deɑᴦеƽt Ɩuϲy (teeeth) wrote in helladjacent, @ 2017-03-17 13:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | !jumps: the walking dead, character: eric northman, character: gretel |
Who: Eric & Gretel
What: Gretel dreams, wakes up and remembers Eric is an asshole.
When: Monday night
Where: A small abandoned house outside the hotel.
Warnings: NSFW, mature content.
Status: Complete.
The air was sweet and warm; the beginning of summer in full bloom, fragrant beneath the late-afternoon sun. It created light streamers of gold, pink, and green that reached down from the forest canopy, speckling the thick meadow grass beneath her bare feet. No battle leathers hugged her form today, there was no need for them; a simple linen underdress was all that separated Gretel’s skin from the delicate breeze from the lake down the valley, that occasionally toyed with her loosely braided hair. Indecent, according to every real and unspoken law from here to either sea, but none of that mattered here in the grove, in the lazy summer sun, with him.
“I know you’re aiming for my head-!” Gretel laughed up at the figure in the sprawling apple tree, half-hidden by leaves and branches, but she could see glimpses of his hair when it caught the sun; a flash of gold in the rich greenery. She adjusted her grip on the woven basket in her arms, already half-full of red and pink bounty, much of the weight resting on her hip. “Hardly a smart idea if you want them cooked right later…”
“I was merely distracted by your pretty face,” Eric teased. His smile was boyish. At night, his pale skin looked foreboding and only a half step away from obviously dead. In the light, he looked more like living marble. Striking, but not nearly so threatening. His feet were bare, he’d taken off his boots to climb the tree properly, and he wore simple trousers and a simple linen shirt. “Surely you wouldn’t punish me for being helpless to admire you?”
He tossed a few more down before he decided to show off, dropping from a branch that was just a little too high to be safe and landing with a solid thud on his feet. He looked down at her with a grin, enjoying the view when he stood just a little too close and towered over her, like so. Eric cast a long shadow.
He grinned at her; she grinned right back, though Gretel’s smile dug deeper into her right cheek than the other, and her brows lifted in playful challenge.
“Do you think you can admire me without dropping fruit on my head?” she teased, propping the basket more on the bell of her hip so she could grab one bright red apple. She took a bite and pointedly walked around him, brushing by close enough that the linen of her dress and his shirt caught each other. The ‘point’ was clear: chase me.
“You’ve discovered my one weakness, dropping fruit on people’s heads. I’m helpless to stop myself,” he said smugly. Even in her dreams, Eric was still a little bit of an asshole. He turned into her, his reach was long but just slow enough that he wasn’t intending to grab her too roughly, and giving her just enough leeway to dodge. It was a bit like a dance.
“If you make me catch you,” he promised, “I may have to turn that entire basket over on you.”
Tutting him around the bite of apple, Gretel rolled her hips just out of his reach, veering in the opposite direction; the smile never left her face, even as she chewed.
“Is that right?” she hummed, turning a look over her shoulder at him as she moved; a little more swing in her hips than necessary, her steps lazy and meandering- clearly not putting up much of a challenge. “That hardly helps the point of picking them, don’t you think?”
Eric made a distinctly human growl, playful, as he turned again quick. This time his arms wrapped around her middle and he lifted her off her feet and spun her, burying his face in her neck to attack her with affection after affection.
“You wanted to pick the apples,” he murmured in her ear. “I wanted to pick you.”
There was a soft click as his fangs extended and snapped into place. He buried his face in her neck again, only when he bit her it did not hurt but translated as a more intense form of affection.
Gretel squeaked and laughed in the spin, losing the basket in the process and not really caring at all. Apples rolled away, lost in the grass and wildflowers, but all she noticed was the pleasant baritone in her ear and the way his embraces did pleasant, powerful things to her insides.
Her arms braced on his as they squeezed her in close, back against his chest with her toes barely reaching the ground; the grip alone wasn’t enough to take her breath away, but the deep pinch and hot ache that reached all the way from his mouth on her throat to the bottom of her spine. Gretel’s eyes automatically closed; with a slow, shaken inhale, her head lazily, invitingly tipped back to deepen the sensation that made both her fingers and toes curl.
When Eric let go, there was only a small runaway drop of blood that trailed warm down her neck to her shoulder, which he quickly licked away before turning her to face him and pulling his shirt off over his head.
“I’m famished,” he said. Dropping to his knees he looked up at her with a boyish grin before lifting the front of her dress and draping it over him. There were a few quick teasing kisses to her vulva before his hands lifted her slightly and he bit down again inside her thigh.
Gretel chuckled out quick and surprised, thrown off balance and off guard by his antics, but her chirped laughter switched to shortened gasps; her hands anchored on his shoulders when he took on her weight. She could feel her skin pop and split under the points of his teeth, but rather than pain, her breath wound tight with pleasure. It hit her like a hot wave that flushed her cheeks and lit the freckles there from behind.
Eric shifted her weight in his hands, propping up the other leg, kissing her inbetween as he bit into the other. In the dream, the loss of blood did not make her feel cold. Lighter in weight, as though she might start to float away if he took too much, tingly over the skin as it paled slightly, but she was never in any danger. Weak, in the legs perhaps, but the vampire made his intentions clear that she would not be walking any time soon.
When he was finished, he stood up and lifted her dress away with him, tossing it to the side. His mouth was stained with her blood and he left kisses over her neck and shoulders, his hands wandering up and down her sides and back, working the muscles there with his fingers. His hands wanted to touch her everywhere, if only to see what kind of reaction he could get out of her.
“How should I ravish you next?” he teased low in her ear.
Light-headed as she was, standing upright became as difficult as keeping her breaths from deepening, especially with how his hands and mouth were everywhere at once. The breeze caught the little ribbons of red creeping from the little wounds on her thighs and neck, now exposed to the air, cooled and flashed delightful shivers throughout her entire body. The distinct sense of vulnerability spiked her already dizzied blood pressure. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and feel her own pulse under wherever his hands grabbed and groped.
“In every way possible,” she shakily begged, leaning heavily on his arms and shoulders, thanks to her legs were coltish and weak.
The details of what he looked like, as he undid his belt and let his trousers fall to the ground, were filled in by her imagination. He was what she wanted. When he lifted her, still standing, and sheathed himself with her, he felt what she wanted. His pace was feverish, his hands worked around her body so fast, it looked as though he had six, all vibrating, all touching; a hand for each breast, a thumb roughly circling her clit between them, more hands shifting and holding her so she had nothing to do but lean back and let him have her.
She was lost in the blur of movement and the assault on her senses, swallowed whole by it and him, until there was nothing outside of every intense sensation she’d ever known all at once…
Gretel woke up harshly, the sharp gasp in her throat tangled between surprise and pleasure. The dream vanished, replaced by the damp chill of night and the uncomfortable cramped space she’d barricaded herself in a couple hours before- but the heat of friction was still there. Her hammering pulse. The unmistakable pull of hunger in her gut- and not for food.
She panted for a few moments in the dark, trying to find her grip on reality. She’d had some vivid dreams before, but this... Gretel wiped her palms over her face, then dropped her head back against the wall she’d fallen asleep against, taking the room in with her eyes; as lonely as it was, desolate and falling apart, she held onto it in her mind to chase away those lingering images, which were somehow more disturbing.
The sun had been starting to set when she chose the top floor bedroom of a small abandoned house as a safe place- a good distance away from the hotel and everyone in it, with a few cans of food in the kitchen. Now it was the middle of the night and she could hear the corpses shuffling around below the window. Unpleasant to deal with, but at least straightforward. No crippling or confusing emotion required.
Eric did not return until nearly four hours after sunset. He had travelled far to find a safe, secluded place where he could bury himself deep in the earth and not be disturbed. When he rose from the ground, he certainly looked like the living dead, but there was no one near him alive to panic. He shook earth from his pale hair and brushed himself off.
Though Gretel was not in the hotel, when he did show up, he found her easily. As the house was not hers, he could enter without an invitation. While he could have easily entered her room on the second floor, he knocked instead.
“Miss Crossbow?”
He brought her two rabbits, their necks snapped neatly, their midsections cut with minimal cleaning so that the meat would not go bad, in addition to some wild onion and four good sized apples.
As soon as she heard the voice- and processed that it was real- Gretel almost felt her heart stop. Her breath certainly did, her eyes locked on the gray on black shape of the door. A few thick heartbeats passed before she actually opened it, and her expression didn’t change. That he’d found her was a mystery by itself, but the game… especially the apples? She looked more surprised than she did when he first blipped two inches from her face on the stairs.
“Gretel-” she told him when she could finally speak again, her voice just slightly exasperated. Her eyes switched back and forth between the food in his hands and his face. “My name is Gretel.”
“Eric Northman,” he said. “I am surprised you are alone. I hope that has nothing to do with our arrangement. What you choose to do with this food is up to you. You provide me with two meals, I reciprocate in kind. Though, I am only assuming you wish to continue our arrangement. I’m sure someone else will be willing to trade if you are not feeling up for it tonight.”
It was an impersonal transaction. Eric was polite, only because it made things easier for him. Though hunting and taunting his food was fun, if he was to stuck in a hotel with a bunch of humans, he would reserve his games for locals.
“You still get one rabbit, and half of the rest for last night.”
Most other times, under ‘normal’ circumstances, his surprise would’ve been warranted; Gretel was not usually alone, because the last 99% of her life had been spent with her twin brother. Then he disappeared from the hotel, and she hit a spiral until last week. Then that was over, and she felt deeper in the dark than she’d ever been before.
“I’m… yes, that… The arrangement is fine,” she stammered, trying to gain back her mental ground. She felt off balance, a lot more so than in her dream- which was now back in her mind again.
“There’s a fireplace downstairs,” she said after a brief, centering exhale. She would’ve headed that way already but he was roughly the size of the doorway, and standing right in front of it.
If Eric noticed, he hadn’t said anything. Perhaps he’d liked the banter more. Now he was quiet and he stepped out of the way to let her pass, walking behind her like a pale shadow. Since he had technically not given her the food yet, he waited until she accepted his offering before taking what was his.
“Tell me more about the hotel,” he said. “Is there anything else that I need to know? Is there anyone that will give me trouble?”
The whole way down the dark hallway, stairs, and subsequent disheveled kitchen to the bigger front room, Gretel was hyper-aware of his position- more so than anything else. It was the strangest feeling; the instinctual red flags that shot up in her mind that told her a predator was near mixed with the lingering pull of arousal and want left by the dream. It was disturbing, and kept her unusually quiet.
The windows had been boarded up long ago by the previous dwellers of this home, part of the reason why she chose this place, so she went right for the large fireplace and turned for the game, onion, and apples in his wide-fingered reach.
“It’s hard to tell,” she told him without actually looking at him. Looking at his face was too distracting. “Last week was fucked beyond anything I’ve seen before, and a lot of new names showed up in that book.” She began to build a fire out of sticks and plywood she’d collected before the sun set. “I’d guess most of them will gravitate together since the rooms are locking. That almost never ends well. Then in seven days, it’ll start over again.”
“You’ve been most helpful. If you like, I’ll take my meal and leave you in peace.” Eric was fond of this human, if only because she tasted much better than modern humans where he was from. The type of food he brought her was on purpose. Why spoil her with canned or processed food when he could bring her food that would keep her taste in tact. That she shared information about the hotel so freely was also appealing.
He would not let anyone fuck with her, at least during the nighttime hours, whether she appreciated it or not.
“No- it’s… fine.” Gretel answered before she’d actually thought about speaking, until most of the words were already out of her mouth. She didn’t necessarily regret saying them, but neither did she understand why she said them in the first place. Once the smoke she’d nurtured with soft breaths careful placement of kindling turned to little orange flames, Gretel sat back on her heels in a crouch, resting her forearms on her knees with a look up at him, and a sigh.
“I just… don’t feel like being around some of them for a while.” Gretel grabbed a finely huned silver blade from a pocket in her corset, and one of the rabbits, then with the same absent expertise- like she’d done it a million times- began to skin it. “This constant cycle is starting to get to me.”
“I see,” Eric said. He did, and yet, he was being forced to wait for his own meal while Gretel skinned hers. He waited. Eric could be patient with humans, especially those unaccustomed to vampires- at least the sort of vampire he was.
It was, at least, less annoying than some of the patrons at Fangtasia. Sitting in that chair, listening to terrible music, while hopeful mortals approached him was not always a fruitful endeavor.
“Did they do something? I could teach them a lesson if you would prefer,” Eric sounded half hopeful. It would be something to do and he could blame it on his arrangement with the human,which would be amusing if nothing else.
She worked quickly, making a few short slits in the hide at the legs and head and pulled the rest off like a bloody sock, then worked on skewering the carcass on one of the iron pokers as she answered him, albeit with absolutely no enthusiasm.
“No. It’s.... hard to explain. And probably not all that interesting.” To him, or to her for going into it. Once the rabbit was over the roasting fire, stuffed in the cavity with the wild onion, she wiped the blood off her hand with a mildewy blanket sitting on the floor. “But I don’t expect you to stick around after you…”
She didn’t say it outloud, but couldn’t articulate why. Instead, her lips pressed in a line and she gestured vaguely to her throat with her hand- then exhaled through her nose and started to remove her glove for that purpose.
Eric’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though he were confused: “Are you letting me feed from your neck or are we doing the wrist again?” He wasn’t actually confused, so much as he was testing her to see what he could get away with.
He added: “The neck is actually much easier. I can bite much more gently and still get what I need.” His eyes were locked on her, though unlike the night before his fangs had not yet extended yet. He thought he was being very well behaved.
The truth of the matter was, when she gestured to her throat, she was subconsciously remembering the dream- again- then purposely tried to shut it out of her mind, which is where her wrist came from.
Now that he brought it up, she was thinking of the dream again. It was never far from her mind, always right beneath the surface. His rock-steady gaze wasn’t helping; she could practically feel it on her skin, like fingertips.
“That’s…” She almost said that letting vampires feed from her by the throat had lead to awkward situations in the past, but something stopped her. She thought about Aidan… how opposite he was from this creature in front of her, in almost every single way. From his black hair to his so-human insecurities; how close she’d gotten with him. Then he too, disappeared.
Gretel swallowed, giving up. Something in her eyes felt defeated before they turned somewhere else- anywhere else. “Nevermind.” The naked arm she’d peeled free from the thick leather glove scooped her hair out of the way. She didn’t even brace for impact.
Eric’s fangs clicked softly into place. Instead of leaping upon his meal ticket, he was true to his word, approaching her slowly from behind, pulling her in close her back to his front. He did not exhale when he leaned in, he did not breathe, nor did he kiss her first. But he was very delicate with her neck. The bleeding was much more controlled, the wound shallow. He drew from her slowly, his arms holding her close but not forcefully so.
By the time he finished, he took one small lap at her neck to collect the small amount that continued to drip down slowly. Then he vanished in a blur.
Only to return with a scarf, black in color, to cover herself. “I can give you my blood again, but this should be enough. If you are worried about a scar, I would suggest a small amount of my blood.”
The whole time he had her anchored against him, Gretel was fighting to keep certain images out of her head- she kept her eyes open and locked on the drab decor and shadows cast by the fire, regardless of their instinct to close. Her heart sped up, and not just because of the sudden fall in pressure. She let out a breath through her open lips, controlled and slow.
The flick of his tongue sent a wave of chills down her spine, like a single drop of ice cold water trailing down the length of her back, warm by the time it reached her hips. Only when he vanished did she realize her eyes had closed regardless of her fight to keep them open. He was back just as quick, appearing out of seemingly nowhere.
With a gift?
“Thank you,” she murmured while taking the scarf, pulling it between her fingers, but her eyes were on him. She didn’t realize the mention of his blood had made her mouth water until she almost agreed without thinking. Gretel blinked a few times, forcing herself to look back at the fire.
Christ, what was happening?
“I won’t…” she started, then cleared her throat trying to get rid of the feeling. It was like hunger, but different- and annoyingly difficult to fight. “I won’t scar either way,” she finally told him, looping the scarf at the end so she could double it around her neck- it would serve as a good cowl later. “Benefit of being a white witch.”
“Is that what you meant by your blood having an effect on my kind?” Eric’s face remained flat, unreadable. Perhaps it was wise to keep her close, but his limited knowledge of witches made him cautious. “What is the difference between a white witch and any other kind of witch?”
She nodded in answer of his question, keeping herself occupied by carefully turning the poker propped over the fire, so the rabbit didn’t burn. “The magic in my blood can only heal, or strengthen, or sanctify someone,” she explained, though a little dully. She did not draw pride or accomplishment - or shame- from disclosing what she was. In her current state of mind, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t heal herself- not where she needed healing.
“...did it affect you differently?” she asked after a pause, glancing up.
“Not that I am aware of. Unless your magic is responsible for your superior taste.” Eric canted his head slightly, regarding her curiously. “These other vampires, how did it affect them?”
Gretel wasn’t sure how to feel about the phrase ‘your superior taste’ in the given context. In the end, she just wrinkled her nose a little, and went back to watching the roasting rabbit.
“The last... “ She paused, though only briefly, deciding not to say Aidan’s name. “He said it gave him a high- more energy, sustained him longer than normal, on less.” Her nose wrinkled again, though for a completely different reason, in a different expression. She never discussed it with Aidan, but she was positive the black-haired vampire had developed certain feelings for her. She didn’t know if that was addiction or genuine, and she never got to find out.
“I am very old. I do not require as much blood as I used to, though I still prefer to feed daily. I did not take enough to get high nor is that something that interests me.” Eric’s regular tone of voice frequently came off as disdain for everything. The more he spoke, however, the more disdain began to sound like boredom, or apathy.
He looked at the rabbit roasting over the flame.
“You seem to have everything in order. Is there anything else that you require when I see you next? Or shall I bring you another day’s worth of food again?”
The words that’s good to know were even sarcastic in Gretel’s head in reaction to his blase admission that getting ‘high’ held no interest. Maybe not even sarcastic- more apathetic than anything. What felt strange was the formal ‘arrangement’ she had stumbled into with him, cold and straight-forward, mixed with the fucked up residue-emotions from that goddamn dream. In the wake of last week and the black hole it left in her chest, she just wanted all of it to go away..
“I’ve made due for longer on a lot less for most of my life,” she sighed, a hint of flat gratitude in her tone that let him off the hook. She knew his statement about not needing much had been true- whatever he took from her wasn’t enough to even remotely hinder her, and he obviously had no interest in conversation with his meal ticket.
“Gretel,” Eric said. “I am asking you what you want.” He stared, waiting for her response. It mattered little to him what she could or could not live without. She provided for him, and so it was only right that he provide for her, if not sustenance, then something else.
Her response was slightly delayed, as his words and tone sank in deep enough to ping a cold, empty chord in her chest. She felt it tighten uncomfortably, scraping a humorless scoff in the back of her throat.
“I know what you’re asking,” she told him flatly, getting back to her feet. “But you can’t give me what I want.” She wasn’t sure it was even possible anymore.
Eric’s face fell, but he kept his irritation in check. This is what he got when he tried to play nice with his food. “I can't give you anything if you don't tell me.”
He seemed unconvinced that he would be completely incapable of giving her what she wanted, unless it required something beyond his power. His power typically found quite a few loopholes, however.
A thousand years old and still thick as any number of mortal men Gretel could think of; she didn’t bother hiding her eye-roll, or the irritated exhale that followed.
“I want to go home-” she started, folding her arms and staring him down with raised eyebrows. “I want my brother back. I want to fucking age. I want to be able to die and stay dead.” Her brows pinched up just a little higher as she rolled her lips, her expression clear as day:you asked for this. “Can you do any of that?”
“I could glamour you; make you forget your home, your brother, the times you've died, or the immortality the hotel has given you.” He did not think she would take him up on such an offer. Humans were contrary creatures. Instead he crossed his arms, bracing himself for what he assumed would be an ungrateful response. In a way, he had asked for that.
She gave him a scathing, incredulous look. “Making me 'forget’? That's your solution…” Gretel shook her head, turning away from the confrontation- or whatever the fuck this was- not because she was ungrateful or backing down, but because she realized she may as well be discussing this with a stone statue.
“You know, I don't blame you… I don't. Being detached from humanity for that long, we probably make less and less sense-.”
“Or perhaps you simply choose to be miserable. There is nothing wrong with that. I am not judging your humanity,” he said, matching her tone. “You humans make perfect sense. You live short lives, worry about all the wrong things and then you die. If anyone is confused, it's you. You are now in a position where you cannot grow old and feeble or die, where the day to day worries of your kind are hardly relevant, and you no longer know what to do with yourself.”
Still facing away from him, Gretel let out a colorless laugh, light and airy and the opposite of amused. The smile on her face when she looked at him again matched it perfectly.
“I see... So that's why you're such a happy looking creature,” she said, nodding at him in a way that emphasized her sarcasm. The condescending drabness of his voice and that flat look in his eyes told her everything about how much more 'enlightened’ he was. “Removing my memories isn't going to remove the reason I'm miserable- just make me relearn it. Over. And over. And over. But here's something you can do for me, Eric.” She had steadily been closing the distance between them, never taking her eyes off his face. She had no delusions about how much stronger, faster, deadlier he was, but not even from the beginning did she harbor fear of him. Like him, her apathy was palpable.
“You can not talk to me like I don't understand what humanity and this fucking hotel does to me.” Her brows popped up again. “Deal?”
Her anger amused him. He could not help the smile that appeared on his face half way into the lecture. When she finished, he did his best to wipe it from his face and put on an air of seriousness. “I will do my best.”
Though he had severely wanted to add Miss Crossbow to the end of that, he somehow found the strength to refrain. He had not moved from his spot, holding her eye contact, hardly blinking, letting her come as close as she dared.
“Thank you.” Gretel’s pitched voice and subtle sneer clearly belied how much faith she had in the sincerity of his answer. Getting through to him was as much of a pipe dream as escaping this fucking place to begin with, and she accepted that. Letting loose like that had been, at least, a little therapeutic, and for a few minutes, she wasn’t thinking about that stupid dream.
“So you can stay here and we can enjoy each other’s wonderful company-” More sarcasm. “-or go do whatever-the-fuck you do elsewhere.”
“I find your candor refreshing,” Eric said, back to a relative flat tone of speaking. “Though I am not sure I trust that you will not simply give up this week and allow yourself to be overrun as I can only watch you during the nights.”
He considered.
“Surely you have made other allies in the hotel? People who will make sure you do not do something stupid.”
Gretel blinked at him blankly for a moment, for a split second not sure if he was being serious or just picking at her like a bored housecat would a mouse. In the end, she still hadn’t decided, but settled on the fact that she simply didn’t care. “Get out.” With a roll of her eyes and impatient huff through her nose, she turned back to the fire and her meal. “You got what you came for, now leave.”
Eric snarled softly at her tone. Not enough to be a full, threatening growl, just enough to tell her he would only tolerate so much of her sass before he acted upon it. But instead of arguing or agreeing with her, he left in a blur.
But there were other blurred movements that happened shortly afterward. He brought buckets of water, either for flushing the toilets in the home, for drinking or her own hygiene. He didn’t care which. He found candles and soap, a few books, some blankets that smelled less offensive than the neglected ones in the home and then…
There were a few loud crunches and crashes as Eric gathered up all the abandoned cars in the surrounding blocks and began to barricade the house- and her- with them.
Then he left.
She’d watched the impossible blur drop supplies on the living room floor with irritated confusion, but her intuition was already telling her there was more to it than just him making sure she was well prepared for the week. About twenty seconds after the crashes began, and the house shook from impact after impact, she realized what was happening, and screamed plenty of useless curses out the sliver of a window she had left, but it was too late. He was gone, and she was penned in like his own personal fucking livestock.
But at least the images from that dream were finally gone.