The wind.
The wind would forever remind Eric of Lucifer Morningstar.
They made it to the top of the vampire hotel with time to spare, and when they set down on the flat top of the building, Eric was reluctant to unhook his one arm from around Lucifer's shoulders. Lucifer's arm was around his waist, and the flight across town from Lux and Lucifer's lavish apartments hadn't been nearly long enough in Eric's opinion. They were by no means in an embrace of any sort, but the closeness of the man was driving the vampire crazy in the most delicious way possible.
Eric wasn't sure he had ever wanted someone so bad in his life without just taking them. This whole respect thing he'd learned was killing him.
As soon as Lucifer's wings disappeared though, the devil was pulling away from Eric and surveying the top of the building. This was the only vampire hotel in L.A. and while it was by no means one of the biggest hotels in the area, it did sport a helicopter pad and a lovely terrace—and a secondary lobby for checking in, for those vampires that arrived from above, rather than below. Like every vampire hotel Eric had been to in the last three years since coming out of the coffin, the place was opulent, even if it was the only one within the City of Angels. It had everything a vampire could need—every vampire, not just the majority.
"This is rather quite lovely, isn't it?" Lucifer asked as he took in the terrace and everything else that was available on the roof. The terrace was surrounded by twinkling lights, bathing the greenery and wrought iron furniture in a golden light reminiscent of the sun. There was a handful of vampires on the terrace, one with a donor or date, and Lucifer seemed quite intrigued at the sight of a vampire feeding in plain sight.
Knowing his ogling was rude and unwanted, Eric grabbed Lucifer by the elbow and dragged him toward the tinted doors that led to the upper lobby. Lucifer came grudgingly, but he was equally distracted once they'd entered into the rooftop lobby and saw the clerk at the front desk. "Do all vampires fly? Is that why the lobby is up here?" he asked.
"Most of us don't," Eric admitted. "But between those who do and those who come by helicopter, it makes sense that a vampire hotel have someone manning a lobby on both the ground and top floors. Rather than force a vampire to go through an unmanned service door, go all the way down to the ground floor and then check in. It can be especially tiresome if you've been flying in a light-tight coffin all day."
"Light-tight coffins?" Lucifer asked, and Eric pointed toward a few that were lined up on racks against one wall. Streamlined glossy black and white pods, they looked like something from the future, rather than a receptacle to store dead bodies or vampires in.
"If a vampire is coming from far away, they'll usually travel by train or plane. If it's a long journey, we prefer to do it during the day using trusted human confidants to accompany us on our trip. And by trusted, I mean that they would protect us with their lives. I usually use Ginger, one of our bartenders. She's not the smartest, but she's probably the most loyal human I've ever come across. She'll get me where I need to go, even if she talks my ear off the entire time."
Lucifer nodded, impressed at the idea.
Eric moved across the lobby toward the row of elevators. The clerk at the desk smiled at Eric and started typing on his computer. "Mr. Northman, glad to see you've returned for another day spent with us. Do you need us to send down a donor?"
Eric shook his head. "I'm good for now."
The clerk gave Eric a chipper goodbye and let him and his guest pass to the elevators.
"They recognize you," Lucifer prompted as Eric pressed the down button.
"They keep tabs on who their guests are so they know who is coming into and out of the hotel. If they don't recognize someone coming in, the person will be stopped and questioned. Most especially if they're not vampire."
"Safety measures?" Lucifer asked.
Eric nodded. "We've only been out of the coffin for a handful of years, but as you can imagine, there is plenty of hatred and fear of us. It's not just the sun and fire that are dangers to a sleeping vampire, but the possibility of someone trying to kill us while we rest. Or kidnap us to steal our blood."
"It's that bad, is it?" Lucifer mused.
"You have no idea," Eric grumbled. "Just last year I was in the line of fire when a religious group sent a suicide bomber into my maker's nest to kill as many vampires as they could. I'm lucky to have survived." And that was the day that Sookie had first tasted his blood—as unwilling as she'd originally been. And shortly after that Godric met the sun. Eric grew silent, his thoughts taking a dark turn as he remembered Godric, heading to the sun while hoping there could be peace between vampires and humans.
When the doors to the elevator slid open, he got on, stabbed at the number nineteen, and then crushed himself into a corner. Lucifer didn't say a word, just seemed to adjust his shirt while looking in the mirror. Somewhere along the way, Lucifer had lost the leather jacket, and now he looked like a business men at the end of a long day. With messy hair.
When the doors opened again, it was Lucifer who sprang out of the tiny box first, turning in the hallway to wait impatiently for Eric to move. Shaking away his morose thoughts about a maker who hadn't wanted to live anymore, Eric stepped out into the hall, turning right to head toward his hotel room. Why moon over Godric's death now, when he was leading Lucifer Morningstar directly to his hotel room—and a bed?
It was enough good fortune that he knew he shouldn't waste the opportunity. Linda Martin had told him simply—if anything was going to happen, it was up to Eric to make that something happen. And the fact that Lucifer was following him to his room really spoke volumes about whether or not Lucifer would reciprocate. Why else would he, Eric reasoned. You didn't willingly go to a vampire's bedroom without wanting to at least think about getting into the bed with him.
When he opened the door to his room—1905, incidentally the year he had turned Pam—Lucifer almost ran him down, eager to get inside. But if Eric thought it was because Lucifer planned on seducing him, he was sorely mistaken. As soon as the door closed and the lights flickered on, Lucifer was his usual self, prowling through the spacious room to look at everything. Anything and everything seemed to entertain the man. When you were an immortal, whatever was different was always shiny and new, Eric reasoned—and while Lucifer was probably the oldest immortal he'd ever met, just how much time had the man actually spent on earth? His curiosity really suggested it wasn't that much time at all.
This hotel was decorated in shades of midnight black, stark white, and varying shades of grey. The walls were a glowing white, the carpet a dark grey. The bedframe was a startling white against deep black bedding. The couch was a matching black, with white coffee table and desk. And the tiny microwave and matching mini fridge were a contrast to the furniture, shiny and black and new. The room had been cleaned during the night, the bed made up but with the one side turned down professionally, the black sheets looking appealing for Eric to slide into.
There were candles throughout the room, just like every other room in this hotel, and dozens more like it throughout North America. Eric still didn't understand why vampires were leaning so hard into a human stereotype. Or maybe it was their own stereotype. Either way. The candles weren't burning and he had zero intention of lighting them. Especially after that séance at Lafayette's the other night.
Lucifer stopped in front of the bed, eyeing the luxurious black bedding. "Black sheets at a hotel?" he asked, arching his eyebrows high, but mischief in his eyes.
Eric shrugged. "You'll find that at most vampire hotels. Black sheets hide blood stains better than white. The towels are black, too."
Lucifer walked back across the room to pop his head into the washroom to see gleaming white counters and tiles and, just as Eric said, fluffy black towels.
"You spill blood that often?" Lucifer asked.
Eric sprawled onto the couch and shrugged. "It's our food," he told the devil. "And we often like to mix our sex and our food."
"Do you now?" Lucifer asked. He crouched down in front of the beer fridge and opened it to reveal a supply of Tru Blood—all of the different types. "You drink these while having sex?"
"God no," Eric sneered. "We drink those to appease the masses, not for enjoyment."
Lucifer finished looking at the bottles in the fridge, and then turned around. "Seems completely full. You didn't have one for your breakfast when you got up this evening?"
Eric snorted a dry laugh. "Why would I? I might be having a crisis of morality at the moment, but I still prefer to drink real blood if I'm able."
"So you had a person for breakfast?" Lucifer asked, his voice suddenly guarded.
Eric nodded, his eyes tracking the devil as Lucifer continued his examination of the room. "Absolutely. I promise, they were willing."
Lucifer stopped at the windows, opening the curtains to reveal Los Angeles sprawled before them, the horizon beginning to lighten in the distance. He left the curtains open as he turned to look at Eric. He leaned against the window, hands clasped in front of him. "How does that work? Finding someone willing when you're in a strange city? Did you stop at a vampire bar before meeting me at the crime scene?"
Eric shook his head, propping his feet up on the coffee table. "There's a donor program at the hotel," he said.
"A donor program?"
Eric gave Lucifer a smile. "Picture it like any other call service. The hotel has an extensive list of blood donors who will come to your room for a private fee. You can choose by blood type, gender, physical appearance."
"Does a blood donor also offer other services?" Lucifer asked.
Eric shrugged. "Not all of them do, but I find more often than not that they're looking for sex. It's the easiest way to have sex with a vampire, make some money, and also be relatively safe through the protection of the hotel."
Lucifer made a noise of appreciation at that comment. "And what did you order, Viking?"
Eric met Lucifer's gaze. Was he really going there? "I found myself in the mood for something tall with dark hair."
"And? Did she want to have sex with you?"
"He," Eric replied bluntly, hoping Lucifer would fit the pieces of this incredibly obvious puzzle together. "And he did."
Lucifer pushed himself off the window, pacing back toward Eric. "And did you?"
"No. Wrong place, wrong time. Wrong person."
A silence grew between them. Lucifer sat on the edge of the bed, checked his phone, then put it away. Eric closed his eyes and simply took in Lucifer's presence. The sun was going to rise shortly and even though he should kick the man out before that happened, he found he just couldn't do it. He wanted Lucifer to stay. He wanted to be in the same room, listening to the man's heartbeat, taking in the scent of him.
Eric knew it was coming when the entire building seemed to shake, the metal shutters on the outsides of the windows all slamming shut at the same time to make a horrendous racket.
"What the bloody hell was that?" Lucifer swore, and when Eric opened his eyes again, he found the man had sprung to his feet.
"The shutters," Eric said. "The sun rises in ten minutes."
"Does it now?" Lucifer looked toward the window to see . . . nothing. The backside of the shutters, painted a flat black, turned the window into a mirror. He strode back over, trying to see if there were any cracks where light could seep in. "My Dad, this is how you live? You must feel like a caged animal every morning."
"Sure beats sleeping in the ground," Eric said.
Lucifer whirled to stare at him, aghast. "You've slept in the ground?"
Eric chuckled. "I've been sensitive to sunlight for a thousand years. Of course I've slept in the ground."
"You're a bloody predator," Lucifer said. "You shouldn't be burying yourself in order to survive."
Eric shrugged. "The sun doesn't care if I'm a predator or not."
Lucifer sighed and sank down onto the couch next to Eric. He was quiet, clearly thinking. Eric, feeling the sunrise coming, was growing slow. He'd need sleep soon, but he wasn't going to kick Lucifer out. He liked this. Probably too much.
Lucifer finally looked up. "You haven't told me to go home yet, Viking. The sun is rising, you're probably exhausted, and yet you let me peek into your life. Why is that?"
Was Lucifer reading his mind? Or was he looking back on the night and remembering Chloe telling them to leave, that she was through with them? Eric wasn't certain.
"I don't want you to leave," Eric replied honestly.
"Why not?" Lucifer asked. "By now Chloe would have had more than enough of me."
"I'm not Chloe Decker," Eric said. He shifted on the couch, his knee knocking into Lucifer's as he faced the man more squarely. "And you are not Sookie Stackhouse."
"I suppose that's true," Lucifer said slowly.
Eric could see his thoughts spinning around behind those deep brown eyes. It was Lucifer's turn to be broody, it seemed, because the two of them sat like that for quite some time. The sun had risen and Eric could feel the effects it was having on his body. He knew he should get to bed, but after Lucifer asking why he hadn't told him to go home, he sure as hell wasn't going to ask him now. Lucifer, he was beginning to realize, needed to be needed. And it just so happened that Eric found it very easy to want and need him.
Lucifer finally looked up, seeking out Eric's gaze. "Linda says I can't be vulnerable, but she's wrong."
Eric said nothing, hoping his silence would encourage Lucifer to speak his thoughts.
Lucifer's gaze slipped away, focusing on the bed just a few feet away. "I can be vulnerable. I've tried to be vulnerable, but I've been met with resistance for some time." Gaze sliding across the room to the large flatscreen TV on the wall. "I want to be vulnerable." A sigh. Finally, eyes back to Eric. "If I could choose, I'd choose to be vulnerable for you. Don't order room service, Viking."
Eric couldn't believe what he was hearing.
Was Lucifer offering . . . his blood?
Lucifer was tugging at the collar of his pristine white shirt, lifting his chin, exposing his neck. "I want to try," he said. "Bite me?" The last two words were small, worried, scared. Unsure. Hopeful.
The two men were so close that Eric could hear the other man's heart beating. Lucifer's pulse was high and when the devil closed his eyes, Eric could feel a trill of fear and hope mixed together. He didn't think Lucifer was scared of being bitten, of Eric. He was absolutely certain the devil was scared he wouldn't be able to give Eric his blood. He wanted to, but he wasn't confident that he could.
And neither was Eric.
But that throat, exposed in offer of something intimate. Lucifer was trying, and Linda Martin's words came back to Eric. She had told Eric he would have to make the first move, and yet here was Lucifer, baring his soul at risk of rejection—or, perhaps worse, failure. Maybe he wasn't physically vulnerable in that moment, but he certainly was emotionally.
Eric's fangs had popped out—he was desperate to taste a fallen angel's blood. He had been dreaming of it for days now. But Lucifer wasn't sure and neither was he—and he was desperate for this not to fail.
Still . . .
The seconds ticked by and Eric leaned forward so that he was inches from Lucifer, closing his eyes to scent the man before him. Sunlight, wind, salt, something darker.
He was delicious, Eric was certain of it.
But if he couldn't?
Eric let his breath out, letting it cool Lucifer's skin. There was a hitch in that fast-beating heart at the action, and Lucifer's breath let out in an anticipatory sigh.
Another inch closer. The saliva came unbidden, knowing the devil's skin was right there, perfectly flawless, waiting to be marred, to be sunk into. He opened his mouth, he lifted his lip back . . .
But he couldn't.
He couldn't risk ruining something so perfect.
And yet . . .
He was so close.
Letting his own fears and uncertainties go, he leaned those last few inches and instead of trying to bite into skin that could possibly prove invincible, he laid his lips against the heat there and kissed the man's throat. The tiny noise that escaped Lucifer was one of surprise, but not bad surprise, and it spurred Eric onward. He shifted closer on the couch, his lips reaching upward to find Lucifer's jawline and that rough stubble that had been stuck in Eric's mind since he'd seen it. It was sharp against his lips, and Eric growled with desire at the touch of it.
Yes, touching this man was exactly what he'd thought it would be like.
Another kiss against that five o'clock shadow and he suddenly found himself lunging across the couch, pushing Lucifer back into the cushions as he found the man's lips and took them. The heat of him was intoxicating, fire against Eric's own ice. If a vampire could melt, Eric would be a fucking puddle of wanton desire. He took another kiss and then demanded Lucifer give him entrance, his tongue probing against surprised lips until they yielded under him.
He deepened the kiss as Lucifer opened to him, and his growl came again as his desire mounted. Suddenly there were hands in his hair, warm fingers sliding against his ears. Eric gasped at the fingers tugging at his hair and suddenly his fangs clashed against Lucifer's teeth and he realized he wasn't the only one short of breath. His forehead hit Lucifer's and he stayed like that for a moment, trying to breathe, to slow himself down.
He slowed down alright. The sun had risen and death tugged at him, calling him to a deep slumber. He was torn between this need to have Lucifer, all of him, and falling to sleep. As he caught his breath, he felt himself relaxing into Lucifer, the devil's fingers stroking his hair better than any lullaby.
"Eric," Lucifer breathed his name, the two syllables filled with wonder.
Eric responded, although with sleep suddenly beckoning him, he knew it would take effort to remain focused. He pushed his forehead against Lucifer's and then asked for another kiss, which was returned softly.
"Eric," his name again, on the devil's tongue. Hands pushed him back up to a sitting position and Eric reluctantly opened his eyes to see Lucifer propping him against the cushions. "I'm keeping you awake, Viking."
Eric gave a quick shake of his head. "I want . . ."
"Perhaps when we've both got our wits about ourselves," Lucifer said, his one hand on Eric's shoulder.
"Fuck," Eric swore, realizing he was being rejected.
"No! No, Viking!" Lucifer's hand squeezed his shoulder then reached higher, fingers slipping through the short hairs on the back of Eric's neck. "You misunderstand me. That's not at all what I mean. But you're not meant to be up right now, I can feel it."
Eric blinked, staring at the devil. He . . . wasn't saying no?
"I do believe we are a lot alike," Lucifer continued. "And if I'm correct, you will not be happy with yourself if you weren't at top notch performance."
Lucifer stood, and Eric looked up at him, suddenly feeling very alone as Lucifer began to make motions to leave for the day. Eric stood too, trying for vampiric quickness. He didn't want Lucifer to leave. He wanted him to stay. Desperately. "I—I don't want to be alone."
"Viking, you're not alone. I promise. I'll be back as soon as the sun sets. You have my word."
"But. . ."
Eric followed after Lucifer, not knowing how to say how he felt. Or how Lucifer would react to a vampire that was in love with him a mere week after they'd just met.
Lucifer stopped at the door and turned back around. "I'm more useful away, going about my day, Viking. Someone has to make sure Amenadiel keeps to his word." He gave Eric a smile, a lascivious one. "I promise, I will come back."
And to bring his point home, he grabbed Eric and pulled him into a hot embrace, kissing the vampire fiercely. "We're not done here. Not by a longshot."
And with those as his parting words, Lucifer slipped out the hotel room door, leaving Eric alone to pull his clothes off and slide between the black sheets, naked and alone—but with the promise of more.
Eric felt through the emotions that filled him and found Lucifer's—bright and cheerful and happy—and realized the devil was right. Eric wasn't alone. Lucifer was right there with him, silent feelings filling Eric with a happy haze as he finally answered death's call and tumbled into the sleep of the dead.
