“I approve,” Godric grinned with a pat to Eric’s shoulder, the steps in the staircase allowing him to even out the difference in their heights for once. “It seems it’s not just Pam who has found her match.”
He balked, looking at his Maker with utter horror, “I want nothing to do with her. Ever. Again.”
Godric eyed him sceptically, knowing his Childe probably far better than himself, so the confession Eric muttered gave him little surprise, “I may want something to do with her tits.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” he chuckled. “Adele is already busy planning the next nuptials.”
“I am glad we amuse you so,” Eric replied sarcastically, soon to be interrupted by Pam.
“I’m glad you took your merry little time,” Pam grit out acerbically.
“Tut,” Godric said with a shake of his head. “You always enjoy being, what do you call it, ‘Fashionably Late’?”
“True,” she grinned with a feral smile. “Though that’s usually by my choosing.”
“You are going to enjoy being married very much,” Godric smiled before placing a soft kiss to her forehead. “It’ll all be your choosing from here on out.”
“If the Stackhouse boy has enough sense, which is disputable,” Eric mumbled under his breath that didn’t escape his Maker’s attention or reprimanding glare. An apology, half-hearted of course, was uttered while he set to move Pam’s veil in place, shrouding her partially from view. He was about to commend her as his personal pride and joy once more, their bond flooding with the emotion that was otherwise so tightly held.
“Tissue!” she screamed and bridesmaid number five was quick to divert the leak.
Pam took a large breath, the likes of which she couldn’t ever remember taking, cautiously looking up at the reassuring eyes of her Maker before the doors would open and she would see the man she was to marry for the first time. Sensing her need for reassurance, Eric offered her the best advice he could give, “Go knock ‘em dead.”
“Well, hello there, pretty lady!”
Pam eyed him with severe scrutiny, ‘not bad,’ she mused. He needed some work here and there, but then what straight male didn’t? A rare smile appeared in reciprocation, growing to a full-out satisfied grin while she observed the blood rush through his body, bulging the veins in anticipation. By the scent alone, this was, without a doubt, going to be the most delicious meal of her life.
Meal, husband. Potato, potatoh.
“Gonna have to answer the man, Sweetcheeks,” her meal urged.
Her fangs snicked down, accompanied by a breathy moan, and to her immense satisfaction it only set to rush Jason’s blood with increased speed. Oh, he was going to taste so sweet. Meanwhile the priest nervously pulled at the tight clerical collar before Pam’s penetrating glare landed on him again.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” the priest stuttered, fumbling with the book before him. “You may now kiss the bride.”
Jason didn’t need to be told twice before his tongue was firmly down the vampiress’ throat. She was happy to note that he wouldn’t need much coaxing in that department. On top of that, those lips, carefully conditioned by Chapstick, could pass for a woman’s with a good squint of her eyes.
“Ahem,” the spoilsport she had come to know as Sookie coughed, subtlety having long lost its uses with the newlyweds.
“Pamela!” Eric hissed while they continued to ignore the interruption and it appeared clothes were about to be shredded off heating bodies. “Detach, now!”
“Hmmm,” Pam objected with a whine that soon turned to a moan when Jason’s teeth dragged at her bottom lip as she moved away from him. “This better mean I get to bite you too,” she cooed and her husband’s eyes lit up brightly at the thought, his neck and face moving in offering to where her gaze had settled on the palpitating vein.
“You bet your sweet ass you will,” he groaned while her finger dragged over the promised land of prime neck real estate. No body fat either, in a word; he was perfect!
A small cough escaped the cleric’s throat before finding his voice once more, directing at the crowd, “May I present to you Mr. & Mrs. Swynford de Beaufort.”
Jason nudged him slightly, speaking sideways as if not to embarrass the church official, “Bubba, the name’s Stackhouse.”
“Not anymore,” Pam stated, matter-of-fact. He balked, looking at her incredulously, causing her to elaborate, “What, like I’m going to change my name for you? You’re mine now!”
His outrage dissipated instantly as he observed her icy warning glare that only served to heat him to an inferno. “I like the way you roll, Swynford,” he grinned.
“Swynford de Beaufort,” she corrected. “Now hurry up, I have people to eat.”
Eyes locked instantly with open hostility seconds after seeing the seating arrangement in the overflowing reception hall. Desperately they both looked for alternate seating till their elders, with a glare and cough respectively, forced them into their assigned seats with a grumble.
“Sookie,” he growled in greeting with a nod.
“Mr. Northman,” she nodded back with cool hostility.
“Nice try with Claude,” he spoke snidely in an aside that only she would hear. “Very subtle.”
She batted her eyelashes innocently, “Whatever do you mean?”
“It may have been a while since I was last inebriated, but I know a bullshitter when I see one,” he noted. “You’re miraculously sober.”
“Not for long,” she vowed under her breath, grabbing two glasses of champagne greedily off a startled waiters’ tray.
“Sookie!” her Gran admonished with a glare that made the vampire next to her look meek.
“One’s for Mr. Northman,” she lied, acting as innocent as she could be while placing the other glass by her seatmate. “I keep forgetting he’s a vampire!” Only for the fact that it favoured social graces did her grandmother let her off the hook, though the voiceless warning remained palpable in the air.
Eric snorted beside her, only to receive his own Maker’s scrutiny as he was silently reprimanded through their bond. Annoyed with the entire situation at the table he turned to Sookie, surprising her with his request, “Dance with me?”
His eyes almost had a pleading quality to them, and she wanted to proclaim she’d prefer cancer to the thought of having to dance with him, but she’d severely doubt her grandmother would let her get away with that.
“I’d love to,” she replied with fake warmth.
It was just their luck that the moment they stepped onto the dance floor the lights dimmed, and the tempo slowed significantly. Nervously they looked back on the suddenly very appealing table from where they’d just fled only to find an eager Gran and Godric staring back at them. “Truce till midnight?” Eric offered uncomfortably.
“Truce,” she agreed with a sigh while holding out her hand, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor. Hands and bodies shifted seamlessly into a rather comfortable hold, feet swaying to the music as they went.
“Do you ever follow?” he grit out in annoyance, carefully circumventing her trampling feet for the third time.
She shrugged, mischief dancing in her eyes, “I’d figure you’d be a bottom.”
“Eric Northman is not a FUCKING BOTTOM!” he cried out, all eyes in the room instantly focusing on the two of them, including those obstructive camera crews, lenses zooming in as they did. He cleared his throat, feeling genuine public embarrassment for probably the first time in his life, further fueling his love/hate relationship with the little faery.
“Carry on,” he spoke evenly, expressing more threat than invite. On the plus side, he noticed Sookie had finally taken to following his lead, except now he was tripping up because he’d made the mistakes of looking down, and they were again, the Tits of Terror squeezed together in an unctuous little line that called for his face to be buried in.
“You really do like tits,” she giggled, the buzz of the first glass of champagne setting in.
He grumbled something that was to be a sentence, only to be interrupted by the giant orchestra suddenly changing its tune, the horn section bellowing out dramatically while the spotlight in the room set to focus on the newly married couple as they dopily made their entrance on a matching set of pink elephants, the groom already sporting his first set of visible bite marks, the bride still licking her lips, relishing the sweet, sweet, aftertaste and already salivating with the anticipation of more.
“You should go dance with her,” Sookie nudged while he regarded her with confusion. “Father of the bride duty, and all that.”
“You’ll be okay?” he asked with a glance to the table she’d have to return to that was now akin to the seventh circle of hell to both of them.
She tittered, “Eric Northman! It almost sounds like you care about little ol’ me!”
He huffed dramatically, “As if! Like I’d ever care about an annoying little faery like you!”
“Oh, bite me!” she growled back.
“Be careful what you wish for now,” Eric leered with a sweep over her neck, causing her to instantly clamp her hands protectively over the vein he’d eyed in the process, which, thankfully, also obscured the goosebumps that erupted with the thought and feel of those fangs in her body.
“You wish!” she retorted weakly, her eyes landing across the room for an escape, any escape, in the form of a friendly face till she found the one. She hesitated, honestly she didn’t know who the biggest asshole in the room was right now while determinedly making her way to him. Eric followed her gaze, nostrils flaring. What the fuck was Bill Fucking Compton doing here?
“What the fuck are you doing here?” they screamed out in tandem, startling the rather smug Southern vampire with the dual impact while Eric and Sookie regarded each other with surprise over their mutual hatred. Shockingly they even shared a smile.
“Is that any way to greet the envoy of Queen Sophie Anne?” he taunted.
“As far as I’m concerned,” Eric shrugged, “yes. Tell the bitch to fuck off.”
“I-” he protested. “Sookie, you will stand for his poor behaviour?”
Her arms crossed over her chest menacingly, making Eric eager with anticipation, seeing the beauty of her wrath in all its glory for once not directed at him.
“I come bearing gifts,” Bill offered with genuine fear in his eyes. Holding up a heavy gold envelope, “I heard there would be unicorns.”
Sookie rolled her eyes before snatching the envelope from his hands, peeking inside, and then giving Eric a glance. An unspoken message travelled between them, the corners of their mouths tugging up ever so slightly before she fisted the envelope into a tight little ball, and utilising the indignant gasp that erupted from Bill to teleport it into his mouth. Eric was quick to pull the weasily vampire by the sideburns out of the reception rooms and towards the exit. Lowly he warned, “Get the fuck out of my state, and if Sophie Anne or you even comes in the vicinity of Pam…”
He gulped, eyes wide with terror as he tried to beg for mercy with the gag in his mouth.
“Sayonara, Bill!” Sookie cried out with delight, a satisfying kick to the behind forcing him to collide with the pavement. Eric almost complimented her with the audible cracking of bones. Almost.
Bill spluttered, finally ridding himself of the proffered gift in his mouth while crying out in pain. Feebly he held up a little ticket, “My coat?”
“Why don’t you get a new one?” she spoke in a saccharine tone that almost had him convinced she was being sincere. Soon her voice betrayed any notions of such as she spat, “With that $25 gift certificate for Walmart!” With a bounce in her step she turned to Eric, giddy over the excitement, “Shall we?”
He grinned, sharing her sentiments, taking her hand in his before barking at the security, “Make sure he stays out!”
“Quick thinking with that envelope,” Eric complimented as they made their way back towards the formal rooms. She nodded, begrudgingly recognising, “Nice move with the sideburns. I always wondered if they were real. Guess they are.” They shared a brief chuckle while passing the cloak room, both frightened on what that meant. Sookie observed the deserted hallway, turning her head left and right for added measure. Eric eyed her suspiciously, instantly objecting, “We’re not getting the fucker his co-”
She’d shoved him, hard, crashing them both to the floor that cried out with a creek, taking a rack of coats with them. Struggling their bodies against each other until suddenly he felt her lips pushing against his that effectively shut him up, of course the Tits of Terror had nothing to do with it, they just felt very nice against his body, that was all, and he couldn’t even care that she was ripping his shirt to shreds.
He moaned, she may have groaned as his hand moved over her ass, while the heavy coats were flung across the room. Suddenly she disengaged, his lips chasing desperately after hers, only to be stopped when hands landed on his now bare chest, keeping him pinned to the ground. Hypnotised by breasts heaving above him, she managed to catch her breath when suddenly her eyes narrowed and he knew. He fucking knew he was in a world of trouble as the grin on her face shone brighter than that deadly motherfucker, the sun.
Eric braced himself as Sookie announced, exactly at one minute past midnight, sitting triumphantly astride him, “Guess you are a bottom after all.”
Eric almost laughed at her quip, that was until a wink was cast his way before the audible ‘pop’ left him devoid of her warm body. He was a little disappointed, after her display with Bill he’d expected something a little more. “Ha Ha,” he grumbled to himself, anything but amused. “I’m a fucking bottom alright.” It was, of course, at that moment the camera crew crashed in on cue along with Claude, smirking as he did. “Ah, Lover, there you are!” he purred with delight, “Ready and waiting for me, as always? You know I love being on top!”
A/N: Hides right along with Sookie… No worries Eric will exact a little revenge of his own next time 🙂 Start placing your bets now as to when these two finally get their heads out of their asses… thoughts welcome as always, they make me smile 😉 Don’t forget to send your congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Swynford de Beaufort either!
Thanks as ever to msbuffy for laughing along with me through all this silliness!