We were invited to spend the day," he explained, Eric thought a bit sharply.
Relations with Bill Compton had been deteriorating rapidly as of late, and the Viking was under no illusion as to why. The reason was currently attached to Bill's arm; her curled hair slightly mussed from sleeping, hiding ears that could hear every uncensored word wandering around inside the heads of all surrounding her- that was, if said heads belonged to human specimens, of course.
She was undeniably useful and, Eric grudgingly admitted to himself, occasionally fascinating. And he was curious about her. Often times, he was much more curious than any thousand year old vampire should be about a small town human waitress. And that was irritating.
But he wasn't about to curb his interest in her because she was Bill's. Nor would he neglect to take advantage of any opportunity to bring himself closer to her. And if that meant casting himself as an enemy in Bill's eyes, so be it. It wasn't as if his friendship was of any value to Eric anyway; he was already his Sheriff.
"Isabel offered…" Sookie elaborated, watching a particularly tense pair of individuals to the left of her warily.
Eric could see one of them in his line of vision- he had black hair and a diamond earring that was so large it rivaled Stan's hat in its' outrageousness. He didn't feel like expending the effort to rotate his eyes so he could see the other half of the equation.
Sookie didn't share his lack of concern, "They're not going to tear each other's throats out or something, are they?"
"No," Bill replied emphatically.
"Possibly," Eric countered.
The vampire with the earring looked over at them, leaving no doubt that he had heard the brief exchange. His fangs were out, and he snarled.
Misinterpreting the sound as one meant for her benefit, his friend (who turned out to be a woman) lifted her lips back over her teeth and reciprocated with her own growl before either Bill or Eric could react.
Eric shifted away from the wall, thinking again of the domino effect of violence. He had no idea what had everyone here so highly strung, but if fighting broke out he would eagerly participate. The raw anxiety brought on by the unknown whereabouts of his Maker was still eating at him, along with the frustration of being kept out of the loop, and an entire slew of other uncomfortable emotions he was utterly unused to feeling and did not wish to identify.
Given the chance to unload, he would seize it.
"Where's Godric?" Sookie asked suddenly.
"That seems to be the question of the month."
"Did anyone check the guestrooms?"
Eric looked at her.
His voice was low and seared with intensity, "Do you know where he is?"
For a fraction of a second, Sookie dropped his gaze. And that was all the answer he needed.
Eric glided in front of her in a movement so swift, she jumped. She was quick to recover, however, and, had the situation been less dire, the Viking would have been amused at the unconcealed contempt she harbored for him. But not right now. Not while his Maker was-
"Powell, Katherine, please."
Godric's voice rang out to the quarreling vampires next to them and seemed to carry throughout the entire room, leaving dead silence in it's' wake.
Eric didn't know how the ancient boy did it- projected his words in such a way to immediately draw the attention of all around him without yelling. It had been a puzzle to him for quite some time now, and, in his dimmer witted moments, he would purposely provoke Godric to see if he could get him to raise his voice. Afterwards, he would regret that decision so severely, it would be another decade before the challenge could convince him to try again.
When at last he did get his Maker to cry out, it wasn't in anger…
The snarling imbeciles broke apart from each other as if a whip had been snapped between them. They parted to reveal Godric, the missing leader whom everyone had been searching for, standing quietly in the midst of the raucous. How long had he been there without anyone knowing? With Godric, it was impossible to say.
Eric turned; gorging himself with the sight of him. He pulled the balm of his tranquility out to himself through the opening of his dilated pupils and used it to smother his anxious insides. But the relief was incomplete. Even as his Maker stood directly in front of him, an undercurrent of wrongness continued to smolder in the pit of his long-retired stomach.
The Viking felt no less on edge… no more assured in the fact that he would not lose everything…
What is this?
"Sheriff," the lady uttered beneath her breath as she put away her fangs.
Hers was the precursor to a chorus of exclamations all attempting to grab hold of Godric's attention. Dallas vampires had a reputation for being overzealous, and they were certainly living up to it. They reminded Eric of children, what with the way they swarmed around the ancient boy and trampled over one another's sentences.
Pam should be thankful she stayed in Louisiana, he thought with a momentary smirk.
Godric didn't respond to any of them. He stared out with steady, disinterested eyes that saw but did not absorb. Like rain pelting glass, their urgent babbling trickled off of him without once finding purchase. His tolerance never failed to astound Eric. How he was able to withstand such craziness and not even flinch was truly remarkable, and the Viking was sure that, no matter how long he lived, he wouldn't ever be capable of such a thing.
After a short while of futile rambling, Isabel emerged from the crowd. She waved everyone around her back with firm hands and a stern look that left them all ashamed. A great number of them hung their heads as if they were being scolded yet again for doing something they should know better than to even attempt by now.
"A member of the Fellowship of the Sun was here during the day," Isabel began to report to Godric when the masses had quieted enough to allow her to speak for them, "He was armed with silver and fourteen stakes. Stan found the body lying directly in front of your room. We thought…"
The Dallas vampires had elapsed back into deafening silence. Eric leaned forward, his face hardening with each word out of her mouth. He couldn't decide what he was more repulsed by: that despicable excuse for a church, or himself. He was there. He was laying right there oblivious and dead while his Maker could have been being massacred. It was mind-rattling.
Isabel cast her eyes away from Godric as she trailed off; her own face briefly closing in on itself with the apparently painful feeling her unfinished statement brought to the surface. The fact that she seemed to sincerely care for the ancient boy improved Eric's critical opinion of her, if only slightly.
"The intent was clear," she pressed on, abandoning the murky ground of their conjectures in favor of a more factual reiteration, "But we've been unable to ascertain whether he was sent by the church, or came on his own accord. It would appear he was alone, since there have been no other bodies found, and everyone here has been accounted for."
Stan stepped in, "It was wearin' the stakes on a belt, and the silver was tangled up in it's shirt like some kind of fuckin' medieval crusader. The son of a bitch just about had it's head on backwards when I uncovered it."
Godric nodded, completely unfazed, "I know."
Eric blinked.
"What?" Stan demanded.
"I killed him."
The silence was broken by a gust of whispers that quickly transformed into a dull roar of speculation. It wasn't the murder itself that caused such a reaction- in Vampire mindset, the death of a human could scarcely be filed under the title of a crime- it was the knowledge that this human had wronged their Sheriff in a way which had warranted such a response from him.
Eric had to speak up to be heard over the noise, "Did he come after you?"
Along with the desired attention of his Maker, he also gained the focus of the entire room. The whole lot of them turned to stare him, their eyes narrowed and suspicious. Every one of them questioned his right to be here; questioned his right to speak to Godric. He could see them labeling him as something he never thought he would be in relation to his Maker, and yet it was true: Eric was an outsider.
"Who the hell are you?" the vampire with the earring mumbled resentfully.
The Viking tensed. This buffoon was getting on his last nerve…
"He would have come after any of us, had he been given the chance. There was no particular target."
Godric looked away even as he answered him. The rest were content to follow his example.
"But…" Stan said, sounding uncomfortably puzzled, "The body wasn't drained."
"I didn't say I fed from him," the ancient boy pointed out brusquely, and he raised one hand to press his knuckles gently against his temple.
It was a casual gesture to everyone else- possibly conveying hard thinking, or annoyance at Stan. But to Eric it was an old signal.
Hush, it told him, now is not the time for your questions. Keep silent.
The cowboy was still confused, "How the fuck did you…?"
Finishing the words was unnecessary. Everyone knew he was referring to the impossibility of coming face to face with a fresh corpse and not sucking it dry. The pull was hailed as irresistible; the draw so strong no blood drinking creature could abstain from it.
Everyone knew except maybe Sookie, who was the only breather present at the moment.
She was handling all of this surprisingly well, Eric noted. Nothing that had been said here seemed to shake her in the least. Human reactions were vastly more apparent than vampire reactions as a rule. More often than not, circumstances which would send a blood bag into fits of hyperventilation would not stir any response in a vampire whatsoever.
But Sookie hadn't so much as cringed. It was almost as if she knew what was coming; as if she was expecting the news of the intrusion, as well as the resulting death at Godric's hands, and had already come to terms their happening…
It was an oddity Eric would bear in mind, to be sure.
"Practice," Godric explained to Stan matter-of-factly.
Eric didn't like the way Stan looked at Godric- like he was wondering if his Sheriff had lost his mind. Viewed in comparison to others of their kind, it was very strange that the ancient boy had the capability to walk away from a fresh body. And it was stranger still that he would possess the desire to master such a skill in the first place. But the Viking knew that his Maker had long since risen above comparison to the average vampire.
Now came the time to deem an appropriate retaliation for the invasion. The air around Eric buzzed with threats of vicious crucifixions and plans to slaughter the entire light-loving congregation. The Viking readily approved of these strategies- the Fellowship of the Sun had jeopardized the most important person in his life two times too many.
"There are twenty of us in this nest, not including myself," Godric said above the voices of the Dallas vampires, who were once again babbling, "If the Soldier of the Sun had succeeded in what he set out to do, twenty of our lives would have been lost."
He gazed out at everyone around him, seeming to meet each pair of eyes with his own before asking, "How many of their lives have we taken?"
In the seconds that followed, Eric was beside himself. Human lives were not a matter that concerned his Maker.
"Beyond their blood, human life has no worth to what we are," he had told Eric time and time again, "The sooner you realize it, the better off you'll be."
Yet this was the second time Eric had seen Godric show sympathy for them; first at the church, and now again at his own home. Eric felt the sense of wrongness that refused to fade intensify. What did it mean that the bedrock of his existence was contradicting the very principles that made Eric who he was? Had Godric begun to value human life? Was this the monumental change that Eric had been made privy to last night?
What is this?
The ancient boy looked down, an air of frustration coloring the motion.
"I will speak to the King," he said, "And Mr. Newlin as well."
Stan was furious, "What?"
"I can't imagine the Reverend would be willing to meet with you, Sheriff," Isabel added.
"If he is concerned with what an incident like this will do to his public image, and the image of the organization he represents, he won't have a choice."
"So that's it," the cowboy growled, "They sent someone in here to fuck us all to hell, and we're not gonna do a goddamn thing about it. We might as well save them the trouble and stake ourselves."
Godric looked at him.
Eric anticipated what his next words would be. Given his unabashed dislike for Stan, he was looking forward to seeing the ancient boy put him in his place.
But his Maker didn't say anything. No, he flicked his gaze in Stan's direction for a slightly elongated moment and turned away.
Eric blinked. Was Godric…he wasn't going to let Stan talk to him like that, was he?
Apparently he was.
"Any act of violence against the Fellowship of the Sun will not be tolerated in this Area," Godric told the masses.
And then, after letting the statement sink in, a dismissal, "You all may go now."
The crowd gradually began to dissipate. When the vampires in front of them started toward the exit, Bill followed suit; Sookie trailing reluctantly behind him. Eric sought out his Maker, who had vanished in the disorderly throng.
He spotted Godric surrounded by a continuously flowing band of well-wishers. It looked as though they were leftover subjects that hadn't had the opportunity to welcome the ancient boy home the night before.
"Eric?"
The Viking glanced at Sookie out of the corner of his eye. He didn't expect she would linger without her boyfriend. He wondered how long it would take for Bill to notice her absence… Knowing how paranoid he was about losing her, Eric didn't think it would take long at all.
"Are you stayin' here?" she asked.
He watched as one woman approached Godric. She was dressed solidly in yellow, and had her expression fixed up into a grin while she spoke to him. Her Sheriff nodded at whatever it was she said, then sent her on her way. Another man took her place, and Eric could already see the vampire who would replace him, and who, in turn, would step up after that…and so on…and so forth.
He looked elsewhere and started toward Sookie.
What he wore on his face in that instant was a mystery to him, but, as they walked out, she placed a hand lightly on his arm…
Eric was walking back to the Hotel Camilla with Sookie and Bill in tow. The night air in Texas was much drier than what he had grown used to in his own state, and he found himself breathing for the sake of fully experiencing the difference.
"We should make our return to Bon Temps tomorrow evenin'," Bill said.
Eric exhaled, "I'm not ready to leave yet."
"Your Maker is no longer in any danger. It's not wise for us to remain in Dallas when matters are so clearly strained."
"I'm not ready to leave."
"Then Sookie and I will go."
"No."
"Why?" he was angry now, "What purpose does that serve?"
"Your human gave me her word that in exchange for the release of her friend, Lafayette, and ten thousand dollars, she would assist me in Dallas for as long as I desired."
"She agreed to assist you in findin' the vampire Godric. Since he's been found, her pledge to you has expired."
"I wanna stay in Dallas," Sookie cut in abruptly.
Eric had had an inexplicable hunch that this would be the case. He smiled quietly to himself at having his suspicions confirmed.
Bill, on the other hand, was completely taken aback, "Sookie, did you not see the viciousness displayed in that nest tonight? This is no place for a girl like you."
"Oh, I saw it. But you heard Godric. He won't tolerate any violence."
"You really trust him?"
"I really do."
"Sookie, you barely know him."
"So what? I've only known you for a few weeks, and I'd trust you with my life. Besides, why would he lie about somethin' like that?"
"It's settled, then," Eric said, partially because they'd reached Sookie and Bill's hotel room, and partially because he could see Sookie was going in for a kiss, "I'll notify the hotel that we'll be staying longer than expected…unless you'd still like to return to Bon Temps tomorrow, Bill? I'll see to it that Sookie is well taken care of."
"Never."
Eric snickered.
"Have a nice night, Bill," he nodded, "Sookie."
And then he set course for the elevator…
The woman working behind the desk in the lobby had been replaced by a young man when Eric got downstairs. Probably in his late teens or early twenties at the oldest, he was awkward, jittery, and obviously inexperienced at his post- but he was no less pleased with the news of their extended stay than she would have been.
The Viking had sampled the woman once, upon her request, on his second night here. Reading the new employee's transparent body language all too easily, he knew that he need but speak the words and this pitiful little human would gladly accompany him back to his room as well.
Eric gave his prospective dinner an appreciative scan. He did have good veins…
But, ultimately, he reconsidered. There was only one type of blood he had an appetite for tonight, and it was over 2,000 years old and not even remotely human. The new employee was far too skittish for Eric's tastes anyway.
Once inside his room, Eric sat down on the bed and pulled out his cell phone to check for messages. There was a text from Pam updating him on business at the bar, and informing him of her successful transaction with Lafayette concerning the V. He replied with an update of his own; letting her know his Maker was safe, but she and Chow would have to look after things on their own for awhile longer regardless.
She would probably be annoyed at him for not providing a more specific timeframe, but Eric didn't have one to provide. Sookie and Bill had served as a welcome, if brief, distraction from…whatever this was that was going on with Godric. However, now, alone, the nagging sense that something was not right was louder than ever.
He had no clue how long this was going to last. How long would it be before he recovered from the idea that he could lose his Maker? Before he could leave Godric's side and not be tormented by this acidic anxiety? What would it take to put this madness to rest?
What is this?
Eric got up and stripped himself of his clothes; he hoped a shower would cleanse his mind…
After trying to convince himself there was no logical reason to return here tonight and failing miserably, Eric found himself wandering through the winding corridors of Godric's nest once again.
With the exception of a small cluster of conversationalists by the hearth (none of whom was his Maker), the 'living' area had thankfully cleared out. Everything contained in the space was prim and polished; the neutral tones of the layout were spotless, revealing nothing of the earlier frenzy. The Fellowship of the Sun could say whatever they wanted about vampires and their kinship to Satan, but no one could call the fanged population sloppy.
"Your Sheriff," Eric requested of the cluster.
It felt inadequate- having to ask for the location of his Maker from someone else. He shouldn't need verbal instructions. Any non-defective progeny would know-
Eric stopped that thought dead in its tracks. He could not think about that. He refused to think about that.
The shrunken group regarded Eric with the same narrowed, suspicious eyes the larger one had. Already on shaky ground, the Viking had to fight the compulsion to defend his right to see Godric. He knew that telling them off would only make it seem as though they'd made him feel threatened. And he was not threatened. At all.
"That way," one of the less suspicious ones directed, swiveling to point behind herself, "Second door on the right."
Eric took off as per her instructions; entering another hallway separate from the path Godric had led him down last night. Just like that one, this new passage was lined with countless rooms, and he was happy to stop a mere two doors in. It seemed as though the nest was every bit as much a hotel as the Camilla. Or maybe 'maze' might have been a more accurate description.
Expecting another bedroom, Eric was surprised when the thick slab of oak swung out of the way to reveal a chamber for conferences. His Maker was seated at a rectangular table with none other than the buffoon and his outrageous earring across from him. Upon seeing their expressions, the Viking immediately regretted his decision not to knock.
"You again?" the buffoon protested, "What are you, some kind of spy?"
His voice was unexpectedly rusty. Its' raspy tenor, when viewed in combination with his otherwise airbrushed, urbane appearance, was the only thing appealing about him.
He pushed his chair away from the table and leapt agilely to his feet, catapulting himself toward Eric.
"Powell, it's fine," Godric said evenly, "Eric is mine."
Eric is mine.
The claiming, so sudden, so simple- words he'd heard a million times before and had always loathed- resonated through him so loudly, he became deaf to everything else. Only with the utmost distance did he absorb Powell's reaction. Only with the most minuscule piece of his consciousness did he see the buffoon whirl around in shock.
"You… You're a Maker, Sheriff?" he said, staring at Eric again, as if searching for some sort of similarity to Godric he'd missed, "You've never spoken of him."
"He prefers to speak for himself. Would you excuse us for a moment, Powell? We can finish this discussion later."
"…Sure."
The door clicked shut after him.
"You've always had a knack for rubbing others the wrong way," Godric muttered at Eric when it had gone noiseless.
"I'm an acquired taste," the Viking quipped, but were you to ask him at another time, he wouldn't recall saying it.
"Eric is mine," he quoted, his voice curling around the phrase hypnotically.
A sigh, "I know you hate it, but-"
Eric moved. He crossed the space between him and his Maker as if it had never been there in the first place. In the next second, he was kneeling beside Godric's chair; their faces within an inch of each other.
"No."
He leaned in, touching his forehead to Godric's, "Say it again."
A heavy silence.
"Please… Please, Godric."
Eric didn't even notice he'd slipped into his native tongue until Godric's answer came back in his own, slightly accented version of it.
"You…are mine."
Eric's mouth fused with Godric's.
He reached out to grasp his Maker's face with both hands, his fingers roaming frantically over the old dimensions. Desperately, they smoothed over the familiar features; tracing, and retracing, and then starting over again. His thumbs caught against his cheekbones, slowing almost imperceptivity before dipping down into the softness of the hollow. His palms ghosted over his temples and brushed across the ends of his hair. His eyebrows, the shape of his ears, the set of his chin…
All the while his lips were working. Fiercely, they enveloped his Maker's in every single way they possibly could. At first it was with unconditional delicacy; his mouth parted to cushion Godric's top lip between both of his, scarcely sucking at all, not permitting himself the barest hint of a taste. He treated the bottom with the same unbearable gentleness before very gradually increasing the pressure of his kisses, occasionally letting the edges of his teeth snag lightly against the supple border.
But never his fangs. No, Eric was too focused on the ancient boy for them even to escape.
It seemed an eternity before he'd used his lips sufficiently enough to allow the introduction of his tongue. Reverently, the tip swept the edges of his Maker's mouth; slipping over every drop of the slick surface before daring to delve inside. The instant he felt Godric's tongue meet his, his entire core flipped on its' side. A sound unbelievably deep and guttural emitted from somewhere in his chest.
Nothing would ever, could ever, taste that good.
Only when the lack of contact became physically painful could he bring himself to release his Maker's face. He didn't waste a touch; caressing Godric's neck, his clothed shoulders, every curve of his arms… All the way down to his wrists Eric's hands ran, and then lingered on the backs of the hands of his creator.
Gingerly, Eric's fingers twined themselves in the spaces between Godric's. He broke the connection of their mouths to faintly peck the lids of his Maker's closed eyes as he coaxed the ancient boy from his chair with their interlocked hands. The Viking's own eyes squeezed shut with the amount of feeling shooting through every fiber of what he was.
Nothing would ever, could ever, mean this much.
And yet it was nowhere near enough. He could worship Godric's body for hours on end, for every second of the thousand years he'd graced this earth, and it would still be beneath them.
He wanted to consume his Maker; to swallow him whole. He remembered how, centuries ago, before the words 'vampire' and 'politics' had even been dreamed into existence, he would lie on his back -staring at the endless ebony sky- cursing the cruelty of the universe for placing them in separate bodies.
Godric let him pull him to the floor, and then they were both kneeling.
Eric tugged him close; tugged him until their knees were touching. His hands were running again. They were quick to take full advantage of everything the chair had restricted. His Maker's chest, his Maker's sides, his Maker's back…especially his back.
Nothing would ever, could ever, feel like this.
Unable to refrain any longer, Eric crushed his body against the ancient boy's. His fangs snapped down upon impact…
And instantly retracted.
Godric's body wasn't responding to his at all. He could not have been softer.
Eric drew back, staring at his Maker in bewilderment. The Viking tried not to be offended. It was his fault. It had to be. But where had he gone wrong? What hadn't he done? Was he just…not doing it for Godric anymore? What was he supposed to make of that?
The ancient boy refused to meet his eyes. He unwrapped himself from Eric's arms and stood, straightening his clothes firmly.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
Eric watched Godric's back as it disappeared into the hall.
And the door clicked shut.