A/N: I am still floored by your kind attention to this little story. Thank you, thank you. I hope you enjoy the next step here. Lemons…

Chapter 9

Our evening off had altered something. Though Eric continued to be his usual unshakeable, confident self in some regards—his lovemaking was fantastic and demanding as ever—in many exchanges, he felt the most evasive and enigmatic I'd ever seen him. This did not seem like forward progress. It concerned me.

After a few days, I decided to take some time to myself. Perhaps it was paradoxical to want space when the problem I felt was related to distance, but nothing I was doing in the moment seemed to be useful. I needed to think it over. I told him I had extra shifts to cover at work, that I had to spend some time with Jason and my neglected friends. Eric knew it was more than that, but he didn't challenge me. In fact, he left me completely alone—not a text message, not a phone call—for two days.

Though I had succeeded in distracting myself from the relationship a bit over the weekend, I couldn't stop thinking about it as I worked a slow Monday afternoon. I knew I could not change Eric's behavior. But I didn't have to wait around passively, either.

A new thought occurred to me as I watched an awkward exchange at the bar. I didn't even need to listen in on the young couple; their shy smiles made it clear they had just met. After a few attempts at flirtation, the girl rose to leave. I heard them both internally push for a phone number, though neither had the courage to speak up. She turned back furtively after a few steps, but he had already looked away. Crestfallen, she left the bar. The interaction amused me, but it also struck a chord.

Maybe Eric was unsure of me. Despite his determined pursuit, hadn't I ceaselessly questioned him about his ability for restraint, his motives, his past? Although he must have had a clear idea that I wanted him physically, I never gave him a firm indicator of how much he had come to mean. I realized I had been somewhat selfish in my expectations: I assumed Eric would always be sure of wanting me, that he would always unwaveringly pursue. That allowed me to hang back, consider, and ponder—a courtesy I never extended to him. That was unfair. He deserved more.

In that moment of recognition, I made a decision. The clarity of it was invigorating and a little frightening.

I was going after Eric.

Pursuit was new to me. I had no idea how to approach him. Appearing on his doorstep with six-dozen roses didn't seem appropriate. Neither did showing up at his office in nothing but a trench coat. Those actions would amuse Eric, surely, and maybe even result in hot sex, but they didn't have the right tone. The affect was off.

I remembered Eric's first gift—the gesture that nudged my heart open a fraction when it seemed totally closed to his advances. The ash tree was towering over my backyard now. I couldn't top it, I knew. But perhaps I could match it, at least in significance if not in grandeur. I considered what the action indicated. It honored what I held valuable (family, age, tradition), though I was fairly sure it wasn't what he did. It acknowledged my desire for independence even as it symbolized protection. Simply put, it meant he understood me. As a separate, distinct person.

At the time, it had been absolutely right; I needed to feel valued, affirmed in my own experience. But that wasn't what Eric needed now. It wasn't what I wanted to tell him. I didn't want separate—I wanted together. I thought back to the night we first made love, to Eric's demand to know what I sensed when I tasted him. My first three responses burned in my head. Whiskey, birchwood, fire…

The significant gesture came to me: it had to be fire. Necessary and destructive, comforting and wild, luminous and dangerous as hell. In our relationship, I was learning to embrace the peril, to find the beauty in it. Despite my fears, I was discovering I didn't want a neutered, neutral version of Eric. I had to show him that I understood, that I valued and wanted everything he was.

After work, I bought a few loads of firewood and a good bottle of Kentucky bourbon. When I arrived at home, I piled the wood in the backyard fire ring as high as I could. I struck a match and watched as the tiny flame took hold in the kindling. Soon the fire spread to the larger branches, gentle as a caress, building toward an engulfing roar. It was mesmerizing. I set the bottle of whiskey on a small bench nearby and waited.

Just as the sun was beginning to set, I messaged Eric: Meet me by the tree. I want to show you something.

The sky darkened. The fire danced, and the whiskey shone.

While I had no reason to expect Eric would show up immediately—especially given our increased distance lately—he appeared in my backyard just minutes after the sun went down. Though I didn't think it possible, our time apart had only increased my attraction to him. My fingers flexed involuntarily with the need to touch him.

Eric took one look at the scene and knew the reference point immediately. He waited for me to speak, watchful and guarded. I took a deep breath and began.

"I couldn't find any birchwood," I joked in a small voice, before silence swallowed us. I tried again.

"I've got to tell you something." He remained still, his eyes glittering. I couldn't tell if they were hopeful or distant.

"These past few days have been…almost impossible," I started. "All I've wanted to do is chase you, grab you, and tackle you to the ground. It feels like I'm on fire. Obvious, but true." He took a step toward me, but I stopped him. "No, wait, wait. I want to finish this. It's important." He set his jaw and fell motionless.

"I know I've sent mixed signals lately, but I have to say… I don't want you safe. I don't want you diminished. I want you strong and wild and powerful. You are what I want. And I want it all."

Eric's gaze scorched me, but he did not move closer. He looked strange, both far away and hyper-present. The heat of the fire wafted through my sundress, making me feel warm and exposed. The flames cast shadows over his face, darkening the weary circles under his eyes. He glanced down at the whiskey.

"Drink it," he finally said. His response caught me off guard, and I felt a cold thrill of excitement as I uncorked the bottle. I hadn't brought a glass, so I took a long swig straight from the neck. He let out a sharp feral grunt.

"Again." I couldn't take my eyes off him. He was so turned on, so gorgeous. It felt like he was pushing me, testing my commitment to the "all" I said I wanted. I took another deep drag.

Suddenly he was in front of me, commanding, a little intimidating. The fire warmed my skin from the outside while the whiskey worked within.

Eric hadn't touched me in days, and when he grabbed my arm, I felt an electric jolt run through me. Slowly, almost casually, he brought my wrist to his mouth and licked along the length of my arm to the elbow, his eyes locked on mine.

He hummed against me sensually. "I feel it burning." My desire climbed like the flames.

"Will…will you drink me now?" I stuttered out.

"Yes." But he didn't. He just continued lightly tracing my veins with his fingers. The bourbon flooded through me.

"Will you be able to taste it?"

"I will." This made me curious even inside of my flushed excitement.

"Is that…fun for you?" He laughed darkly.

"You're about to find out, lover." Bending me low in the glow of the fire, he placed deliberate kisses up the column of my neck. "Delicious," he whispered. His tongue measured my pulse just behind my ear. He pressed his fangs delicately against me, inhaling, savoring.

Impatient with want, I exclaimed, "For God's sake, Eric, just do it already!" He growled—whether in humor or frustration, I could not tell—and bit.

I had never felt him as I did then. "Out of control" was the wrong expression. So was "batshit crazy." But there was a touch of both in him as he wound his arms around my body, sucking me into his mouth with a new, forceful relish. The experience was heady and wasting. He made fascinating, unrestrained sounds of gratification against my throat while ceaselessly stroking my skin, his fingers igniting trails of fire that matched the path of the whiskey. If I had any worries about losing consciousness while he drank, they were buried beneath irresponsibly massive waves of pleasure. He broke away after a few moments—primal, starving, wary.

"Fucking Sookie," he sighed, pressing his forehead against mine. Despite my shaken state, I smiled. The combination of reverence and vulgarity moved me.

"Tell me what you want," I breathed.

"Fucking Sookie," he repeated, his eyes warm and bright, almost dilated with pleasure.

"Mmm…" I answered. "Why aren't you, then?"

Another low rumble vibrated through his chest as he grasped me to him. His fangs found their way into my throat again. Though the intensity was familiar, this purposeful seeking after his own pleasure was new. It thrilled me. I cried out in surprise as he picked me up. My legs wrapped around his lean, muscled torso instinctively, my arms clasping his neck. With less than elegant precision, he lurched us forward several feet until we reached the base of the ash tree, grinding me into it. I wondered for a moment if alcohol could affect vampires, too, before his lips found mine, and I lost all other thoughts.

Eric was clawing at me, my back pressed against the bark of the tree. By this point, I was ravenous for him, and I was starting to lose the particularities of the situation. I knew on some level that we were traveling up the tree trunk, his strong arms flexing and pulling us higher, but I still gasped in surprise when he finally pulled away. We were several feet off the ground, nestled in the first solid crook of branches. His lips had never left mine.

His back angled against the trunk, Eric stretched his legs languorously out along the length of the limb. I was facing him, wrapped securely in his arms, straddling his lap. The intimacy of the position was inflaming. I looked down at the fire raging below us, the smoke filling my nose, and then back at Eric, his body firm and alive and beautifully warm. The glow of the fire illuminated his face.

The momentary lull had displaced some of the urgency. We simply stared at each for a few moments, inhaling deeply.

"Now," he started, one strong arm trailing up my neck and into my hair. He held it away from my face, as if appraising my beauty as well as admiring it. "Where were we?"

"Fucking Sookie," I reminded, unfastening his jeans and taking him into my hands.

"Yes," Eric murmured. Gently, he reached under my dress and began to stroke me. Cradling me backward in one hand—effortless, strong, sure—he removed my underwear with the other. Restricted somewhat by location, he leaned back against the tree trunk again, his arms circling me lightly. He waited, sexy and expectant, to see what I would do.

I slid down onto him slowly, moving against him at my own pace, showing him how much I wanted him, how deliberate I was about choosing to want him. The fire continued to grow beneath us. I felt all of the symbolic weight I had set for it seep into me and then into Eric—newness and ever-presence, interconnection and depth, union and understanding. I took him as I felt in the moment: rough and on fire. He looked up at me with a mixture of disbelief and admiration, his hands grasping my hips. My heart swelled almost painfully with unspoken devotion and desire. As if he felt it, too, Eric removed a hand from my waist and pressed his palm solidly over the center of my chest. I gasped, filled with acute, reverberant longing as he strained up into me.

We came together for the first time, hot and full and right, the moment painted with flickering red and orange. Eric crushed me to him, releasing a quiet sob into my neck before loosening his grasp. His head fell back against the tree trunk. Overwhelmed, I slumped forward, resting my head heavily on his chest. My eyes drifted shut.

I came back to consciousness with a start. Eric still held me in the ash tree. The fire had not dwindled at all, which I thought was appropriate. He kissed my forehead when he realized I was awake.

"Thank you," he said after a moment. "For all of this."

"It's not just for you," I admitted.

"I know," he answered with import.

My heart thudded erratically against his chest. Despite the fact that I had no idea how he would react, I wanted to say more, to tell him the depth of my chaotic, outsized feelings for him. Though the words did not come, he looked at me sharply, as if they had.

"I think…I think I know that, too, lover," he remarked quietly. "Better than you know…"

His words startled me. I was too timid to ask him what he meant, and so I didn't. A similar kind of hesitance kept him from explaining. But when he turned back toward me and looked into my eyes, I saw something new there. Although it seemed objectively impossible, I knew deep within me that he was revealing it to me now, in the same way that I knew he had kept it hidden from me before. It was just the smallest hint of a spark, a little flame burning…for me. We held each other's gaze without comment for a long moment. My heart surged.

Still wordless, he broke the eye contact by wrapping me in his arms. I smiled into his chest, eyes closed. Breathing against him, sated and warm and hopeful, I thought of the tiny match and the raging fire…