Eric woke up horny and hungry, fangs perpetually out. He dealt with the problems in that order.

He spent far too long in a scalding hot shower, the memory of his lips on Lucifer's burning in his mind, the hot water warming in the way he imagined touching Lucifer's skin would do. By the time he turned the water off, he'd at least solved one problem. He toweled dry and once more donned his jeans and t-shirt, wishing he'd had the presence of mind to ask room service to do his laundry during the day. But barring a quick trip to a men's big and tall store—the curse of his height was never finding jeans that fit him anywhere else—Eric was stuck in these clothes another night. And buying new clothes was the last thing on his mind when all he wanted was to finish what he'd started the morning before with Lucifer.

Still, he was hungry. Ravenous, in fact.

A quick call to the front desk and soon a tiny redheaded woman arrived at his door with strict orders to not ask Eric for sex. This was a blood transaction, Eric had stressed when he'd called. Nothing more. To enforce that, he sat with her on the couch, she perched on the arm so he didn't have to crouch down to get at her neck.

She was professional, though. Lifted her chin, pulled her hair back, and closed her eyes. Just a tiny sigh escaped her as his fangs sank into her skin, and she held her position the entire time he drank. Blood no longer tasted stale to him, and he found himself enjoying his food source for simply what it was for the first time in weeks. He knew it was because of his mood, not the actual taste of her blood. It wasn't his room service breakfast that was special—it was the man who Eric had kissed the night before. He'd kissed him and the world had come alive, his sense of taste apparently returning finally.

Or perhaps the man had just pulled him out of his depression.

Could be that, too.

He'd just finished taking his fill and was counting out the money from his wallet when there was a knock at the door. They both stood up and Eric led his meal toward the door. Before opening the door, he handed her a tip—after all, he'd enjoyed himself and what better way for her to know than by a monetary gain?

Of course, when he opened the door, it was Lucifer standing in the hall, a garment bag slung over a shoulder, looking impeccably flawless as always. He was silent as the redhead left Eric's room, scurrying down the hall toward the elevators in silence. Lucifer finally stopped watching her retreat to give Eric a pained look.

Ah, yes. He had asked Eric to bite him the night before. And here Eric was drinking from someone else. But there was no guarantee Lucifer could bleed for him—in fact, everything the devil had told him suggested otherwise, unless they were willing to have Chloe Decker in the room. And who the hell wanted that awkward third wheel around?

Eric opened the hotel room door wider, beckoning for Lucifer to come in.

"Do tell, Viking," Lucifer said, hurt in his voice. "What is it like to feed?"

"In this case?" Eric replied, still waiting for Lucifer to cross the threshold. "It was enjoyable. Like a celebratory feast."

Lucifer finally stepped into the room and Eric let the door swing shut.

Lucifer paced into the room to lay the garment bag over the couch where Eric had just had his breakfast. But his eyes were on the unmade bed and Eric suddenly realized he was probably remembering Eric's words about mixing sex and blood.

"I didn't have sex with her, if that's what you're asking," Eric said, crossing the distance between them with vampiric quickness. Lucifer started in surprise at Eric's sudden closeness, but the vampire didn't make space. He wanted the devil to know that he wanted to be—no, he needed to be—close to him.

"Why not?" Lucifer asked. "You said as much that most of them want to."

Eric shrugged. "Not the person I wanted to have sex with," he said simply.

Lucifer's gaze went back to the unmade bed. "No? She was cute though."

"Do I need to put it on a billboard?" Eric asked, taking another step toward Lucifer.

Lucifer cocked his head to the side, his dark eyes finally lighting up. "Would you, please?" he asked, entertained by the notion. "No one's ever done that before. L.A. certainly has plenty of them."

Eric snorted a dry laugh and turned away. They were good, it seemed. And he was pretty sure Lucifer would like to see a billboard with love professed to him. Eric was pretty sure it'd make his entire year.

"What's this?" he asked, eyeing the garment bag laid out across the couch cushions.

"Oh, yes!" Lucifer moved around Eric to stand in front of the couch, touching the garment bag lovingly. "I felt guilty about dragging you out here without letting you bring clothes. Worse, I've occupied your entire time, haven't I? We seem the same size." Lucifer paused to flash a quick grin. "Thought I'd bring you some fresh clothes, so you don't feel so dirty."

Eric ran a hand through his still drying hair, not sure what exactly he was feeling. It was an odd sensation. A stupid little warmth in his chest, and this niggling need to reach out and simply hug the man. Ugh. Was he going to be like this for the rest of eternity? But Lucifer had cared enough to bring him an outfit. Wanted him to feel comfortable and clean. It felt so good to be cared for. Sookie had done that when he'd been lost and scared—it was nice to have someone else do it, someone who didn't feel some weird obligation to him.

He reached out and unzipped the bag to see what was inside. Soft cream linen peeked out at him, pale against the garment bag but undoubtedly would be a warmer colour against his pale skin. Tugging the hanger out of the bag and pulling everything out revealed it was a three piece suit—pants, vest and jacket—with a dark blue shirt to match. There was even a belt and suspenders if he needed them. Thank the gods there was no tie.

Eric studied the clothes—it was definitely not his recent style, although in decades past he would have dressed in something similar. Although always with a hat. A suit required a hat, in Eric's estimation. Still, he hadn't worn anything like this around Lucifer the entire time they'd been together. He was a leather jacket and ripped jeans sort of person these days.

He held the suit up and then turned his stare to Lucifer. "Am I your doll? Are we playing dress up?" he asked.

Lucifer, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. "That, my Viking, is Armani," Lucifer defended. "I thought only the best would do. It's one of my favourites."

"I haven't worn suits in decades," Eric admitted. "It doesn't really go with the image I've been trying to make."

"Catering to the wants of the humans who wish for a drop of your blood?" Lucifer asked pointedly.

Eric made a musing sound deep in his throat as he laid the suit back on the couch. "Good point," he said. "I suppose some people prefer a more refined vampire."

Lucifer made an affirming sound in reply.

"I pray you slept well?" Lucifer asked, going to sit on the edge of the unmade bed. He settled himself against the black sheets, one hand sliding across them—probably to gauge the thread count. Or perhaps seeking evidence of Eric's assurance he hadn't slept with the redhead.

"Well enough," Eric replied, sliding the pants off of the hanger to hold them up and see if they'd be long enough for him. "You?"

"Oh, I'd a few short hours of sleep. Went to visit Amenadiel to find he hadn't left yet. Typical. You know, he once hounded me for preferring to live on earth, but now that he's a taste of it, he doesn't want to go back to the Silver City. He's gone now, thankfully. Should be back soon enough. And the Detective? Well." He sounded affronted and Eric paused in his measuring the clothes against his body to look up and see Lucifer looked angry. "She still won't let me help. Says I'm compromised on this case. Tells me that I'd try to protect their suspect, not help them bring him in."

"Would you?" Eric asked, curious. As far as Eric was concerned, the vampire had killed not just in self defense, but probably for the betterment of vampirekind. And if he was arrested and brought to jail, they'd undoubtedly find a staked vampire mess in his cell one morning. The L.A.P.D. needed to let this particular case go.

Lucifer sighed. "I'm of a similar opinion as you. I don't think this case is as simple as outright murder."

"So then your Detective is right," Eric said, putting an emphasis on his Detective.

Lucifer waved a hand. "I can still be impartial though. And I'd love to question the vampire. Really learn what brought him to murder a man with a weapon and not, say, make a meal out of him."

"That took strength of steel," Eric admitted.

"Precisely, Viking! I'd help them find the vampire simply so I can learn from him."

"But then how would you make sure the police didn't arrest him?" Eric asked.

"Good point. I hadn't thought of that." Lucifer scratched his fingers against his chin in thought.

Deciding the linen suit was better than the clothes he'd flown into L.A. in, Eric began to strip out of his jeans and t-shirt right there.

Lucifer leaned back on the bed, a gleam in his eye and a grin plastered to his face. "Viking, not shy are we?"

Eric's wet hair had fallen into his eyes as he was pulling on the lightweight pants. He looked up through the wet-dark locks and smiled at the devil. "What's there to be shy about?" he asked. He stood up straight, shimmied his hips a bit to get the pants straight and then zipped them up. The sound of the zipper was loud in the following silence.

Truly, though. What was there to be shy about? When it came to his body, he knew there was nothing to be ashamed of. Toned from his previous life as a Viking, he had muscle to spare. Did he care that Lucifer now not only knew he went commando but had probably peeked at the goods? Good. He'd already established with the man that he wanted him—why not tease him with thoughts of what he could have?

When it came to sex, Eric had never been shy. Emotions, on the other hand . . .

"Not worried you'll offend me?" Lucifer asked, suddenly standing from the bed and pushing his hands into his pockets.

Eric cocked an eyebrow. "Am I to assume those sex toys strewn about your apartments didn't belong to you?" Lucifer chuckled. But Eric pretended to be upset. "Pity. I was hoping they were."

"Do you now?" Lucifer asked, sounding awed as he watched Eric slide the dress shirt over his shoulders.

Eric slid his fingers over the collar of the shirt, looking for the first button and button hole. With those found, he moved downward, counting a couple buttons to leave open before beginning to button up his shirt. He would not tie a noose around his neck, even if the devil produced a tie for him to wear. He hadn't stomached wearing one in literal decades. He could admit that a well-tailored vest looked magnificent on a man, but a tie? Not happening.

He was reaching for the vest when Lucifer was on him, hand slipping against his hair as he dragged Eric close to kiss. The other hand went to the small of his back and Eric suddenly found his hips being dragged forward, the other man grinding into him with a need that surprised Eric. He responded happily, fangs popping out and other parts of him quickly complying as well, even after having such a thorough shower earlier.

Eric's fangs clashed against Lucifer's teeth, the two of them vying for dominance. The idea that neither of them was naturally submissive tore at Eric's thoughts, and he growled in anticipation. Whoever came out on top, he doubted would remain there for very long. Oh, to fuck like warriors—he couldn't remember the last time he had. He leaned into the kiss, his own demand ice against Lucifer's fiery need.

It seemed changing clothes in front of the man had given Lucifer the courage to be the one to make the first move this time. He liked the force in Lucifer's touch, that one hand reaching down lower to grab Eric's ass. His own hands came up, cold fingers cupping the back of Lucifer's head as he pressed closer to the man. Fuck, he wanted him—and the fact that it was mutual, that all this damn banter and mystery-solving between them had been the basis of this . . . Well. Eric was a very happy vampire.

Lucifer somehow managed to get a knee between Eric's legs, and one well-dressed thigh ran up between both of his, slowly, tantalizing. Lucifer's fingers in his hair bunched until they were pulling, forcing Eric's head back with a strength to rival a vampire's, exposing Eric's neck. Eric gave the devil a snarl, but it was laced with lust. Fuck, yes. He didn't care what the other man's plan was. He just wanted whatever the fuck he was giving.

The insistent knocking on the hotel room door was loud enough to get through to both men. Eric froze, his entire body pressed against Lucifer's, and waited, hoping that whoever it was interrupting his goddamn moment with Lucifer would just fuck off. If anything, the knocking got louder. And then a high, no-nonsense feminine voice was calling out, "Mr. Northman?"

Eric growled as he finally pulled himself away from Lucifer—and the hardon he had been able to feel pressed hot against his leg. He was not going to be disappointed when he finally managed to undress the man. Definitely not.

Eric grabbed the vest that had fallen to the floor and shrugged into it as he crossed the room to slam the door open. "What?" he snarled into the hall. He knew his sexual state was on display, the linen suit doing nothing to hide anything. He didn't give a shit. They were interrupting him. Hotel rooms were meant for two things—sleeping and fucking. If they weren't ready to see a vampire halfway to having sex, they should have fucking called instead.

The older human woman standing there leaned back at the venom in his single word, but didn't budge from her spot. Behind the human stood a muscle-bound vampire dressed in a simple black t-shirt and black slacks. He looked like a damned bouncer, and when Eric's glare turned to him, he bared his own fangs to show he wasn't scared. But he should be, Eric decided. He fucking should be.

"Mr. Northman, I'm relieved to see you are still with us this evening," the woman began. She was in a pantsuit ensemble that made her look older than she probably was, her dark brown hair tied back into a severe bun. Wire-rimmed glasses were perched on the bridge of her nose. Upper management, clearly.

"Is there something wrong?" Eric asked. "Did my credit card fucking bounce?" If Pam had cancelled his card because she wanted him to return, he was going to stake his own progeny himself.

"No, no. Everything is fine in terms of your stay, Mr. Northman. It seems, though, that your presence has been requested at the Queen of California's residence." She looked incredibly uncomfortable saying those words, probably because humans weren't supposed to know that vampires had political royalty.

It wasn't as if she were the only human who was privy to that knowledge though. Hell, Bill Compton hired an almost exclusively human taskforce to protect himself. While vampires guarded their secrets, once they deemed a human loyal, they tended to happily share their entire lives with them. Vampires were notorious over-sharers once you had their trust. Vampires also foolishly fell in love on the turn of a dime.

That random thought had Eric looking back over his shoulder to see Lucifer standing in the middle of the room, hands back in his pockets, and trying to look innocent. Eric wanted nothing more than to slam the door and go back to what he was doing. Trouble was, you didn't ignore a summons from someone so high up in the vampire hierarchy. That could be grounds for getting staked. Especially since Eric was not on his designated home turf. And no matter how rock hard he currently was, having sex with Lucifer was not worth dying for.

Barely.

Lucifer rocked into motion when he caught Eric looking at him. "Is there a problem?" he asked, coming forward to stand just behind Eric.

"Mr. Northman was just preparing to make a trip to see the Queen of California," the woman said sweetly. The security type behind her crossed his arms, daring Eric to say no.

"Guess we're cutting our evening short," Eric said, more than a little hint of sexual frustration in his voice.

"Don't be silly, Viking. I'll come with you."

"The Queen only asked for Mr. Northman, not his guests." These words came from the big vampire. Deadpan.

"Well, I'm hardly a guest," Lucifer said. "I'm Lucifer Morningstar, owner of Lux, Los Angeles's most upscale club. I've not met L.A.'s royalty before, but I'll be damned if I don't, now that I know she exists." He disappeared back into the room and a moment later returned with the jacket to the linen suit he had somehow managed to stuff Eric into. "Come along, Eric. You mustn't keep royalty waiting."

Eric shoved his feet into his boots—which somehow actually didn't clash with the suit once he'd shaken the pant cuffs over them—and grudgingly left the hotel room, Lucifer hot on his heels to meet yet another vampire.

The Queen of California?

Eric tried to wrack his brain, to remember the name. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew it should be glaringly obvious. But between Russell and Sophie-Anne and Bill, he'd had enough taste of royal vampires, to know he didn't want to bother remembering another pompous, arrogant vampire's name.

Vampire politics.

He fucking hated them.

As they headed toward the elevators, he felt fingers slide against his palm. Just a brief second. At least he had Lucifer with him. If he was feeling saucy enough, perhaps he could lure the devil into a private room while they waited for the Queen. And she would make them wait.

Because that's what vampire kings and queens did.

God. Fucking. Damnit.