For Emcee

[onceaviking]

Eric's room is quiet and cool.
Neat.

Once he's though the door he puts his phone and his keys on the desk and toes off his boots. His feet are bare. Pale against the floorboards.

He turns and looks at Emcee.
Pale. Tall. Looming in the half light of a single lamp at the bedside.

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[onceaviking]

There was warmth.

And it is gone.

Eric moves, lightening quick, one large hand closing around a wrist, his lips moving back in a snarl, his fangs coming down. His eyes are open but he cannot focus. And there is a deafening silence in his ears.

Staying awake is far preferable to being woken.

-someone is taking something, something that belongs to him, something he had, and they can't, and they won't

[i_am_your_host]

He gasps, going rigid with fear.

"Eric, it's only me," he says quickly in a voice he can barely get above a whisper. "I'm sorry, darling, I didn't mean to wake you."

So this is what Eric meant by what happens when he's accidentally woken up.

[onceaviking]

Eric stares at him - and then his mouth relaxes.
"...yes," he says, sounding distant and groggy.

And then he lets go of Emcee's wrist, almost reluctantly. Lying back down on the bed.
Ice cold.

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee's heart is racing a mile a minute. And he takes a few deep, bracing breaths when Eric releases him.

"I'm sorry," he says again, his voice hoarse. "Are you all right?"

[onceaviking]

"...mhm," Eric murmurs, looking up at him through slitted eyes.
The sun I must be high in the sky now. He can already feel the pressure of the bleeds mounting in his nostrils, his ears, and in the corners of his eyes.

His hand curls reflexively, around empty air this time.




{ooc: bedtime}

[i_am_your_host]

That was absolutely fucking terrifying and not something he'll forget anytime soon.

But he doesn't get out of bed just yet.

"Go back to sleep, darling," he whispers raspily, laying a hand on top of his, willing his fingers to relax and uncurl.

"I'll be leaving in a little while."

[onceaviking]

And he does.

There is no danger here. Only the mice.

The darkness wells up again and he sinks down, down, down.

Cold. Still. Unmoving.

[i_am_your_host]

Just the one mouse. The one mouse that plays in the lion's mane and darts between his jaws and sleeps in his lair.

He squeezes Eric's hand, and dips his head to kiss his shoulder.

"Auf Wiedersehen, mein Wikinger," he breathes against his skin.

Slowly and cautiously, he releases his hand and eases himself off the bed. In the dim lamplight, he picks his clothes off the floor and dresses, ever so quietly. Boots in hand and coat over his arm, he switches the lamp off, and heads for the door.

He doesn't want this to feel so final. There will be a next time. He will see Eric again.

He slips out the door, making sure it locks behind him.