Outside, with Athelstan

[onceaviking]

The night is dark and cold.

Eric stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets and waits for Athelstan to decide where he wants to go.

Comments

[athelstanthescribe]

He pulls his cloak more tightly around him as he walks out - then looks at his distinctly mistrustful dog and orders him home.

Fiachra doesn't want to go, but on the second repetition, obeys.

[onceaviking]

Eric watches the dog leave, impassively.
Then he turns to face Athelstan.

"Where do you want to go?"

[athelstanthescribe]

"He's protective", Athelstan says in half-explanation. "No sense asking for trouble. The woods?"

[onceaviking]

"Sure," Eric says, and starts walking toward the tree line.

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan follows him in silence, looking around at the trees as if to choose one.

[onceaviking]

Eric slows his pace, letting Athelstan look around.

[athelstanthescribe]

"That one looks strong", he says eventually, pointing.

(Well, they want one that won't fall over if it's leaned on too hard.)

[onceaviking]

Eric walks over to the tree and leans against it, casually, looking very pale against the dark trunk.

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan joins him, and begins by silently offering his bared wrist.

Neck may follow, but this to start with.

[onceaviking]

Eric takes the offered wrist, silently, and drops fang with a loud click.

Then he slowly dips his head and bites, carefully angling Athlstan's wrist.

[athelstanthescribe]

He turns it as Eric wants it, and leans back against the tree for support. Just in case.

[onceaviking]

Eric drinks, letting his eyes drift shut.
His lips are soft and cool as the night air.


He is rubbing Athelstan's hand. Soothingly.

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan closes his eyes as well, trying to concentrate on the feeling to the exclusion of all else. His fingers curl a little in Eric's hand.

[onceaviking]

Eric's tongue massages the skin, encouraging blood flow.
Offering distraction, perhaps.

[athelstanthescribe]

Whether it's intentional or not, what he's doing is distracting. Athelstan flexes his fingers, feeling the blood flow through his hand.

[onceaviking]

Eric makes a soft, low sound and and presses Athelstan's wrist closer to his mouth.

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan touches Eric's face, swigging from his bottle with his free hand.

He has no illusions about what's between them. But this desire isn't nothing.

[onceaviking]

Eric looks up at him.

There is definitely desire there. Of a kind.

[athelstanthescribe]

Desire for his blood, if not for his body.

Athelstan meets Eric's eyes, and tips his head to one side.

[onceaviking]

Eric moves closer, his body pressed close to Athelstan's, as he bites his own tongue to lick the wounds on his wrist closed.

And then he runs his lips along Athelstan's neck.

[athelstanthescribe]

His eyes close again at the touch of those cold lips, and he exposes his neck fully.

[onceaviking]

Eric slides his huge hands into Athelstan's hair.

And bites him.

[athelstanthescribe]

He feels the fangs sink in and he gasps quietly, leaning his head back against the tree.

[onceaviking]

Eric presses against him, drinking eagerly, his mouth pulling on Athelstan's neck.

One of his hands move don his side. Supporting him perhaps.

[athelstanthescribe]

Perhaps, if it isn't an accident - and he needs it. He's neither as young nor as hale as he was, but the tree and Eric between them keep him on his feet.

His hands flex against the bark as Eric drinks and he loses himslf in the feeling.