Author: Radioheaded PM
What if the blood donor in the Dallas hotel had 'convinced' Eric? What happens when a client decides he wants you as a pet--and you try to get out of it? Eric/Oc The title is owned by Muse; I'm just borrowing it.Rated: Fiction T - English - Eric N. - Chapters: 18 - Words: 52,059 - Reviews: 262 - Favs: 150 - Follows: 119 - Updated: 09-24-09 - Published: 08-14-09 - Status: Complete - id: 5302262
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
When the call came through, I was sitting in the waiting room, bored stiff, looking over my notes for Contractual Law 205, also known as the most mind-numbing reading material on earth. But I would get an 'A' in it, like all my other classes. And, hey, at least I would never have to buy Tylenol PM again. The paragraph I was currently entrenched in--that I was rereading for the eighth time--would put anyone to sleep.
When Randy, my boss, who sat across the room, idly spinning his cell phone on the desk in front of him, began to speak, I started, my eyes instantly on his face. He put the caller on speakerphone, and I listened as a firm, accented voice asked for a girl, A positive, to be sent to him. He would be waiting in the lobby.
I stood, stiffly, my leg asleep from sitting on it, and straightened my 'uniform.' Today it was a long, blue strapless dress that hugged my figure but left most everything to the imagination.
"Go get 'em," Randy said, smirking at me. I swore at him under my breath and repeated a mantra that might as well have been carved onto my forehead at this point: This is for law school, this is for law school, this is for law school. My heart quickened as I waited for the elevator to the lobby; I never knew the kind of clientele to expect, and it was always varied. Some were rough, some broke through my skin like a kiss, some were romantic, others were filthy. I told myself that it was only blood, something I barely noticed, something vampires were willing to pay me extravagantly for. I looked at my reflection in the elevator doors, the metal blurring my image so I was only an outline of a person. But then they opened, and I stepped into the small space that had mirrors covering every inch of space except for the buttons.
I looked pale, nervous. Clients didn't like that. I squared my shoulders, set my jaw and smirked at myself, annoyed that fear of vampires still permeated my entire being. It's sort of hard to be comfortable around someone who sees you as their daily caloric intake, I guess.
The elevators opened. I stepped out, conscious of the fact that the floor and my too-tall high heels were in no way made for each other, and glanced around the ornate, high-ceilinged room. A couple stood by the front desk, talking to Erin, the woman behind the counter. She looked up, hearing the 'ding' of the elevator and subtly made an exasperated face to me about the people she was helping. I grinned back, and continued my scan. A few humans sat on the various chairs, near empty fireplaces. But I couldn't find my client, until he appeared in front of me, a wall of black that extended a fair few inches above my head, even with the added height of the heels.
My eyes widened in surprise, but I let a smile curl the corners of my mouth upwards. "Hello," I said, trying to play like I the man in front of me was all I cared about. "I'm Elliot."
The man, blonde to such a degree it was almost golden-white, looked down at me, amused.
"Elliot?" He growled, taking a lock of my red hair between his fingers. "Would I find this color everywhere?"
I looked up into his eyes, blue, so pale they leaked into grey, the smile falling from my lips.
"Charmed," I said, without any intonation. "And it's called Henna."
He laughed, and a smile flickered across his face, illuminating it like a bolt of lighting, disappearing just as quickly. "Henna," he murmured, looking back at me again, closely. "That's old fashioned."
"Not in the Middle-East," I said. Ok, so yes. I allowed vampires to pay me for my blood. But I have goals, and ambition, and I do what it takes to get there. But everyone sees me as some stupid slut, a fangbanger whose only interest was being dominated by a vampire. And so I must be stupid, ignorant to everything but what I've grown up around. I felt anger and embarrassment flood through me, hot and fast.
"Spirited, aren't you?" he asked, rhetorically, but he didn't actually seem angry.
"I'm sorry," I said, automatically. "Would you like me to send for another girl?" He wrinkled his forehead, causing a slight 'v' to form between his eyebrows.
"No, you'll do." He took my hand. His skin was cool on mine, but not unpleasantly so. We walked, him leading me, to the bar area. He looked at a black leather seat in front of me; I sat, he followed, his body touching mine. He put his hand on my neck, sliding underneath my hair. His bite was gentle, one of experience so when he slid his teeth through my skin to the waiting veins below, I barely felt a pinch. I expected him to grip me a little tighter, to pull from the wound a little harder, but he didn't. He swallowed a few times, dutifully, and maybe it was because of the calming effect of the bite that I decided it would be alright to speak up.
"Calm down," I said, softly, so only he could hear me. "Wouldn't want anyone to think you're having too much fun." I cringed, though, realizing I've overstepped my boundaries when he pulled away, his hands moving from my throat.
"I'm over a thousand years old," he muttered, my blood in his mouth, on his lips, coating too-long teeth that somehow don't hinder his speech. "Feeding on the willing just isn't exciting anymore."
I looked around us at the various people in the bar. "Well, yeah," I said, abruptly. "Feeding on me down here is sort of like going through the drive through at a Starbucks."
I got another smile.
"Do…" I began. "Do you want me to be an unwilling donor?" He turned to me, face serious.
"Only," he said, his words laden with condescension, "if you're very, very convincing."
I smirked at him, allowed him to humor me, for the moment. I stood, feeling a trickling sensation from the wound on my neck. He looked up at me, questioning.
"I'm going to make far too much of a fuss for us to continue this little 'arrangement' down here," I said, holding my hand out. "I'm too good of an actress." He moved too quickly for me, grabbed my other hand and dragged me toward the elevators; I skittered along, trying to stay upright on my stupid heels. We got in, and soon enough were on the fourth floor, where he led me out. He walked fast, at a speed I could barely keep up with, until we stopped, suddenly, in front of room 418. I put my back to the door as he inserted the key; the light flashed green and I grasped the handle, pushing the heavy wood open so the cheery fluorescent of the hall contrasted deeply with the abyss that was his lightless room. He stood in front of me, expressionless. I put my hand on his chest, leaned up onto my tiptoes and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. I slid back down, my hand gliding over the leather of his jacket. If his face registered surprise, I wouldn't have known, because at that moment, I stepped back, becoming invisible in the dark of the room.
Before I knew what was happening, the door shut in front of me, cutting off my vision. I gasped loudly when arms grabbed me from behind, restricting my movement. I kicked out, violently, digging my heels into the carpet, then against his legs.
"No," I screamed, my voice muffled by his large arms. I brought my arms up, tried to claw at him, but he was impervious to my puny attacks. I kept struggling, twisting in his grasp, losing myself to the point that when he bit me, I felt nothing, my instincts having taken over. He walked me, easily, over to the bed, and threw me down before climbing on top of me. I bucked underneath him, but it was like a mosquito trying to fight an elephant. He buried his head into the crook of my neck; I moved more spastically, twitching my arms and legs, hitting his back, pushing at his shoulders. But, little by little, my energy was sapped, drained from me into him.
"Thank you," he whispered in my ear, and I relaxed beneath him, muscles burning. In the darkness, my eyes adjusted and I saw the light of his hair in front of me. He didn't get off me, though, and a second later I felt the weight of his body shift as he put his arms down on either side of me. He angled his head, and his lips, warmed by my body, my blood, press softly onto my own.
I forgot to breathe, because he doesn't have to, and don't realize I'm fainting until I hear a noise like the ocean rushing in my ears.