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leftingbadly · 2 months

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both. NSFW | godric of gaul, eric northman

A spin-off piece from Between Blood and Barren Homes where you, Eric, and Godric explore your new, developing relationship.

Pairing: Godric/Eric Northman x OFC/You

Rating: 18+

There are so many ways this could have started.

With a kiss?

With a push?

Maybe with anger, yes. Definitely with anger. But it was the sort of anger frustration was made out of, the sort desperation reeks of. You know?

Maybe Eric started it first. Oh, Eric started it first

One day when you’re in your room, and you’d come back from swimming, or you’d gotten out of the shower and the entire room reeked of you– your body wash, your hair oils and shampoo, your body lotion. God, Eric steps one foot into the hallway outside of your bedroom door and he can smell how sweet you are. He can hear you on your bed, taking care of your hair, he’s so attuned to you in that moment that he can hear the very strands of it moving

And he comes to you, because God, how could he not?

It hadn’t been like this at first.

He had hated you at first, as he did all things. But now…

He had told himself over the past weeks that you were just a means to an end, whatever it took to keep his Maker alive, whatever it took to see that Godric didn’t meet the sun– he paid your price, he kept you safe, he did it all

And in doing so, he fell in love with the woman that you are

And oh, the woman that you are

So he comes into your room under false pretences, and he tells you it’s dangerous tonight, because there had been a meeting held, and foreign vampires were in the area. And he looks at you as he says this, in his black tank top, and his cheeks are flushed and you can tell, you can tell, that he’d just fed. Because there was that look in his eye that he always got, a man satisfied, a man sated, a man ready to suck the blood out of the world– and he was staring at you

“What?” The woman asked. Her legs crossed, a bathroom wrapped tightly around her body. She had become accustomed to this, being so vulnerable around the place now. In a home full of vampires it wasn’t hard to be reminded that you were at the mercy of their wills.

“What?” Eric’s voice taut, snapping, despite the kindness he had been predicting all these weeks. He was on the verge of something he couldn’t name. A foreign wind blowing him off an unknown cliff. Towards you, towards you, towards you

“Despite me giving most of my attention to your Maker, as per your request, Eric, I can still tell when things are off with other vampires too. You know?”

His feet bring him forward towards you, as though your words are a lasso around his neck. Step, step, step– and there he was standing before you. Your neck craned up, up, up– fuck, how tall was this man?

“What do you see?”

There were those words again,

Often, often, often would you have heard it from Godric’s mouth

“Tell me what you see.”

It meant: tell me there is more to me than the monster I had made

It meant: tell me that you do see more man in me than that

It meant: Tell me you know that I will not hurt you

“What do you want me to see?” The woman asked. She was careful. She knew the dance. Unlike with Godric, one could not so easily tell Eric Northman he too wore his emotions in his eyes. That same glint, that same wound.

Eric remained quiet as he stared at you. His eyes fixed on the small bump of skin on your neck. You were right there, your throat was right there, but he couldn’t.

He swallowed hard and he stepped back.

“You’re taking care of Godric.”

But it meant: I see the way my Maker looks at you

It meant: I see the way you look at him

Because despite the man he was, oh, the man he was, Eric Northman would not feed or kiss or fuck the woman his Maker held so closely to him

But why…

Why was she staring up at him like that?

Why was she standing up?

Please, please don’t stand up

Fuck, she was walking towards him.

And why did her hand have to feel so soft? And why did the ghost of a heart thrum in his chest where she touched it? Fuck, fuck, fuck–

“You look like you could use some care too, in your long life.”

And what could he do?

What else, truly, could he have done but kiss you in that moment?

Gentle intention and hard lips. Your legs were wrapped around him before either of you knew it. And then changed, turned, Eric found himself on the bed in the next moment and you on his lap, facing away from him

He took pleasure in the way he had to crane your neck, exposing it for all its glorious divinity, his entire palm stretched over it as his hand held your chin and his mouth devoured yours

Saliva mixing, gooey tongue over tongue, he traced your teeth and everything else you would give him

There was a heat building up in the room as your body struggled against his, struggled for more, struggled for deeper, harder– fuck, Eric, your voice called out

“Do something before I lose my mind.” The whimper in your voice unravelled him. The sound of the hinges to your bedroom creaking, unravelled him even more.

He stopped kissing you, a string of saliva pulling between the two of you, as your heads turned to see Godric standing in the doorway. How had he been so lost in you that he couldn’t hear another vampire approaching?

How had he been so lost in you that he couldn’t feel Godric approaching? But there he stood, in all his glory, white linen pants and a grey sweater that dipped so, so deliciously down his chest. Collarbones peaked and tattoos displayed lifetimes of story and chaos. Godric stood as he stared, unmoved, unblinking. And the woman’s breath was bated, but there was a heat in her body and between her legs that wouldn’t stay sated for long. And Eric, oh, sweet Eric, Sweet boy, Eric.

He held in a breath, then exhaled three times before he plucked up the courage.

There was nothing left to do but this.

He had gone too far, he had been too brave. Now, he was going to have to be more bold. More daring. Makers had killed their offspring for far, far less. But here he was now and this was the chance he was going to take.

For a moment he could feel Godric’s wrath, Godric’s pain. For a moment all those months of doubt and discourse within his Maker on whether or not he should or could do anything to you came to a front.

Eric could sense it all now, Godric hid nothing from him

And a bright red monster reared its head, jealousy the colour of blood now

And he wondered for a moment if this was his end

And he wondered for a moment if Godric would spurn those centuries of love and faith between them

And Eric moved his hand on your jaw, and he turned her wide, open, wet mouth to Godric, and he ripped open her blouse with his other hand

A gasp left the woman, of course it did, as Godric stepped closer. The door closed behind him, and he stepped closer, closer, closer

Moments passed as he stared at her, and the cold air made her nipples hard, and the feel of Eric pressing into her back, and the look of Godric’s gaze pressing into her front– it was too much for a woman, she was just a woman, and fuck, she needed someone to do something–

Her back arched as Eric’s hand trailed ever so slightly, cautiously, waiting for Godric to accept the invitation

And he did.

Mouth dipped, fangs bared, Godric stared at the woman as though centuries of restraint were put to shame

He wanted to touch you

But first, he had to ask

Silence rang in the room.

But he couldn’t ask.

The woman’s wide eyes looked up to him, pleading

“Godric, please.”

Please.

Of course he would. Anything. Anything you could do or say or want from him, if you said that word, the entire world was yours. But you weren’t asking for the world. You were asking for a kiss.

“What is it you want?” Godric’s confidence grew. The trepidation in him sizzled out, and where he had initially mistaken your lust for concern, he leaned closer to recognise yours eyes’ true intent. “It seems you have your fill of man in my progeny.”

Your head shook, vehemently. Because for all that had happened between you and Eric, if Godric in this moment didn’t kiss you, you knew you’d go insane. Your hands lifted up and reached around that stupid, simple fucking sweater and you pulled him so hard he crashed into you. And his fangs slices at your lips, and your tongue, and your blood floated into his mouth and you didn’t care.

Because Eric was kissing your neck now

And Godric’s tongue was sliding over yours

And Eric’s hands rested where your gown once was and fuck, it was cold, and fuck, it was hot at the same time

Hands slid over your body as it danced with the sound of ripping fabric. You were naked before you knew it, Eric’s fingers inside of you before you knew it, your hips grinding into them as Godric held you still in his progeny’s lap, before you knew it.

He didn’t break the kiss, not even as Eric moved you further up the bed and Godric followed, lapping at the bloodstream from your mouth where his fangs had cut

“I want to taste her.” Eric’s request was simple, and you damn near died when Godric pulled himself away. And the woman’s eyes followed his, as it looked away from him to his progeny behind her head, and she could do nothing but grind and whimper as Eric stuck his tongue into his Maker’s mouth, stealing the blood Godric had taken from you.

They kissed until the blood was depleted, and then Eric turned your head for more. And Godric bent his face lower, lower than you had expected him to go, to place his mouth over the other set of lips that craved their attention. A gasp left you as his tongue slithered along your folds, cold hands holding them apart, and Eric swallowed those gasps whole. His hands never ceased their attack on your breasts, or your nipples, and the sensation of having two mouths on you, of having Godric and Eric surround you, of having the sheer power and the knowledge that if they wanted to, they could snap you in half with less than a thought.

The woman’s hand gripped into the hair of the smaller man, Godric groaned, the feel of having his hair pulled an unfamiliar and all but welcoming sensation. It had been so long since a woman had tempted him this much, and so long even still since he had felt so connected to Eric through the bond. The thing that linked them together as maker and progeny thrumming with life and blood and lust. And the woman’s body hummed with it, too, as Eric bit his tongue and gave her his blood as well. It was more than what she could handle, more than anything she could handle, and she found her body shaking and her legs wrapping around Godric’s head as she came down from her first orgasm. The first of many, that night.

But Godric was quick. Quicker than she had time to recover, he flipped her over onto his son’s chest and pressed his own into her back. His hand moved her head, turning her neck as his lips sought out hers. He wouldn’t let her go that night without a thousand kisses to her lips. But her head moved, her hand lifted up to grasp his hair again and she dragged it away from her mouth and placed it, to his shock, against her neck.

She felt his dick throb against her ass, and her eyes looked up to Eric as she looked up at him, a silent plea. A distressed beg. She wanted them–

“You want us both to…?”

Godric’s words died on his lips as her gasp overtook the sound of the room. Eric’s teeth plunged into her, not needing further invitation, and Godric’s eyes blared angry and violent and lust-filled before she pushed his head down as well and his teeth sunk into her, too. Her second orgasm overtook her then, and her body shook as the two of them drank from her in tandem.

“Please,” her words were barely a whisper when they finished. “Please. I need it.”

“Who, sweetheart?” Eric asked. His nose rubbing against hers, his tongue still licking his lips. “Whose cock do you want first?”

“Both,” her words were breathless as her head slumped. The desperation was making her tired, and she needed them to relieve her of the pain between her legs.

“Both?” Eric was amused. His eyebrows shot up at the gall of the human woman between them. He was about to interject on behalf of his maker, knowing that the smaller man wouldn’t want to put the woman through that much for her first time with them.

But Godric had been unravelling since he smelled her and his progeny together in the hallway

If he was being honest with himself he was unravelling since the first night he had met her

And fuck, she asked so nicely

How could he deny her anything?

And fuck, she felt so good and soft, and alive between the two of them

Godric’s voice beat out into the open air before Eric’s could.

“Hold onto his shoulders.”

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leftingbadly · 3 months

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between blood and barren homes. | godric of gaul

Listen. Um. this isn't proofread and it's almost 3am and i have godric brain rot now (AHEM THANK YOU TO A CERTAIN ANNON) and im so sad and soft for this man and someone sEDATE ME-- this is kind of a spin off slash continuation slash re-writing slash idk man fuck you im tired--of Man or Monster like it's the same lady person thingymabob whatever i dont have to explain myself to you

Pairing: Godric x reader

An ink tattoo stained his skin, peaking from the confines of a grey cotton sweater. She had seen imprints of them littered along his skin at the church, where he had been dressed in white linen clothing. Did he always dress like that? She wondered.

The vampires of Bon Temps often adorned leather, skin-tight to admit status or, perhaps, feel the pressure and heat of their atmosphere in the ways they had lost since their becoming. But Godric was different here, in that regard, in so much as that he seemed to want to relinquish himself of the world’s weight in whatever manner he could. There was so much to tell in the way a person dressed themself, there was so much to tell still in all the ways Godric held himself. Her eyes wandered from where he sat, on that golden white chair, a seat fit for a king were it not anyone but him who sat upon it.

Stan approached and spoke, she could hear them from where she stood, but not see his face. “Welcome home, Sheriff. We are all very relieved.”

Stan Baker could have perhaps afforded himself a bit more of that relief to his tone. She thought that perhaps if someone thought he was more bothered by the entire situation, they wouldn’t be far off. She could remember the cowboy’s booming voice in the church, the anger in his voice as he challenged his Sheriff’s verdict. Maybe he had a problem with authority, or maybe his problem just lay with the way Godric ran things here in his nest. Maybe he thought he could do it better. Her head tilted as she watched him leave the front of the long line up to Godric’s chair, her eyes trailing his movements, lifting to meet his gaze. It had been trained on her since he turned from Godric, watching her as she leaned against the wall, as she watched Godric—as she watched him now.

Stan almost moved towards her, almost opened his mouth to speak to her, almost pulled her aside to have those words with her that he had promised earlier. If only it wasn’t for the increasing pressure of something against his back. Nothing physical, no, the stare of a gaze, of knives incarnate, of a piercing something—warning, perhaps. A threat? No, but something closer to a promise. He didn’t turn around to look at the boy-king who had still been sitting, the movement of her eyes from his to a spot behind him told Stan all he needed to know. He passed by her with not even a single, second look.

“Hello,” she greeted him later, after she had moved outside of the house. “You stood up.”

“You would not come to me.” She laughed lightly, her system shutting down, then resetting. Every word of his tongue rewired every part of her brain. There was something she had become used to with Eric, and even the other vampires of Bon Temps and Dallas, that every conversation with them was a dance, a play to be held. But with Godric, it was different. He wore all his truths in those wide, open eyes.

“I feel special.” She murmured, her eyes refusing to look at his. There was something in her she knew would crumble if she looked at him. But he looked at her, his entire body turned to her as he looked down at her, his head tilted, his arms hanging loosely and unused at his side. Were he a human man, perhaps he would have crossed it, perhaps he would have tried to look where she was looking. Perhaps he would not have come to see her at all. Were he a human man, this would be different. Perhaps they would have spoken about something else, something about the weather, about the party, about—

“Are you?” Were he not himself, this would not be happening.

“Why did you forgive Hugo?” Her question retaliated his. “I’ve seen vampires kill humans for less of an infraction.”

“Why do you believe I did it?”

“Stan Baker thinks you soft,” she blinked as she tilted her head. ��Weak. He thinks you hold too much empathy for humans in your age. Perhaps he believes they’d finally convinced you that you all are the monsters they believe you to be. He thinks you did it because you’ve grown fond of them. Isabella Beaumont believes you a kind man, more human than humans, that you hold an empathy and understanding for our kind she wishes to emulate one day. She believes you’ve done it because you are merciful.”

“And you?”

“I think you did it because you’re tired.” Her final verdict caused a small, amused smile to begin festering on his lips.

“I was watching you while you did it,” she relented. “I’ve been watching you all night, really.”

“I’ve noticed you,” he admitted. “But it seems now you can’t meet my eye.”

“No,” she shook her head, staring harder into the eyes of the night. The stars that glimmered above them, the music and chatter that drafted like wind from the inside of the house—there were some people who moved from the confines of its walls to escape into cooler air, but when they noticed the pair, particularly the look Godric gave them, they scurried back inside without a moment’s thought. He had been waiting to hear this human’s words and thoughts and the way she had taken notice of him since they’d met in that church, now, he would not let anything else deter him. “You’re far too intimidating to speak the truth to your face.”

“And what truth would that be?”

When she didn’t respond, he waited.

And when he grew tired of waiting, he spoke again.

“Would you rather not tell me?” His head tilted to look at her, but she remained quiet again. Perhaps it was because she was thinking, but perhaps, and he hoped this was not the case, that she had finally come to her human senses, and the prey drive kicked in. Perhaps in her silence, her body caught up to her mind, and she realized now that the silver around her neck and the silver caressing her fingers would do oh, so, precious little to deter a determined vampire. “Do you take pleasure in seeing me beg to hear your voice?”

“Is that what this is?” She turned to him finally, and her dark eyes met his glistening ones. Always glistening. And she had to steel herself to keep the contact their eyes held. “Have you come here to hear the musings of a human girl? What I might think of this entire situation? Of vampires, and hunters, and men who deem themselves greater than the will of a God that had forsaken them so long ago?”

And her anger rose now, quicker than anything he could have imagined. It washed over him for a moment as he was deterred from her, shocked at how silently it seemed to have crept into the night. Inside of the house, he could feel his progeny stir as well. Eric could sense each and every single atom of his maker’s will shift as the woman stared at him, finally. Finally.

“To berate me for my musings of this world? Of your world? I’d gotten enough of that from your offspring, thank you. You come out here and you ask me these questions as though you yourself do not already know the answers. Know what it is that I will say. Would you hear me say it, then?”

Her body faced his, her anger, too, stared at him now. “That when you forgave Hugo for his human folly it seemed more that you were chiding a child for not sharing its toys? That it angered me that you regarded so little of your own safety you would forgive someone because they were loved by another, who you held close to you. Do you truly regard yourself so little?”

“That is not why—”

“No, of course it isn’t. Right? You’d forgiven him because it was meaningless, wasn’t it? To fight and bicker and extend the situation more than it should have gone on. To bring more bloodshed into this house and your home and among people you swore to protect. You forgave Hugo because you are tired, and you cannot bear the thought of bringing a single ounce more of heartache into this world than you already have.”

A beat passed between them, and she turned from him.

A frustrated sigh escaped her. Thin hands came up to squeeze at the bridge of her nose, eyes shut as she tried to suppress the oncoming migraine. She didn’t feel the movement in the air when Godric left, but she knew when Eric took his place.

“You shouldn’t have brought me here.” Her words were defeated.

Eric’s words greeted her angrily. “You’re supposed to help. Not make him worse.”

“Eric!” Another voice called out to the man in front of her, charging up to him from the house to the grass where they stood.

“Not now, Miss Stackhouse. I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, you better get in the mood after all you’ve made me do. Why is it that—”

“Not,” his face turned to the waitress, his voice growled. “Now.”

But Sookie Stackhouse wasn’t a woman easily deterred. She was a woman in customer service, and more so, the other woman mused, she was all too familiar with vampires and their mood swings. She made to leave, but Eric Northman grabbed onto her arm and forced her to stay. “What did he say?”

“Weren’t you listening?” The woman shot back. “Don’t you have a connection to him that you can tap into, can’t you hear his thoughts?”

“I can’t.” Eric supplied after a moment of silence, and both women looked at him with a mixture of shock and curiosity. “He shuts me out when he’s with you.”

“Godric?” Sookie asked after a moment’s breath passed. “But why would he do that, he’s your maker isn’t he? What’s going on here?”

“It seems the issue Mister Northman hired you for stemmed rather more deeply than simply locating his maker.” The woman stares into the wide eyes of the vampire-Viking. “Your maker is found now, but a part of him is still missing, isn’t it?”

“She’s like you.” Eric turned to the waitress, as he explained the other woman’s presence here.

“I’m a development fault,” the woman seethed in reply. “A malfunction in genetic code. I’m not like her.”

“My informant assured me that you were helpful.” Eric shot back, refusing to take defeat as the final outcome. “We will stay here until the end of days if that’s what it takes.”

“Your informant was wrong!” The woman leaned in closer, hoping to whichever god that was listening that no other vampire could hear her. “The vampire I helped already wanted to live, it needed a sign. It needed something to grab onto, a rope, a buoy—a thought. I’m not a miracle worker, Eric Northman, my abilities cannot save a man who believes he is the incarnation of sin.”

“All this is about Godric?” Sookie asked as she stepped closer. The three of them stood now in a ring, an inner circle of people too desperate to accept their truths. That Eric was losing the only part of his family he’d had left, that Sookie was a part of something bigger than she’d originally thought—and the other woman, that she was more than a simple girl with kind words to tell strangers. “What’s wrong with him? He wants to die?”

“He’s succumbing to a fate he believes is befit for a thing like him.” The woman said, her eyes never leaving the ones of the vampire still clutching onto her. “All those years of grief have built the foundation of a thing that cannot be toppled, Eric Northman, by what I possess.”

“You have the ability to bring vampires closer to their human state—something that many a vampire have been searching for for longer than your human history dates back to. If you don’t help me, you can be assured that I will spread this knowledge to every line of communication among my networks, and I will sell you to the highest bidder.”

The woman scoffed at him, and he tightened his grasp on her arm. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“No?” He mused. “And why’s that?”

“You wouldn’t do that,” she mused again, and her words floated to him like something on a dream. Something like water rushed, like smoke inhaled through a chimney passage, there was a warmth that fluttered across the open air between them that caressed him in a way he had not felt since ages ago. The open fire, the roast of a meal hunted, there was laughter in her eyes he had remembered seeing in his mother’s, a scream of joy filtered through there, too, jovial like a baby’s laugh. He had a sister once, for some odd reason, he remembers her now. “That is not the man you are.”

And then a wolf’s howl. A scratching of claws against silver—and death rushes over him.

He was quick to retract his hand from where it gripped her. Quicker, still, to break his eyes from hers. Fuck, he thought. Fuck!

Sookie witnessed this all. Her mind was a soft hum between the vampire she could not hear, and the woman whose mind sounded as though the soft hum of a jewelry box never ceased its song. There were hummingbirds and the sound of rain that pelted through her thoughts, Sookie wondered, if all that calm was a front for something far more sinister. Without a thought she reached forward to touch the woman’s skin, and without thought her mind flashed with images of ruins and ash. A striking image of a city burned, skin singed to the bare bones of grief and haunt, a ghost fluttered there from her to hers, and Sookie’s mind far more than the shrapnel of war was now laced with the torment of what came after. The woman before her was a survivor of all things she had not witnessed.

Sookie saw for most parts images of blood, teeth sunken into tender flesh, vampires who hated the taste of blood and craved the heartbeat of it along their teeth. Images flashed, of vampires ripping their own fangs out, images flashed, of humans hanging from dead trees linked to more dead roots to more dead soil. Sookie hunched over, her body turned as the contents of her stomach wretched itself up through her body and onto the grass behind her.

And the woman looked on, as the empath reached her capacity, and the vampire-Viking was made afraid. She turned away from them with a sigh, and her eyes grew heavy as she began her walk from them.

“You should not have brought me here to him, Viking.”

But Godric found her later. And he stood behind the threshold of her now opened hotel room door. And she stared at him for a moment before her head turned towards the room in an inviting gesture.

For a longer moment than what she would have normally allowed, the two of them stood in the room alone together as silence pressed on. It had been some time since they had come from his home since she had showered off the blood and the gore since they had had to come to terms with what had happened.

“I came to see that you were alright.” Godric confessed, and she stayed silent as his words littered the space between them.

“I am glad that you were unharmed during the attack.”

“It was an unfortunate matter, I should have taken it into consideration.”

“I fear my faith in humankind was somewhat miscalculated.”

A pause. Were she sub-human, perhaps she would have heard the smallest intake of a breath he did not need.

And then—

“Tell me what you saw.”

“Did Eric tell you why I was brought here?” She asked finally, snapping at him. Or to him. She didn’t know. Her arms came to hold her, and her eyes stared at him in anger. He knew now, that it was not directed at him. He knew now that for all the insight she had, she could not understand herself half as much as the way her abilities allowed her to understand others.

“He did.” He said. “Tell me what you saw.”

And her eyes shut in pain. She remembered now what had happened at the house. The argument, then she had went inside. Sookie followed after, then Eric. They had gone back to what they had been doing, and she was left wondering all the things she wishes she could not. There was so much hurt in a single room, and the smells of the pasts of all the vampires that littered around her almost made her dizzy. She could smell their desperation in the air. And then something else overtook it.

A loud beeping, a yell. Then an explosion.

Godric’s body was over hers in an instant. Quicker than she could have thought he’d shelter her, his eyes boring into hers, his body hit with the shrapnel and splinters of wood and house foundation. He grunted once, then twice as metal sunk into his body. It didn’t hurt him, she didn’t think. But there was a twinge of discomfort that hit him at the intrusion of foreign material into his body.

He lifted himself off from her the moment the explosion and its aftermath ended. He made sure she was alright, and then he left to lick the wounds of his home.

“How many died?” She asked him as they stood in the hotel now, hours later.

“Too many.”

“How many are wounded?”

“Tell me what you saw.”

“A boy!” she snapped at him eventually. Her arms tightened around her again.

Her mind brought forth the image he requested. Of a boy standing in the midst of a desolated living room, walls racked with blood dripping and smothered, she could smell and taste it in the air. An explosion of death, of something claiming life, of a thing used to destroy all that was left of a people who mocked it.

“A boy standing there alone,” because he was alone. Godric’s vision stood out to her as she shut her eyes, and she saw him taking note of all the destruction that had befallen his home. “You looked around like it was the first battle you had ever fought, a sorrowful madness, empty grief, the shell of a house haunted.” He moved through the area like he had seen the same image a thousand times before, and none at all. She watched him as he had walked over broken planks and splattered bodies. “You stood there like the brokenness of that home was your birthright.”

And those words in particular punched him in his chest. In his gut, somewhere, something dropped to its knees and wept. “Like there was nothing else you were owed but this.”

Were he human, perhaps, he would have missed the beginning of her tears. “Why do you believe that your ending must be ill-defined?”

“There is no other way to make amends for the wrong I have caused.”

“You are not only the sum of the wrong you had done!”

A pause haltered their conversation. A whisper of a thing that had been long dead and buried resurfaced between them now. But she would not give in so easily.

“Pale lips,” she whispered. “Blue fingernails, the red beneath your eyes. Even to a passer-by, it’s evident you have been mistreating your body. Eric told me you refused to feed. How long has it been? Dawn has come and your eyes droop and yet here you are, being verbally abused by a human girl who’s seen less than a fraction of your lifetime. How often do you forego sleep as well?”

He smiled at that. Yes, he thought. Less than a fraction but with an amount of grief to challenge my own.

He watches her as she moves to grab the remote. Shutting the sun-tight blinds to protect him from the sun yawning. Even in her anger, the thought of him. His eyes moved to her, watching her body as she commanded it, from her legs to her arms, to the movement of her eyebrows to her mouth. Everything about her enchanted him forward, and he heeded the command of his heart to grow closer to her. She noticed too late, and he was reaching out to hold her face in his hands.

“Why is it that you care so much?” His head tilted in curiosity. Maybe he wanted to know if it was because of what she was, maybe he would have accepted any lie she told him.

“Eric brought me here to help you.”

“But why does your failure to do so upset you this much?”

His words were like a punch and a kiss dancing. Rare was the occasion brought that she failed. Rarer even still was the comfort that failure was okay.

Her hands lifted to hold onto his wrists, and her head fell forward as tears threatened to spill. A lump formed in her throat, and she wondered how she could tell him of all the things her abilities allowed her to see in him. Instead, her hands lifted to trace along the tattoos of his chest. Along his collarbone, she traced the Roman-like patterns. A protection circle around his throat. Chief, warrior, nobleman. Perhaps. Perhaps if they had more time, she could have asked him about it. Perhaps if they had more time, she could have known him more.

Soft hands lifted and moved, he stood back from her for a moment after she tugged at his sweater, and he held her gaze as he lifted it over his head. There was something between them merging, something forming and twisting like a glob of material in space, forming to the vibrations of the universe around it. He dropped the cloth to the ground, he stepped closer to her. She touched the tattoo along his arms, those ancient words on his right one, palm laying flat and circling, those water-shaped markings of his left one.

He held her close as she pushed her chest to his. Skin barely meeting skin. Her hands trailed down the expanse of his spine, a thrill rushed through him, nails raking softly from the top of the serpent to the bottom, at the base of his spine and the small of his back—where she scratched up and held her hand to the brand on his shoulder. A slave’s marking. A deed of having had been owned. There was no escaping all the past selves of himself he had been, beneath the microscope of her hand.

“Tell me what you see.”

His voice was begging now. She could not resist it.

“Too much,” her words whispered against the skin of his throat. “I wish we had time.”

“We have time.” He lied.

“Do you swear?”

And she wondered when it was that things between them had changed. Perhaps somewhere between the first or last insult she had spewed at his face. Perhaps, maybe even, between the first and second kind act. When she had saved him in the church—when he had saved her in his home. There was a poetry to that, that in the end Death was still an angel of God. Still in service to the being that had created them both.

“Godric?”

“Yes?”

“You deserved a kinder world.”

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