"I grow weary of having this conversation with you, Eric."
"And I grow weary of watching him throw himself at your feet like a dog. I hate the way he looks at you."
"I am old, and I am powerful. They can sense this, and they react accordingly. I don't believe it is entirely in their control."
"And I hate the way you look back at him."
"I look at him the way that I look at anyone else, Eric, save for you. You know this. Therefore, I do not understand why we must continue to have this… issue."
"Have you taken blood from him?"
"Really, Eric. Your jealousy can be refreshing at times. Now it is getting tedious."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Nor will I. Shall I request that you sit down and make a list of all the humans you've bled? I would never. It is none of my concern. Our relationship transcends the trivial matter of whom we feed from. I wish you would realize this."
"You have, then. You have taken his blood. When? How many times?"
"I realize that this problem you're having stems from your love for me, and I make my greatest attempts to be flattered by it. But my patience wears thin. This conversation is over."
"Godric, I swear-"
"Eric. I'm warning you -"
It is nearly pitch dark, the windows shuttered tightly so as to make the room a safe place to sleep through the burning day. A few blood red candles burn idly on an end table, casting large shadows against the opposite wall.
Eric sits upright among black satin sheets, his décor of choice despite his maker's negative opinion on the matter. Naked, he is propped up against the ornate brass headboard, his long legs stretched out before him. His wrists have been bound together, and then secured firmly to the brass decoration well above his head. His restraints are substandard; nothing but black leather and stainless steel buckles. There is no silver involved this time. Eric knows that he could snap the material easily if he chose, but the gesture would be useless. He would still be unable to overpower his captor.
Godric knows a few things, as well. Centuries with his child have taught him about patience, and love. He knows everything there is to know about Eric; including the fact that Godric himself will be forever unable to successfully punish him. Godric knows that Eric goes out of his way to be petulant, even (and perhaps, especially) if it ends in torment. Because Eric is never content unless he has Godric's undivided attention, however negative that attention may be. Godric is convinced that he could be driving silver spikes beneath Eric's fingernails, and Eric would weep with joy at the touch.
The fact of the matter is, Godric knows, he will never be able to discipline his child. When Eric commits an offense worthy of castigation, Godric has found that the old fashioned 'silent treatment' works best of all. But the thinly veiled hurt in Eric's eyes after Godric refuses to speak to him quickly defuses Godric's anger, and the attempt at reprimanding is usually in vain. Therefore, when selecting punishment, Godric has learned to simply make sure he himself is enjoying it, because Eric isn't going to learn anything one way or the other.
Godric mentally curses the satin beneath him as his knees slide against the material, making Eric moan. He straddles Eric's hips, Eric fully sheathed inside him, but he hadn't meant to allow so much movement. Damn Eric's dramatically Gothic tastes and these slippery sheets! He places his hands on Eric's aching shoulders to steady himself, and then ceases moving altogether, his ass pressed flush against Eric's thighs. They have been playing this game for quite a long while now, Godric rocking against him in agonizingly slow movements until Eric is ready to scream out his frustration and need for release. Occasionally, Godric will move upward until their contact is completely broken; sometimes for the practical task of adding more artificial lubricant (his favorite recent invention, he's decided), and sometimes simply to hear Eric's pathetic whimper at the loss.
Godric tilts his head a little and looks at his child. Eric's mouth is hanging ajar, the points of his fangs barely indenting his lower lip. He stares straight ahead, seemingly directly into Godric's eyes, though his eyes appear glazed and unfocused. He has been forbidden from speaking, unless his words are either an apology, or a plea.
"Are you ready to speak, my love?" Godric asks, not bothering to hide the hoarseness in his words. He is weary, both with physical exertion and the willpower it takes to deny himself for so long. His own erection is prominent despite the lack of contact, and he is more than ready to be finished with his game. His stomach curls into a tight knot of anticipation, knowing Eric is near his breaking point.
At Godric's words, Eric blinks and his eyes seem to focus again. He swallows against a dry throat, as if preparing to talk, but at the last moment he clamps his fangs down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Godric pistons his hips a little faster, making Eric bite himself even harder, crimson rivulets trailing down his chin. Godric chuckles breathlessly, amused with Eric's defiance, while he continues his steady movements. Finally, Godric reaches up to remove his child's bonds, freeing Eric's hands. This will be the last straw, he knows.
As soon as Eric's wrists are released from the leather straps, he reaches desperately for his maker, wanting nothing more than to wrap the small body in his arms and pound upward so relentlessly that neither of them will remember where they are. Not even slightly faltering in his slow but steady rhythm, Godric reaches out before Eric has the chance to touch him. Grabbing Eric roughly, Godric wraps a small hand around his throat and squeezes. Eric's hands freeze mid-motion and his eyes widen, gasping frantically for unneeded breath.
"Do. Not. Touch. Me." Godric commands past clinched teeth, knowing that the order will be his child's undoing. Eric cannot go long without touching his lover, any more than a man stranded in a desert could refuse a glass of water being offered to him.
Godric releases his harsh grasp when Eric's hands immediately drop to the sheets at his sides. No longer restrained, Eric pitches forward, his forehead colliding with Godric's shoulder as he sobs dryly in frustration. When Godric ceases moving once more, Eric feels his sanity crack just a little, and his words begin to flow without conscious thought.
"Vinsamlegast Godric... Ó, Guð, Vinsamlegast... Ég bið þig... Ég þarf nú ..."
"In English, please, my love." Godric smiles, not being able to resist prolonging Eric's agony for a few moments more. Although he and Eric could have an entire conversation using nearly any language ever created, Godric knows that at this point of desperation, Eric will have a hard time finding words in anything other than his native tongue.
"Það er nóg. Ég elska þig ég þarf að snerta þig.. please!"
"That's excellent. Excellent, love. You remember your words now, yes?" Godric speaks softly, as if addressing a traumatized child. He lifts Eric's head from his shoulder and guides him back to leaning against the headboard. Leaning down, he swipes his tongue against the bloody tracks that had trailed down Eric's throat, not being able to contain a groan as the taste invades his mouth.
"Then you must also remember that I am your maker. You are my child," Godric growls against the sensitive skin of Eric's throat, suckling at the coagulating blood hard enough to leave small bruises that quickly disappear. He drags his fangs lightly against Eric's collarbone, feeling the body beneath him jump.
"Y-yes. Yes, my maker." Eric's hands fist in the sheets as he forces words, the thought process needed to form them into coherent English almost too much to bear. It takes every ounce of self control that he possesses not to move, not to thrust, knowing that could cause this to come to a crashing end. It wouldn't be the first time that Godric simply up and walked away, leaving Eric to his own devices after hours of sexual torture.
"And as my child, you do as I tell you. You do not question, and you do not accuse. You obey, and that is all."
Eric squeezes his eyes shut and swallows hard, tasting his own blood from his fangs, which he decides is slightly less bitter than the words he's attempting to choke out.
"I-I am sorry, my maker. I am sorry to have disobeyed. I want nothing in this life if not to please you, t-the one.. who made me. Please. Please, forgive me. It will not happen again."
Godric throws his head back and laughs in sheer delight. It is not winning the game that pleases him so much anymore, but rather the amusement that is derived from Eric's words, and the fact that they have been spoken countless times over the centuries. Never will they be true, yet Eric is always so reluctant to utter them. Godric never ceases to be fascinated with his child's rebelliousness.
"Very well, then. You are forgiven."
In the blink of an eye, Eric's hands are roaming Godric's body, lavishing every inch of skin he can reach. He combs fingers through Godric's hair, scratches blunt fingernails down his back, splays his hands across his hips, and strokes his hard length. Eric thrusts upward inside the smaller body, and Godric happily allows it, closing his eyes and arching his back, his fangs bared to the ceiling.
Eric momentarily considers switching their positions, rolling Godric onto his back and pounding into him mercilessly, but changes his mind. Their height difference can be troublesome, Eric remembers, and he does not intend to end this affair without feeling his maker's cries of ecstasy against his lips.
Instead, he grabs Godric by the hair and forces his head down so that their mouths come crashing together. Fangs collide, bringing sweet pain, and Godric echoes Eric's groan of satisfaction at the sensation. Eric's tongue in Godric's mouth mimics the frantic thrusts of his body, and Godric knows by Eric's muffled cries that he's too close to the edge to turn back now.
Eric releases his hold on Godric's hair and shoves a hand between them, fisting quickly over Godric's length. He tries to hold back, wanting Godric to come first, but after all that he's endured, the effort is pointless. Eric screams his release into Godric's mouth, his hips faltering in their rhythm as he empties himself deep inside Godric's body.
The taste of Eric's mouth, the sound and the feeling of his orgasm, is quite enough to send Godric crashing over, seconds behind. His body jerks and spasms as he keens against Eric's lips, spilling over Eric's hand and both their stomachs. Their combined orgasms, built up so much by the anticipation, seem to last forever, and yet are gone all too quickly.
When Godric pulls his lips from Eric's, Eric gazes at him half-lidded and gasping for air, a pointless reflex that Godric has long since grown out of. Godric offers him a lazy smile and very slowly moves from atop Eric, causing his child to gasp at the loss of feeling. He leans over to blow out the candles, although their vampire eyes barely register the change in lighting. Godric lies down and stretches contentedly, restoring movement to stiff muscles, and Eric situates himself behind his maker and does the same. He spoons against the smaller body, wrapping an arm around Godric's chest, and sighs.
"I am sorry. Truly. I didn't mean to make you angry. I just... can't stand the thought of..."
"Of me touching someone else. I understand that, Eric. There's really no need to continue bringing it to my attention. It is very unnecessary to irritate me first in order to make love. We can do it anytime you please, without the fight beforehand. And to answer your question, no. I've not fed from the boy in question. This issue is exactly why I've agreed to sticking to your.. 'donor list.' I take blood only from those you are comfortable with, and I would not deviate from our agreement without telling you. You must learn to trust me."
"I trust you with everything that I am, Godric. I do not trust them."
"Hush, child. I am exhausted, and I can feel that you are, as well. Sleep, now; dawn approaches. I love you, and you alone."
Eric smiles and lets his eyes slide closed as he moves closer into the feel of Godric's body. Soothed by his maker's words, he gives himself over to the sleep of the dead, still smiling.