Fic: Recoil, and grace. (True Blood)
Aug. 18th, 2009 07:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fan_eluneTitle: Recoil, and grace.
Fandom: True Blood
Characters: Eric, Godric, Sookie
Summary: Send a heartbeat to
The void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
For now we stand alone
The world is lost and blown
And we are flesh and blood disintegrate
With no more to hate
Spoilers: 2x09. MAJOR spoilers for 2x09.
Recoil, and grace.
Each step feels like whiplash against his chest, urging him back up, when he must go down. Every cell of his skin warns him of the coming of the sun, each footstep heavier yet, and he has been commanded. Not released, but commanded. Never released.
Hotel hallways are colder than a vampire's coffin, and he retreats to his bedroom. Stands there, for a moment, and focuses on her. He can feel her up there, on the roof, with him. If he concentrates hard enough, he can feel a hint of the warm, sore emotions swirling through her. The sympathy, the love.
He feels tainted, but not by her (maybe). He is on the edge of his bed, sitting as if he weren't so huge. The sun is slowly coming up behind the sealed, blocked windows. Not slowly enough. There is no time for another look, another touch, another embrace. No time for another word. The loss is inside him already, when up there he still exists. Still walks this earth, this roof, still talks to her, but not to him. There is no time; grief has consumed it all.
He lies on his bed, curled up, foetal. He clutches the sheet in a hand, and prays. He prays to Godric, a ribbon of silky Swedish whispers, for Godric to relent, to fly to safety, he prays.
He prays until he feels the sorrow and the peace within Sookie, and he hates her, in that second, he hates her so much he would have her burn, have her choke, have her drown, and he wants her here, by his side, to touch his hair with that warm hand and tell him what he can't see. Through tears of blood.
She doesn't come.
~
She comes to him in his dreams.
"He's at peace," she says, and he wants to strike her, he wants to drain her, but instead he strokes the side of her face, feeling impossibly old, and impossibly sad.
"Hold me," he says, and can't quite believe he's said the words. Not to her. Only one has held him in a thousand years; not to her.
She strips, and pushes him onto the bed, straddles him and she feels warm and tight, and she cries out for him, until he rolls himself on top and sinks his fangs into her neck. The sweet taste of her, so wild and yet so sweet. Everybody thinks she's a darling, don't they.
"Eric," she gasps out, and "Eric," he hears behind them, this peculiar accent, this level voice he knows so well.
They cry out together, although he isn't sure what name his lips shape.
When he looks back, he sees him nowhere. Father, brother, son. He is gone, and he is crying again, tears that stain the bedsheets. There is her warm hand in his hair, and she holds him.
She is here.
~
He wakes up in a start, to a sun not yet set.
Fandom: True Blood
Characters: Eric, Godric, Sookie
Summary: Send a heartbeat to
The void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass
For now we stand alone
The world is lost and blown
And we are flesh and blood disintegrate
With no more to hate
Spoilers: 2x09. MAJOR spoilers for 2x09.
Recoil, and grace.
Each step feels like whiplash against his chest, urging him back up, when he must go down. Every cell of his skin warns him of the coming of the sun, each footstep heavier yet, and he has been commanded. Not released, but commanded. Never released.
Hotel hallways are colder than a vampire's coffin, and he retreats to his bedroom. Stands there, for a moment, and focuses on her. He can feel her up there, on the roof, with him. If he concentrates hard enough, he can feel a hint of the warm, sore emotions swirling through her. The sympathy, the love.
He feels tainted, but not by her (maybe). He is on the edge of his bed, sitting as if he weren't so huge. The sun is slowly coming up behind the sealed, blocked windows. Not slowly enough. There is no time for another look, another touch, another embrace. No time for another word. The loss is inside him already, when up there he still exists. Still walks this earth, this roof, still talks to her, but not to him. There is no time; grief has consumed it all.
He lies on his bed, curled up, foetal. He clutches the sheet in a hand, and prays. He prays to Godric, a ribbon of silky Swedish whispers, for Godric to relent, to fly to safety, he prays.
He prays until he feels the sorrow and the peace within Sookie, and he hates her, in that second, he hates her so much he would have her burn, have her choke, have her drown, and he wants her here, by his side, to touch his hair with that warm hand and tell him what he can't see. Through tears of blood.
She doesn't come.
~
She comes to him in his dreams.
"He's at peace," she says, and he wants to strike her, he wants to drain her, but instead he strokes the side of her face, feeling impossibly old, and impossibly sad.
"Hold me," he says, and can't quite believe he's said the words. Not to her. Only one has held him in a thousand years; not to her.
She strips, and pushes him onto the bed, straddles him and she feels warm and tight, and she cries out for him, until he rolls himself on top and sinks his fangs into her neck. The sweet taste of her, so wild and yet so sweet. Everybody thinks she's a darling, don't they.
"Eric," she gasps out, and "Eric," he hears behind them, this peculiar accent, this level voice he knows so well.
They cry out together, although he isn't sure what name his lips shape.
When he looks back, he sees him nowhere. Father, brother, son. He is gone, and he is crying again, tears that stain the bedsheets. There is her warm hand in his hair, and she holds him.
She is here.
~
He wakes up in a start, to a sun not yet set.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 12:15 am (UTC)I've been reading too many posts on message boards now, comparing the bullet-sucking incident to rape, or brutal violation, but I think that just overlooks how Sookie is not all-vulnerable to Eric and his blood; how the blood operates in her is her doing, because I don't see Lafayette having sex dreams about Eric; there's a high degree of mutuality involved in what occurs with the bond that I think a lot of people are choosing to ignore.
"Eric," she gasps out, and "Eric," he hears behind them, this peculiar accent, this level voice he knows so well.
Godric and Sookie becoming one person in his dream. Oh, Fan. LOVE.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-19 12:22 am (UTC)But you're absolutely making a point. Sookie is opening herself up to Eric whether people want to admit it or not. Yes, Eric's a bastard for having known that, but we've known for a while that Eric's a bastard. (Today I learned that an old Swedish form of Erik was Jerk. Bill would love to hear that.) But Sookie has seen him portray emotions, even before the rooftop scene (the fact that he, Eric, would show such raw emotions in front of her underlined once again how much we cannot grasp the maker bond), she's started to discover him as, precisely as she says in the dream, not empty inside. Otherwise there might be a faint sexual attraction in the flesh, but to the point of that dream? I think not.
I WANT TO WRITE GODRIC BUT I DON'T DARE. I can't. Feel him.