A/N: Dear readers, this story is rated Mature for a reason. What follows below is a highly edited version of the chapter to avoid being censored by the prude patrol. If you already know you want to read the full version that includes (finally!) the blazing hot sex that happens between Godric and Rosalyn, go ahead and jump to my Wordpress at:

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There's still a very little bit of sexy in here, so if you are uncomfortable with a very brief depiction of heterosexual nudity and sexuality, don't read this.


In Dallas, what began as a fine drizzle quickly turns into a fat pattering rain shower. The second the wheels thump and squeal along the landing strip and the engines roar against the tide of the jet's inertia, Godric makes good on his promise and springs into action. He has Ros out the door and is charging across the tarmac, barking orders at the air traffic controllers and service technicians who scamper in their direction. At the customer service desk inside the private hangar, he picks up an envelope left for him and an apologetic clerk offers the couple a ride to their vehicle. Godric looks out the window at the golf cart like it is a dinky green toy, gives the guy a funny look, and walks out without another word. When they get to the uncovered car park, however, he realizes he has no idea which car is theirs. The parking lot is surprisingly large.

"You can go wait back inside, you're getting soaked."

From underneath the jacket she's holding over her head, Ros asks, "What model are we looking for?"

"An Audi," he says, staring at the key fob.

They start trotting down the wide aisles as Godric beeps the keyless entry. Ros is laughing like a maniac and finally just puts his coat back on and lets the rain pelt her face.

"How many Audis can there possibly be!?"

A lot, it turns out. Godric grumbles at the weak technological device. He starts zipping as fast as possible and then finally sees the telltale flash of the lights in the far corner of the lot.

They collapse inside the car, both wet as fishes.

"Welp, he definitely left you a stupid sports car."

Godric purses his lips. "Sure did." He revs the massive engine and finds the thermostat. "I'm surprised it has heat. Most of these things are extraordinarily useless when it comes to practical comforts."

Ros isn't sure how many traffic laws he proceeds to flagrantly disobey. Lights were blazed through, corners taken so sharply she felt the vehicle groan in protest, speeds were used that must have tested the very limits of the ten cylinder engine's ability to combust gasoline. They tear through a residential neighborhood and, after pausing to pass through a severe looking gate, pull up to an estate. Godric is instantly by her door helping her out. Eric is on the oversized portico, waiting for them with arms behind his back.

"How did you like the R8?" Eric asks.

Godric tosses the keys at him.

"Really? No? Was it the rear differentials? I know they're a little slippy at the top of the gearbox, but I thought you'd like the cushier ride. I'm not a fan of the aluminum composite, though."

Godric grunts. "Me either. I cracked the chassis cutting across Walnut Hill."


"Check it yourself – it failed where the aluminum profile meets the magnesium, right rear wheel. Rosalyn felt it go too. That means it isn't suitable for her safe transport. Get another one and have them use something else. The materials can't support the torque. I don't even know why these people bother if they're not going to do it right."

Eric jogs to the vehicle and reaches under the wheel well, lifting the vehicle off its suspension, checking it like a lame horse. He strokes the bumper. "What did he do to you, baby? You poor thing!"

Ros is just staring at the two, wondering how many gallons of oil they'd burned into the atmosphere to make it to this house in less than two minutes.

The front door opens and a slim, dark haired woman dressed in a high collared skirt suit steps out. "Sheriff, welcome home. The nest is cleared as you have ordered and is fully secure."

"Thank you, Isabelle. I would like to introduce you to Dr. Rosalyn Murray. She is a specialist in education. Rosalyn, this is my Second in Command, Isabelle Beaumont."

"Hello," the woman says and turns to go inside.

"Hello, madame," Godric corrects quietly. Isabelle freezes and cuts her eyes at her boss in stunned confusion, but she quickly recovers and greets the human using the respect usually reserved only for fellow vampires of equal or greater standing.

"My apologies. Welcome to Area Five, Madame. Please do come in." She gives a slight bow.

Inside, Rosalyn is met with an ostentatious entryway. It has soaring ceilings and is flanked by a broad double staircase that imposes itself on the room. A wrought iron chandelier shaped like a wagon wheel swings overhead. Each of its lights is covered in a faux vintage hurricane lamp. A thick Navajo rug stretches across the parquet floor. A set of uncomfortable-looking benches with brass stud detailing lines the walls.

"You…live here?" she says, unable to stop herself. She had expected something understated. The décor is completely incongruous with the man at her side. Everything is overdone and gaudy, with a vague "American West" theme. The McMansion screams nouveau riche. Godric certainly had the riche part covered, although he didn't seem the least concerned about that fact, but there was nothing "new" about him.

"It's fucking hideous, isn't it," Eric quips behind her.

Ros' mouth hangs open.

"If you get the matches, Ros, I'll help you burn it down," he says in a loud, conspiratorial whisper.

"Don't you dare encourage him, he's done it before," Godric warns. "This belongs to the Area vampires whose annual tribute supports the operation of the residence. You torch it, Eric, and you can explain your actions to the king. I won't defend you."

Eric gnashes his teeth but says nothing more.

Isabelle leads them down a corridor to a spacious living room, giving a brief history of the home and pointing out a few horse statues and paintings of cowboys that were supposedly important. The furniture here was a hodgepodge of overstuffed brown leather sofas and cow hides strewn on tile flooring.

"Is that…a warthog?" she gestures to one of the taxidermy heads mounted on the wall.

"Javelina," Godric murmurs, only paying cursory attention to Rosalyn's reaction to the house. He's rapidly surveying the space, making sure Eric had picked up thoroughly and nothing untoward had been left lying around. These were the common rooms for all of the nest; it was amazing how often one found stray underwear, empty blood bags, and other sorts of messes left by his retinue. He has maids, but they didn't always catch everything immediately.

"I guess I should be grateful those are animal trophies and not human heads, no?" she jokes weakly. Eric just shakes his head in dismay.

"May I use your restroom?" She needs to towel off her hair and she could stand to pee. A moment to reconcile how gravely out of sync this place was with her understanding of Godric would also be nice.

"Isabelle, I am sorry to displace you on such short notice," Godric apologizes.

"It is no problem, Sheriff."

"Give me three days. You will say nothing about the woman to anyone."

"Understood. I have it under absolute control."

"Is there anything pressing that's come in tonight?"

"There's a maker's request."

"Does the turning need to be done with any urgency?"

"No, it seems normal. The paperwork is on your desk."

"Fine. I'll schedule a hearing when I'm free.'

They are discussing other minor details when they hear Rosalyn make a 'glech' sound down the hallway.

Godric is at the bathroom door instantly.

"Are you unwell?"

"No…no…I'm fine. Just give me a second."

Isabelle is just collecting her things to leave as Rosalyn emerges. She nods and leaves, carrying two suitcases.

"What's wrong?" he asks when Isabelle is gone.

"Nothing, I told you."

"You made a sound, like something disturbed you. Are the facilities unsanitary? Should I call the cleaning services?"

Ros shakes her head. "No, sorry, I didn't mean for that to be out loud. It's just…the bathroom…it's kind of…clinical. It's just different, that's all."

Godric goes down the hall and flips on the light, determined to understand the problem. Apothecary jars filled with cotton dressing pads, antiseptic, and other medical supplies line the counter. One jar contains flavored condoms; another single use packs of lubricant. A large orange biohazard container is affixed to the wall. He'd never even been in this room before.

"This is the donor bathroom, I apologize. Don't use this one again." He squats down and pulls out a pack of toilet paper from underneath the sink and chucks it at Eric. "Are there other toiletries are you in need of? I've got tissues, shampoos, and soaps in the master bath."

"Um, I think I forgot to pack toothpaste, but otherwise, I'm fine."

"Do we have human toothpaste?" Godric wonders aloud. He ducks down and rummages around in the cupboard. He pulls out a little tube and holds it up.

Ros shakes her head. "That's cortisone cream. For itchy skin." He throws it back in and shuts the door.

"Eric, start making a list. Tell him exactly what you need."

"Oh, it's ok. I can just get some tomorrow."

"He's going shopping tonight. It has only just dawned on me that I am less than prepared to meet your needs properly. You're going to need food as well."

"Brand name? Color of the box? Any details will help," Eric asks.

"Sure. Crest Pro-white. The box is blue, I believe."

Godric leads them to a kitchen galley. "This fridge…is not for you." He opens it a fraction and sticks his head inside, remembering one of Stan's more disgusting habits. He is relieved there isn't anything too "serial killer" inside. Godric points to a mini-fridge under the counter. "That's for human food."

Ros opens it and finds an expired six-pack of Ensure, a half-finished Diet Coke, and an open box of ancient beef fried rice that has grown a layer of mold on the surface. "Er…okay. You're right. This isn't going to cut it." She tries a few cupboards to take stock of any other food there might be. They are full of glassware. A large white palm shuts the door and Eric points down to the single cabinet with a sticker labeled "HUMAN." Ros looks inside. There are two towers of red plastic cups. "Seriously? Solo cups?" There isn't a dish or plate in sight.

"You cannot use the vampire glassware, Ros," Godric warns. "Absolutely never." There is a slight panicky waver in his voice. "Explain it, Eric," he orders.

"Nobody actually lives on synthetic blood. We use donated blood and screened donors. The glassware goes through the dishwasher so it's sanitized, but that's no substitute for effective sterilization and disinfection protocols. How can you know a pathogen hasn't slipped past the donor bank's controls? Mistakes happen. It is not safe. Surely you know the risks of other sick humans to you? Hepatitis? HIV? Vampires cannot transmit disease between humans, but…"

"No. That's not completely true. Tell her truly. I want nothing hidden from her."

Eric nods. He's starting to understand his game with Rosalyn. Godric wants her treated as an equal. "Okay, as long as we retract our fangs between each feed, it's completely safe. A sloppy vamp feasting off of multiple humans could spread something blood-borne but that's been a punishable offence since we started to understand how disease actually worked during the Black Plague."

"Eww! You were spreading it!?"

"Yeah. It was a scary time for us. A third of Europe's humans died and the blood of the infected was almost inedible it was so fouled by the disease. We starved."

Ros shakes her head in stunned disbelief.

"It is extremely important to us that we keep humans as clean and healthy as possible, for the obvious reason that we need you for our own survival and because nobody wants to spend a month in a silver coffin for infecting a human."

"It's three months here in Dallas."

"Three?" Eric laughs. "He's a tough Sheriff, what can I say, Ros. The point is that you don't need to worry about any of us. It's essential, however, that you not come into contact with anything else that might have held or touched human blood. Normally the kitchen facilities for humans and vampires are entirely separate – it's mandatory health code in the hotels, for example - but Godric doesn't host humans here."

Godric fidgets, uncomfortable with the situation. "While you're here Rosalyn, you may touch anything in this house and help yourself to anything you like, but please do not open the blood fridge or handle the blood bags, even out of curiosity. It makes me very anxious. There's a medical grade deep freezer in the garage as well that I ask you to keep out of."

"Do you want me to just dump it all so it's not here?" Eric asks his maker.

"No, that's silly. I won't be tempted to peek at your stash. We're fine."

"Use the disposable cups, okay? Or if your environmental sensibilities are too offended by the plastic, I can purchase something ceramic just for you."

"We can order food to be delivered for you," Godric offers, "Or I can take you out for meals in the evenings, if you like, but tell Eric what you want stocked here in case you get hungry in between."

"Does this work?" Ros tries the gas nob on the stove and it clicks twice and lights. She opens the warming drawer to the oven. No pans.

"Alright, I suppose some breakfast and snacky type things are in order. You sure you don't mind going out Eric?"

"And miss the chance to go grocery shopping for the first time in my life? Please. Give me a list. I can remember it."

"Alright. Tell you what." She smiles, knowing she's about to give Eric an unusual challenge. "In the grocery store, there's usually a housewares aisle. I'm going to need you to show some restraint here. I don't need a whole set of china. Get me one ceramic plate. One fork. One knife. One spoon. And pick out one drinking glass that is colored so it can't be confused with the vampire stuff."

"Color preference?"

"Go wild. Surprise me."

"Got it."

"Also pick out a nonstick 9" frying pan and a spatula. Do you know what that is?"

He pulls out his phone. "Ok Google. Image search spatula." Ros points to the right type. "What else?"

"I'm starting to like bossing you around, Eric Northman. It's fun when you actually listen to my instructions."

"Don't push it, Doc."

She laughs. "I'm going to need the following: a dozen eggs. White or brown, it doesn't matter. A small box of unsalted butter. Salt and pepper – just the little cheap canisters, nothing fancy. In the produce section, get me one red bell pepper, a bunch of kale – kale is a leafy vegetable, you'll find the leaves are gathered in a group tied with a twisty tie, so just one of those, okay? Some apples would be nice too."

"I remember liking apples," Eric recalls.

"Well, if I don't touch your grub, you keep out of mine too," she teases. "Just two or three Fujis, if they have that variety. They're mainly red."

"Organic," Godric chimes in. "Everything must be organic. That's what she prefers." He is proud that he remembers this detail.

"Well, not everything is going to be available as organic, but just get what you can. Let's see. A couple white onions, a head of garlic, and three Yukon gold potatoes. Could you also get me a box of Starbucks instant Via coffee packets and a small jug of half and half cream? That will be in the diary aisle. Oh, and some non-fat Greek yogurt, any kind will do."

Eric looks at his maker for help.

"Rosalyn?" Godric says. "That all sounds completely reasonable with one small exception. We have an allergy to all plants in the allium family.

"Oh!" She claps her hand over her mouth, embarrassed that she had forgotten something so basic. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Of course."

"Onions, garlic, scapes…The smell of them fresh is slightly irritating. The scent of them being cooked is repellent. For very young vampires it can be actually nauseating. It doesn't bother me anymore, and it's a total myth that it affects your blood quality, but Eric might get his wish to burn this place down if you cook garlic in here. The house would no longer be suitable as a Sheriff's nest. Most of my subjects are baby vampires."

Eric snorts at the thought. "They'd be puking crimson sheets at the doorstep, if they even made it that far."

"Right, okay, scratch the onions and garlic. Omelettes are delicious without either anyways."

"Anything else?" Eric checks. "Sure you don't want me to swing by the sex shop? Pick up a few choice items? I can make some recommendations…" he waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Blondie, if you have the audacity to buy me a dildo, you know exactly where you can shove it."

Godric clenches his jaw, knowing Eric is really asking something else entirely. He wasn't speaking to Rosalyn; Eric was talking to Godric. "She is right, child. The only person who is going to be in silver handcuffs and a gag is you, if you don't stop testing my patience with your meddling. Now get moving."

"Fine," he shrugs and falls into Norse. "Are you sure you're going to be able to restrain yourself? I am worried. She is so fragile."

"I'll call you if you are needed. We'll be careful."

"Alright, bye you two lovebirds. I plan on seducing a busty soccer mom into showing me how to navigate a supermarket. Be back later."

In a blur, Eric is gone, leaving the two alone in the kitchen.

Rosalyn finally takes a moment to appreciate the fine work of the rainstorm. She had escaped with wet hair and sopping hem. Godric, on the other hand, is dripping puddles.

"You're soaked," she observes, pulling at the sleeve of Godric's white dress shirt. It clings to him like a second skin, revealing the dark blue ink of his mysterious tattoos. They are more extensive than she had realized. He has full bands around his muscular biceps in addition to the broad collar across his neck. "Good god, you look like an undead Mr. Darcy standing there like that." Godric is suddenly glad that Pamela got him to sit through that particular BBC miniseries.

"What a perfect dandy you must have been in the 19th century." Rosalyn looks at him ravenously. She runs a hand through the slightly curled mop of hair on his head and touch the ripples defining his chest. "Like a really, super sexy, unbelievably fit Mr. Darcy. Actually, Darcy who?"

His mouth twitches in a smile at the compliment. "Do you want to see the rest of the house?"

Ros tugs his shirt, pulling it out of his waistband.

"I think we should get you out of these wet clothes."

"I can't catch a cold," he says mischievously. "And the temperature does not bother me."


"Perhaps my state of undress offends you."

"Maybe you've got it backwards. You are overdressed for the occasion."

He laughs and gives her a scorching kiss that practically causes her to swoon.

"Come." He takes her hand and leads her back through a series of living rooms and sitting areas to a corridor. Following him, she sees through the wet shirt plastered on his back that his entire spine is covered in yet another tattoo. Now she's extra determined to get him out of that shirt.

"This wing is for my personal use only. Make yourself comfortable here. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask, however trifling or inconveniencing." He ticks off the names the various amenities hiding behind the hallways and doors. "That's the pool room down there. I find swimming helps me to relax."

He pauses at his personal study. "I spend most of my time in here." The walls are lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves. It's a massive collection of texts. Rosalyn wanders in, amazed. "Do you still have your flower?" she asks, gazing up at the tall shelving.

"Yes," he responds, hoping she would remember.

"Is it in here?"


He watches as Rosalyn browses through the shelves, hands behind her back.

"I can't figure out how this is organized."

"It's not intuitive." Godric chuckles. "They're arranged by time. I remember the order I acquired each. I can scent each book's particularities as well. But most of these are quite new."

She takes a step back, as if to better size up just how many volumes were in front of her. The array of languages is dizzying.

"So there's no poetry section?"


"But you did put it in a poetry collection?"

"'A big book of poems' just as madame instructed," he says, savoring her curiosity.

"Do I get any other hints?"

"Nope," he confirms, popping the p.

"It's going to take me forever to find it."

Godric wraps his arms around her from behind and sets his chin on her shoulder. "I think that very well may be the point."

She cranes her neck to look at him. "You don't want me to know what you picked?"

"Oh, I do, Rosalyn. I want very badly for you to know which words I thought could even come close to doing justice to your beautiful gift to me." The way he whispers in his soft, smoky voice sends shivers through her.

"Then why the game?"

He pauses and looks at her. "To keep you here, of course."

Rosalyn swallows and a flush of heat courses through her body. "Show me your room."

"This is my room. These are all my rooms," he replies, delighting in their flirtation.

"Your bedroom. I want to see it."

"Of course," he says neutrally. He turns on his heel, hands in his pockets, with a wry smile on his face. This much fun should be illegal. Impossible.

At the end of the hallway, Godric places his hand on a biometric panel, releasing the door. It is even heavier than the one in the vampire-safe room at the Sofitel. Inside, the furniture is modern, with simple lines. The walls are painted a light grey and the bedding and curtains are all in darker shades of navy and grey.

"This space is different," she comments.

"How so?" he asks. Godric is leaning against the wall, gauging her reaction.

"It's you. It's much more what I expected."

"Yes," he replies simply.

On a low white lacquered rectangular stand, there is a slim stereo bar and a shelf lined with a lengthy row of albums. "May I?" She goes to record player and finds the needle in the middle of an album. She turns it on, curious to see what he's been listening to. It is a soft, downtempo melody with whispery vocals and a baseline and percussion that thrums like a pulse.

Rosalyn jumps when suddenly the candle on the table bursts alight. The room is flooded with candlelight from tapers and candles spread out the room.

"How did you…"

Godric flips off the electric lamp overhead. "The fire gift. Not one I actually like to use."


He caresses her chin and kisses her cheek. "You merit exceptions." She twines an arm around his neck and sways to the gentle music.

"Is she singing in the language you and Eric use?"

"This? No. No one knows our dialect of Old Norse anymore. This is in modern Danish."

"What's she telling us?"

"Ah, well. Let's see. She sings that 'From here where we stand, we can see all around us – to all sides. It moves when we leave; it changes all the time.'"

"Why were you listening to this?"

Godric doesn't answer for a long moment. They rock slowly, fingers tangled, cheek-to-cheek. "You know why," he says finally. "That night with you. I've wanted that night over and over again. I have nearly infallible recall and yet going back to that memory, it felt further and further away. With you, I somehow understood exactly where I was. The moment you walked away, I couldn't see it anymore. I was feeling about and discovered that I was a man at sea. It was only then that I conceived of how gravely lost I had become."

Rosalyn gives no response; she simply accepts the confession and squeezes him a little harder. "You took the other half of the geode we found." She noticed it sitting on the bedside table the moment she walked in his room.

"I did. Where's yours?"

She hums a laugh against him. "You'll have to come to Portland to find out."

"Are you inviting me into your home, Rosalyn?" he asks, his tone dropping. The thought is extremely exciting.

"It depends," she teases.

"What shall I do to gain your invitation?"

"You can start by letting me undress you."

Her words are answered with a clatter. Faster than she could see, Godric had taken off his round mother of pearl cufflinks and thrown them carelessly to the floor. "Strip me, lover."

Rosalyn's hands are on his buttons and she peels his damp shirt off slowly, unwrapping him, revealing his flesh bit by bit, treasuring the anticipation. She runs her hands over every inch of his ink, the markings telling a story about a powerful, ancient man, followed by trails of light kisses. His nipples harden under her fingers. His washboard stomach flexes under her touch and she undoes his pants and lets them drop to the ground and her mouth finds his.

"Now me," she tells him.

Godric's pupils blow wide and his fangs ache to drop. He starts with the downy skin he already knows - Rosalyn's bare shoulders, the dips and swallows of her neck and décolletage, the secret place behind her ear. Curious fingers slip under the edges of her dress. His hands are cool but his touch feels hot, blazing paths of sensation along her skin where his fingertips explore. When he finally pulls the fabric over her shoulders, the heavy beading of her dress makes it fall to the floor in a whispery rattle. He takes a step backwards and lets his eyes roam hungrily over the soft curves of her shapely body. He is panting in shallow gasps.
"Forgive me," he manages to say. "I do not mean to leer...it's just...you are more exquisite than I dreamed.

It is the most flattering compliment she's ever been given - and from an immortal no less. Ros blushes deeply. "You look like you are going to eat me alive."

"I just might," he counters, a wild glint in his eyes. He cannot resist his need to touch her any longer. Palms run over the peaks of her bare, unrestrained breasts, down her belly, over the crescent swell of her backside. He is breathing praises in her ear, relishing each new territory he discovers, rasping his breathy delight in jagged fits and starts.

Rosalyn slips out of her underwear and tosses them aside. When his hand wanders between her thighs, he reaches down to the thin trail of hair on her pubis and pinches it playfully with a devilish smirk. "I like this."

Ros musters a hum in response.

"I like this very much," he says, running his fingertips over the little landing strip that leads into the cleft of her sex.

"Mm, good. I'm glad you don't mind. Going totally bare makes me feel like a little girl, but I try to keep things trimmed."

Godric's hand freezes in mid-teasing stroke. He furrows his brow. "I have not prepared myself for you."

"What do you mean?"

"I am fuzzy. What do men do today in this respect? I do not know the customs."

"Don't be silly, Godric. I don't care at all. Au naturel is fine."

"I am giving my body to you, lover. Tell me how you want it."

She pulls him to her and kisses him deeply. "I want you, just as you are."

Godric is less convinced and pulls off his socks and boxer briefs.

"I recall being promised that I would get to taste you as soon as we got here. I'm still waiting," she says and drops to her knees in front of him.

He's staring at the ceiling, praying for control. After a moment, she hasn't touched him and he looks down. Ros is frozen in front of him, her expression illegible. He tugs at the tight curls crowning his sex. "I knew it. Trim or shave? Some sort of combination?"

She just shakes her head no.

"What then?"

Ros can't find words and she waves her hand. He smells a shock of adrenalin that cuts through her arousal and it is alarming.

"Am I not acceptable to you?" he says, clearly upset. She still doesn't answer, so he bends down to retrieve his undergarments.

"You…your…I'm sorry. Don't do that." She grabs his calf and he pulls her to her feet.

"Talk to me," he implores.

Ros gestures at the appendage hanging between his strong legs. "I've never actually seen a cock that big, Godric. I'm just a little in shock. You're going to rip me in half."

Godric laughs out loud. "This? It's just the transformation. We all end up enhanced when we're turned."

"Enhanced is an understatement. You're not even fully erect." She holds up her wrist next to him in comparison.

"The blood often captures aspects of a person's physicality that are active when made. I was maybe 20? Twenty year old young men haven't changed much, even after two millennia. I liked to run and swim and jerk off." He shrugs. "I can't do anything about my physical appearance now, other than cut my hair and nails. But if you're worried about me hurting you, I promise that I won't. We'll take it slow. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You're in charge."

"It's just been a really long time for me."

"I can guarantee it's been longer than that for me."

Ros crosses her arms. It hikes her breasts up in an especially alluring way and she has no idea that her defiance makes her appear so enticing. "A year," she guesses.

He shakes his head.

"Two years?"

He laughs and leads her to the bed. They lay down together, cuddled side by side. He settles into the pillow underneath his head. "The last time I had full-on sexual intercourse was before you were born."

"No way," she says, scandalized.

"It is the truth. It was the 70s. We were on roller skates."


"Studio 54."

"You haven't had sex in over…what…thirty-five years?"

"I think there were some lap dances and maybe a handjob or two sprinkled in during the 80s, but my memory is a little…distorted. Eric spent a lot of this century in New York learning about investment banking. Every time I visited we would inevitably end up in some club feeding off of Wall Street types with staggering cocaine habits. It always got out of hand."

"You're saying Eric Northman basically had a coke problem and you were both too high to remember the 80s?"

"We can't get addicted, of course, and the effects are very short-lived, but yes, something like that. Amleth and I had to have an intervention before he ran afoul of the King of New York. I got him to move down to Louisiana once we knew the Reveal was going to happen."

"So you're really overdue on quality sexy time."

"I don't think of it like that."

"How then?"

He considers her question. "I'm ready for an intimacy I've never had before."

Rosalyn kisses him, nuzzles his face, and lets her hands roam. "I can give that to you. Let me please you." Her hand wraps around his thick member and he gives a guttural cry. He politely stills her movement, lest he come right then and there. Ros runs a thumb over his leaking head and sucks on the finger.


"Do you like that?"

"Yes. You taste like a man."

"Of course. But then, I am much more than just a man..."

THIS SECTION HAS BEEN REDACTED IN ORDER TO CONFORM TO FFnet's (in my opinion absurd) rating standards.

If you'd like to read the full version of this chapter, which includes a blazing hot exploration of sexuality and explicit smut, please see my Wordpress at:

melusine10 -dot- wordpress -dot- com -backslash- true-blood -backslash- into-the-mystic -backslash- ch-13

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Godric shifts into untraceable speeds, pleasuring her nerves in ways she hadn't known were possible. He seems to be everywhere, within her and without her. She feels something building in her that is inexplicable.

"Yes," Godric tells her, as if he could read her mind.

Rosalyn feels herself burst into a panoply of sensations and Godric tumbles down with her into a sacred place of oblivion. A sting hits her neck. The salty, tangy, sweet hits his tongue. And then there is only bliss.

They are one, together. Pulsing, thrumming, giving, taking.


A/N: Did you like? Please review. It means so much to me.

FYI - Godric was listening to Quadron's song "Herfra hvor vi står" [From here where we stand], which is an absolutely beautiful song and the inspiration for how I wrote this entire chapter.