For Emcee

[onceaviking]

Eric's room is neat, cool, and quiet.
He turns the light on as he steps through the door and it bathes the room in a soft glow.

The bed is made. White Egyptian cotton, a blue bedspread . it reminds him of waves.

He turns and looks at Emcee. Quietly.

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[i_am_your_host]

He feels the strange pull between them. He used to think it was only one-sided, but he's not so sure anymore.

And he wonders why that pull is there, how it even got there. Because it shouldn't be there. This is how he protects himself. Distance.

It's too late anyway, isn't it? This will only hurt infinitely more if he never sees Eric again.

But this doesn't have to mean anything.

It doesn't. It doesn't. It never did. It was just sex and blood and that's all it ever was.

And Emcee has obviously convinced himself of this because right now he is taking Eric's face in both of his hands and kissing him on the mouth as hard and as deeply as he can.

Fuck.

They can ignore this bullshit tomorrow.

[onceaviking]

He doesn't say it.
He doesn't think it.

The thought never ever surfaces.

But this is - possibly - likely - goodbye.

So Eric kisses Emcee back. For no reason, with no hidden agenda. Just because, right now, he wants to. He's full. Emcee is warm.
He doesn't need reasons.

His hands, strong enough to literally tear people apart, rests lightly against his cheeks, move gently on his skin.
Caressing him.

And then he breaks the kiss and lifts Emcee off of his lap and puts him down next to him.

So what if he tries to be considerate? It doesn't mean anything.
All the kindnesses of vampires end up being cruelties anyway.

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee blocks out everything, everything but the kiss and Eric's hands on him. That's all he wants.

That's all he wants.

But then it stops, and it's not enough.

He looks at him, pained, questioning, almost angry.

He has never begged for anything from Eric, and he isn't about to start now, but he's coming this close to it.

He won't, though. He fucking won't.

[onceaviking]

Eric sits there, looking down at his hands.
Then he looks at the curtains that do not conceal a window here, in this windowless room.
Then he looks back at his hands.

Then he gets up and steps away from the bed.
Adjusting himself.

Then he runs his hands through his hair and turns his back on Emcee and the bed and the blood and sex stained sheets.

Then he turns on him, viper-fast.

"I never make promises," he says, his voice taut.
"Because I can't keep them."

[i_am_your_host]

Eric's apparent silence on the matter is deafening. It shouldn't sting, but it does.

But Emcee's hurt and frustration is frightened out of him when Eric turns on him so suddenly. He flinches, sitting back against the headboard.

As he swallows his heart down out of his throat, he shakes his head.

"I am not asking you to promise me anything," he manages to say in a small, strained voice.

[onceaviking]

"I know," Eric says, irritably and turns away from him again.
And then he turns back, face unreadable.

"I know. "

And it's not like he wants to. Promise him anything. Or anyone.

[i_am_your_host]

He draws his knees up and wraps his arms around them, making himself smaller.

"I don't know what I'm asking you for," he murmurs pensively, with a touch of an apology.

"I shouldn't ask you for anything at all. Certainly not at this point. I'm just..."

He trails off, growing quiet as he stares down at his toes.

[onceaviking]

He should just throw him out.
Say goodbye.
Make him leave.

Instead, he sits down next to him on the bed.
Quietly.

Then he puts his head in his hands.

[i_am_your_host]

He should just leave before Eric throws him out.

But he's surprised when Eric doesn't. And instead sits next to him.

He's silent for a long while.



"Everything is going to turn out fine and we are going to look back on this and laugh and laugh," he says quietly.

And by laugh of course he means forget that it ever happened.

[onceaviking]

"None may know their fate till nightfall," Eric mutters.

He generally has no time for archaic utterings. But if it fits....

He looks down at his hands.

"I'll go home soon, "he says.
" Again. "

[i_am_your_host]

Again.

The word stirs up dread.

He sighs and rubs his face in his hands.

"I don't know how many more last times I can take with you, but it seems as if that is all we've ever had lately. ...I mean, the sex is fucking fantastic, but I would rather not feel like an over-emotional little shit afterwards."

[onceaviking]

"Then don't."
So much easier said than done.

He turns to face him.

"Life is better than death. Any sort of life. Time will pass and we will laugh about it. "
A small shrug.

"Or time will pass and - you'll think kindly of me as you come."

animals die, all men must die. In the end, even you must die

He does manage to turn his voice deep and husky. Emphasising "come".

[i_am_your_host]

He rests his chin on his arms and huffs another sigh. Because for some reason with Eric, it should be easy but it isn't, and it frustrates him.

He's reluctant to look at him as he speaks, though he still feels compelled to do so. Until of course the last couple of words, in which he does slide him a sidelong glance.

Amusement struggles to fight its way onto his face.

"I already do that, so your legacy is set with me."

[onceaviking]

Eric's lips twitch in answer.
"There are worse ways to be remembered," he says.

There are.
Plenty.

[i_am_your_host]

But he doesn't want to have to remember him.

'Or to not be remembered at all. But you are in no danger of that happening to you."

[onceaviking]

"Flattery," Eric murmurs.
Not that he minds.

"Are you okay?" he asks, retreating back to practicalities.
"Or do you need more ..."
Trailing off because he likely doesn't. But willing to offer just the same.

Fuck the sanctity of the blood. He'll do as he please.

[i_am_your_host]

It may be flattery, but he means it, and he's sure that Eric's lack of modesty would not prevent him from thinking so either.

The offer of blood is yet another surprise. He looks up at him, at the same time assessing if he's well enough to leave.

"No, thank you, I think I'm fine," he says with a wan smile that's nothing more than a twitch at the corners of his mouth. "Thank you also for the food and the trousers. It helped. The food more than the trousers, of course."

[onceaviking]

Eric nods and then he swings his legs onto the bed and lies down.
Stretching.

It makes his top ride up, just a little.

[i_am_your_host]

It's not fair.

Here Emcee was, all ready to leave, when Eric goes and stretches like that.

Not fair.

Glancing away with a sniff, and distractedly tucking his hair behind his ear, he slowly starts to move off the bed.

"I should probably go now."

[onceaviking]

Eric turns a little, to look at him.

He wouldn't mind company.

He should. He should mind.
And Emcee ought to leave. For his own sake.

He doesn't say anything.

And then it slips out, a half offer, "If you need to rest ..."
Trailing off before it becomes a proper question.

[i_am_your_host]

By the time he offer comes, he's sitting on the edge of the bed, about to reach for his boots. And he straightens up, remaining still, with his back to Eric.

Why would Eric even do that? Why?

"I--"

Emcee can't say no. To himself, really.

"I might need to. Thank you."

He glances over his shoulder at him.

[onceaviking]

Eric waves him off and settles down.
Gazing at the ceiling.

Silence.

Then he says, "Did I ever tell you how I met Pam?"

the only thing that lives, is the judgement, the assessment of your life

[i_am_your_host]

Emcee watches him for a few moments before turning and crawling back across the wide bed to the spot he'd been sitting in.

"No, I don't believe you have," he muses, as he settles onto his side, one arm tucked under his head, facing Eric. "Only that she had been a whore and that she picked you."

[onceaviking]

"She ran a brothel, when I met her," he says.
"And at first, I was the one to pursue her. I'd noticed her before, but the streets were busy in San Francisco, so it had been fleeting glimpses. And then, one night, some crazed lunatic with a knife cornered her in a dark alley."

He smiles a little. Remembering.

"This was before your time. Close to the turn of the century. So she couldn't have run. Not dressed the way she was. "

His face relaxes as he speaks.

"But she didn't have to."

[i_am_your_host]

Turn of the century. Perhaps it was before Emcee's time, perhaps it was just as he entered the world. But he is familiar with the fashion of the period, as the bustle had just gone out of style and the long, layered skirts were evolving. Miss De Beaufort must have looked stunning in those tightly corseted dresses.

He watches Eric's face in profile as he speaks.

"You came to her aid."

In only the way a vampire does best, he assumes.