A promise fulfilled

[onceaviking]

Eric unlocks the door - and locks it behind them once they are inside.

The room looks much as it did the last time, Emcee was there. A framed picture of a moonlit ruin has been added to one of the walls and there is a stack of file folders on the desk as well as a couple of books.

The bed is made and the decanter on the small table seems to have been refilled.

Eric walks inside, the way you do when you own a place, leaving his flip flops by the door, and unzipping his track suit top.

He turns to look at Emcee, his gaze heavy and measuring.

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[i_am_your_host]

The Emcee notices the small additions since he was last here, but says nothing of them. They do give the room a more personal, lived-in feel, though, and he likes that.

But Eric's eyes are on him now. And nothing else matters.

He shrugs off his coat and leaves it draped over one of the chairs by the table. He then unbuttons his white shirt, already half undone anyway, as he eyes Eric in turn, his sculpted torso still pale yet tinted with a very subtle hint of pink against the dark blue of the track suit jacket. A well-fed vampire.

"You really do look well, darling," he murmurs, unable to resist an appreciative smirk.

Stepping out of his boots, he lets the shirt slip down his arms and drapes it over his coat on the chair.

[onceaviking]

Eric stays still and quiet. Watching him.

He feels well. As good as he has felt since - in a while.
And happy to be admired,

[i_am_your_host]

The Emcee leaves his trousers in a pool on the floor and walks over to Eric, standing toe to toe with him, his eyes only just about level with the pit of his throat.

He flicks his gaze up, eyeing him through curling lashes, as he boldly sweeps his palms over his broad chest and slowly pushes the jacket off his shoulders.

Eric's skin feels so different, even if it's barely a difference at all. He's used to him being as cool as stone; now it feels as if that stone has been lightly warmed, as if briefly pressed between two hands.

[onceaviking]

Hands touching him feels so different when he is well fed, even if it hardly ought to make a difference at all.
As if his skin is more sensitive.

His upper lip twitches again, but his fangs stay sheathed and hidden.

He looks down at Emcee, but he doesn't move. Letting him set the lace. They have already established that Eric is not feeling patient tonight. He will heed that.

[i_am_your_host]

He pushes the jacket sleeves all the way down and off his arms, indulging in the way they feel, solid and strong and warm-but-not-warm, and he can't resist pressing a kiss to his chest, mouthing along just under his collarbone, his breathing becoming quick and hot.

He might be losing a little patience himself because touching Eric like this is incredibly arousing.

He wants him to take him. He wants his fangs.

[onceaviking]

Eric lets his eyes close, focusing instead on how Emcee's scent is changing. Becoming deeper, and more musky. Darker and more alluring.

He slowly tips his head back (he never shows his neck, not to anyone stronger than himself, but this doesn't matter, it is only Mousi after all) and lets his fangs drop.
They almost smart coming down, there is so much force behind their release.


For all that he prefers the chase, there can be good things to say about the willing victims. As long as they know what they are doing.

[i_am_your_host]

He exhales a sharp breath at the sound of Eric's fangs coming down, and he dares to look up at him, catching a glimpse of deadly white behind his lips.

He owes Eric.

For that night, yes, most definitely. But also maybe for each time he spared him.

He kisses him down the center of his chest, hands skating down his sides and stomach. Not cloying, not in rapt worship. That isn't his style with Eric, and he knows it. What he does is only to fuel his own desire and feed it back to Eric.

It's like petting a lion. A lion that indulges your touch until it doesn't.

[onceaviking]

Eric in turn lets one hand slide up, from the small of Emcee's back to the base of his skull, where he tangles his long, strong fingers in his hair.

And then he pulls his head back, exposing Emcee's neck.
His throat.

Eric dips his head and runs first his lips and then his half open mouth down the thin skin separating him from the roaring blood he can hear, feel, smell ...

He growls.

[i_am_your_host]

The moment Eric curls his fingers in his hair, he knows what's coming.

Still, the abruptness of his head snapping back drives a gasp and a small cry out of him.

He swallows hard, his breath hitching as he feels Eric's mouth skimming down his throat.

And he grasps his waist to brace himself, as if caught in some strange and dangerous dance.

[onceaviking]

Eric briefly pulls back and then he bites down, hard, his fingers letting go of Emcee's hair to fan out and cup his face.

He trusts him to stay in place. More or less anyway.

As he bites down, he also presses close, crowding him. His body is hard and tense. And hard. And as he drinks he rocks against him, slowly, in time with a relaxed heartbeat that likely doesn't mirror Emcee's at all.

[i_am_your_host]

He utters another cry, short and breathless, when Eric's fangs sink in. But he does stay in place and doesn't pull away.

In fact he leans into him, thrilled by the solidness of his body, his closeness, the hardness that's just beneath the soft fabric of his track pants.

His heartbeat is racing wildly, his breath quick but steady. His eyelids flutter but stay open, determined to watch what he can: Eric's firm jaw working, the tendons in his neck, the muscles in his shoulder.

[onceaviking]

And Eric drinks deeply, almost rubbing his face against Emcee's cheek and neck as he does so, running his thumb in small circles that pass across Emcee's lips.

His free hand ghosts down Emcee's side and ends up at his hip, enveloping the bone in a loose grip that belies how easily he could crush it.

[i_am_your_host]

He exhales a sighing moan, slightly strained, as the pain mixes with the pleasure of Eric's touch and the surreal sensuality of his lips and tongue as he drinks from him. His hands find their way to his shoulders, clinging to him, as he presses his hips flush against Eric's.

[onceaviking]

Eric pulls his mouth away, his face dripping with startlingly bright, red blood, and turns Emcee's face to the other side, leaving the other side of his neck exposed.

Before biting down, he kisses the skin.
There is nothing quite like the feel of blood, roaring with lust and pain and fear, just beneath a thin layer of hot, sweaty skin.

Then he bites down again. Moaning.

[i_am_your_host]

He can feel his own blood trickling down his neck and shoulder after Eric pulls away from the wound, and from under hooded eyelids he sees his bloodstained mouth, wet and dripping and horrifying.

He should be trying to get away. The instinct is still there, the fear, the urge to run.

Instead he lets Eric turn his head. He arches his neck under his mouth, anticipating his next bite. And he cries out again when he does, gasping and gritting his teeth against the new wave of pain. With a breathy whimper, his fingertips dig into his shoulders, desperate to keep close.

[onceaviking]

And Eric lets go of his face so he can envelop him and lift him up, his fangs still buried in Emcee's neck.

And then they are on the bed, and Eric's body is pinning him down, one of his hands back at Emcee's face. Touching his cheekbone and his eyelid. The corner of his mouth. His lips.

[i_am_your_host]

He suddenly finds himself on his back and with Eric on top of him, too delirious to figure out how that happened so quickly. But really, he couldn't care less. Because now Eric is touching his face with almost unnerving gentleness, a contrast to the ache of his teeth embedded in his skin, the press of his solid body against his.

His heartbeat is still strong, his breathing shallow but quick with both fear and arousal. He doesn't know what Eric will do next. And it turns him on and frightens him at the same time.

[onceaviking]

Eric laps at Emcee's neck, first the new wounds, then the ones he made first, tilting his hips a little to press between Emcee's legs.
Hard.

Then he bites the meaty part of his hand, below the thumb, and presses it to Emcee's lips.

He shouldn't. Emcee isn't weak enough to need it and blood is not something - the blood is sacred - to be used with indiscretion.

But fuck that. He will do it if it pleases him. And it pleases him.

and he won't care how Godric would look at him, because he left him and he won't look at him ever again

Licking his lips and the fingers he swipes across his own chin and cheeks. Watching Emcee.

[i_am_your_host]

It seems to him that Eric has finished feeding (for now), but the way he presses between his legs makes him gasp. Perhaps he's not finished completely yet.

However, it confuses him when Eric offers him his blood. Not just offers it to him, gives it to him. He would insist that he's all right if he had the wherewithal to speak. And also if Eric's hand weren't covering his lips.

The first drops trickle onto his tongue before he can refuse anyway, and he swallows. Before he knows what he's doing he's lapping at the thick flow of blood into his mouth.

And not only does his faint lightheadedness dissipate almost immediately, replaced by a warm buzz in which his senses become sharply more acute, the pressure between his legs becomes a lot more urgent.

[onceaviking]

Eric pulls his hand away again and licks his lips, his tongue swiping around his fangs.

Slowly and throughly.

Then he slowly trails a finger down Emcee's chest and belly, catching blood spattered before lifting his finger to his own mouth to clean it as well.

All the while watching Emcee's face.

[i_am_your_host]

The blood looks redder; his fangs look whiter.

The touch of his finger seems to reach right into him, leaving a cool trail that lingers almost tangibly on his hot, flushed skin. He blinks and gasps at how sensitive his skin has become with the new blood coursing through his veins.

And he watches with aroused fascination at the way Eric sucks his finger clean.

Fuck, that is hot.

He shifts underneath him, moving his hips.

[onceaviking]

Eric moves back a little and carefully unties the drawstring keeping his track suit pants in place.

Lifting one eyebrow. Just a fraction.

[i_am_your_host]

Looking up at Eric like this, he feels almost as vulnerable and impassioned as he was when he was a woman. Something about the vampire blood has tapped into his deepest desires, bringing it all to the surface and laying it bare -- everything is a turn-on: the feel of the sheets on his skin, Eric's cold blue eyes on him, the weight of his body pinning him down, the smell of blood, the taste of blood.

His lusty gaze is fixed on the crotch of those track suit pants.

[onceaviking]

Eric pushes his track suit pants down; just enough to reveal his hip bones.
Slowly.

[i_am_your_host]

His eyes grow a little wider. His cock grows a little harder.

...Eric has never teased him like this before.

He would say something but what are words?