Disclaimer: The characters in this story aren't mine.

Author's note: Am I the only one who found this whole father-brother-son-thing suspiciously kinky? This is the first of three parts. Slash.

"I'll be your father. Your brother. Your son."


The girl's eyes were wide and glassy, filled with fascination, without a trace of fear, pain, even awareness. Her frail body trembled in the strong arms of the tall Northerner, limp and helpless. She probably wasn't even aware of the fangs at her throat, and if she was, she didn't seem to care.

"Enough, my child," a youthful voice admonished. Eric growled in the back of his throat, but even in his thirst he wouldn't disobey his maker. He tore himself away from the girl's sweet blood, then adjusted her collar to hide the tiny marks before he released her from his grasp.

Clothes rustled behind him, and Eric was once again amazed that he even heard it in the general noise that came out of the nearby taverns. He felt Godric's slender fingers on his forearm and turned towards his maker, meeting those glimmering, dark eyes. Even after several months together Godric's dark, wild, and yet delicate beauty still shook Eric. The feeling of Godric's tongue licking blood drips of his bearded chin was almost as pleasing as the taste of the girl's blood.

"You've done well, my child," Godric said when he had finished. He looked down at the girl, still so under the influence of Eric's glamour that she was barely conscious. Ever since they had left the wilderness and come to a more populated region Godric had taught Eric about the less physical powers vampires possessed. And while finesse had come less easily to Eric than his additional strength and speed and his heightened senses, Godric's efforts hadn't been in vain. He himself couldn't have glamoured this girl more effectively.

"I still prefer them struggling and screaming," Eric snorted, but, as always, having Godric in his arms kept him from being truly angry.

"I know," Godric sighed and placed a gentle kiss on Eric's collarbone - the highest place he could reach without standing on his tiptoes. "But it's safer to silence them in cities. We don't want to attract attention. In the morning she won't remember anything and try to invent a rational explanation for her wounds."

Eric still didn't look convinced. His body was pulsing with renewed strength, and that didn't make it any easier to listen to his maker. He had been amazed that the wildcat that had picked him up in the woods had turned out to be a rather civilised, well-mannered young man when they had come to the city.

"I am just trying to protect us, my child," Godric said soothingly, but the look on his face was strict.

"I know, father," Eric replied sarcastically, a habit he had taken whenever Godric started to lecture him. But right now, with Godric so close to him, the word felt forbidden on his tongue, forbidden and therefore all the more seductive.

The small alleyway was empty except for the glamoured girl, and even if somebody else were to approach, their senses would pick them up long before the human would see them. Godric smiled. He knew he was being too lenient toward Eric sometimes, but it was hard not to spoil him. Even more so since they both usually wanted the same thing.

He grabbed Eric and pulled the taller man down to kiss him. Eric growled again, this time in approval, before he lifted Godric in his arms. His maker's legs wrapped themselves around his hips, deceptively thin fingers clawed at his hair, fangs tore his lips open to taste him while they kissed.

Hands opened buttons with supernatural speed, tearing the cloth apart whenever it was too resistant, greedy lips and hands reaching for whatever skin they could find. A half-hearted wrestle for control until Eric pushed his maker against the wall and, almost in the same forceful movement, pushed inside him. Godric didn't even bother to pretend that he was in pain, but simply threw back his head and offered his throat to Eric. To this man he had admired so much that he had chosen to spend eternity with him. To this strong, powerful vampire he had created. His child, his son.

Their groans were muffled by blood and kisses, and eventually died down to soft moaning when they sank to the dirty ground, still entwined, sated and exhausted, uncaring where they were as long as they were together.

And all the while, one word hung between them, one innocent, loving, familiar word, suddenly bereft of all its innocence, turned into a twisted, passionate alteration of the love it should represent.