Thanksgiving Fixin’s 21

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#21

 

Sookie was trying very hard to pay attention to the items Pam was showing her on the screen but her body ached with the strain of pregnancy and she was far too tired to take any notice. As an alternative she gave an approving nod while Pam gleefully filled her virtual basket.

 

A little yawn escaped Sookie as she snuggled into her pregnancy pillow; secondary only to the comfort Eric’s body usually brought her but it was a revelation to her nonetheless. The Fae in her had to admit that in her absence her lost human counterpart had made some sensible investments after all. Unfortunately no one had been expecting multiples which made them only half-prepared, though in Pam’s opinion, they were completely unprepared after she had taken inventory of what had already been purchased. The majority was deemed inferior for a child of Eric Northman as it all simply reeked of Walmart. According to Pam, that was belittling for a child of her Maker which one should only have to suffer it once in a lifetime.

 

Nonetheless, Pam’s distaste of the national chain had lightened a bit. In a secret moment of reminiscence she had allowed a single tear be shed at the sight of the flowery yellow sweats that she had worn to turn Tara. Caught by Niall, her initial fluster had changed from embarrassed to calculated at the observation of the sudden heat in his eyes. With little hesitation she had promptly swiped the pair of sweats; for playtime she would happily endure the horror that was poly-blend.

 

“When is Eric coming home?” Sookie asked stifling another yawn.

 

“Who cares about Eric? How about this for mini Pam?” she returned, showing a miniature Chanel suit.

 

“I think that’s for a doll,” Sookie discerned with squinted eyes.

 

The vampiress gave an unimpressed shrug, “I’ll get it to fit. She better learn soon that to look this good, one must suffer.”

 

“You’re not getting her a corset!” she cried, horrified as the mouse hovered over the offending item.

 

“Modern women and their hatred of curves,” Pam sneered. “A defined waist will never go out of style.”

 

“Babies aren’t supposed to have waists!” Sookie shrieked. “They’re supposed to be cute and pudgy.”

 

“This isn’t any old teacup, Sweet Cheeks. This will be my master creation,” Pam informed seriously. “The perfect mirror image of me.”

 

“Pam, you do realise this will be Eric and my child, right?” Sookie murmured into the comfortable pillow.

 

“Mine, mine, mine,” the vampiress sighed exhausted for having heard the word in excessive amounts. “You need to learn to share a little, Sookie. It’s not every day I get a new sister.”

 

“There’s always Willa.”

 

“Meh,” Pam shrugged with utter disinterest; however, before any further thoughts on the subject of her mousy sister could be expressed they were disrupted by the buzzing of the egg-timer. “Niall, get your head out of that spaghetti bowl!”

 

“Huh?” Before the Prince of the Fae could protest he was left hanging with an empty fork in front of his lips and a missing plate. With grumbled protests he followed Pam back to her dedicated salon area to rinse out the hair dye that had finally set.

 

“I think you only like someone when they’re blonde,” Niall accused to the mirror image of the woman snipping away at his formerly untamed mop of hair that now sported a very warm version of the colour.

 

“I don’t like anyone,” she informed him testily as she placed a fresh bowl of his favourite food down alongside a whole host of male fashion magazines. “Now eat your dinner.”

 

“Yes, dear.”

 

“Stop picking out the vegetable pieces,” Pam scowled as she caught him midway spitting out a piece of carrot and wearing a suitably guilty expression. “If you don’t get enough fibres in, your face will be stuck like Constipated Compton’s.”

 

With a grumble he swallowed the offending vegetable, which after dedicated research by Pam had started showing up in her incarnation of his favourite dish, while Pam continued to scrutinise the even cut of his hair.

 

“Eric, thank Satan you’re here!” she exclaimed, abandoning the wet tresses to take possession of all the garment bags  one vampire and his fumbling second progeny could carry on her virgin flight to Dallas and back.

 

“You didn’t make it to Zegna!” Pam accused when she finally tallied what was missing from her extensive shopping list. “I’m doing this all for you and those babies, Eric Northman! If they catch sight of Niall in those vagabond garbs they’ll crawl right back up that magical fairy vagina never to return again! Is that what you want for mini Pam?”

 

Eric sighed heavily as he ran a tired hand through his hair. To say the last few night were trying were an understatement. If he received frequent flyer miles for all the errand flights he would easily be able to fly around the world free of charge, many times over by now. Tonight it had been Pam, but on other nights it would be Sookie who demanded a rather elusive combination of food concoctions requiring high amounts of persuasive glamour for people to prepare at the darkest hours of the night. Thankfully he was able to incorporate it all into lessons for Willa whose flailing enthralling skills had vastly improved under his guidance.

 

“We couldn’t carry any more,” he offered in apology. The fight in him had long died when it came to the current women in his life, even though he was desperate to point out that Niall did not need to be wearing a two-piece tuxedo with a cummerbund when meeting his great great-grandchildren for the first time. The inevitable arguments would just further his exhaustion. Truth was best in these situations, albeit abbreviated versions, solutions deemed necessary to appease the scowls on their faces. “They’re overnighting your order as we speak. It’ll be here by dawn. I will remind you again, and, hopefully for the last time, we are not naming any of our babies Pam.”

 

Before she could open her mouth Eric quickly supplied, “Or Pamela. Or Pamila, Pamelia, Pamella or any other version of your name.”

 

“Niall and Niamh it is then,” the great great-grandfather to-be supplied smugly as he gleefully showed off his empty plate to Pam.

 

“No more spaghetti for you,” she growled out causing Niall to pale considerably with the horrific thought.

 

“No Niall, no Pamela, nor any variation,” Eric expressed in exasperation thrusting the clothing into Pam’s angry arms. He just wanted to get to Sookie rather than have to deal with the delusions and disappointment of the two eldest beings in the house, aside from him, who acted with less maturity than his unborn children.

 

“But,” the two troublemakers started in unison.

 

“No buts,” Eric growled out. “One more word out of either of you, on the names of Sookie and my children, and we’ll resort to calling them Willa and William.” An appreciative glint settled in Willa’s dark brown eyes with the thought as scowls settled on those scorned.

 

The anger on Pam and Niall’s faces dissipated soon while they fell to laughter with Eric’s realisation that he had proposed the name of Sookie’s ex for his firstborn son. “For fuck’s sake!” he yelled out before storming off.

 

“Hello sötnos,” he greeted with a whisper and a kiss to Sookie’s nose when he softly padded into the dimly lit living room where he found her sprawled on the large sectional sofa. Since returning to his main house in Bon Temps she had hardly left the comfort of it, only to make her way to the kitchen, bathroom, or to sleep beside Eric.

 

“Hey,” came a tired reply as Sookie’s eyes opened to take in the bright smile on Eric’s face. “All done?”

 

“Yes,” he announced before softly kissing her lips and greeting the babies in her belly.

 

“Feet,” she whispered, nudging her swollen extremities toward his hands. A sigh escaped him, though it was of a less tired variety as he lifted them into his lap while he settled beside her on the sofa and set to work relieving Sookie of her aches. A soft kiss was given to each of her pink, painted dainty toes. “Is Pam done with her makeover now?”

 

“Your great-grandfather no longer looks like a scarecrow with fancy shoes,” Eric informed. “However, I fear Pam is far from done with him.”

 

“If it keeps her occupied enough at least the babies will be safe from her style dictatorship.”

 

“One can only hope,” Eric chuckled. “I’ve overheard traces of her phone calls to Paris Couture houses. The word miniature was dropped several times.”

 

Sookie groaned, from both Eric’s expert ministrations and the thought of their future children’s ridiculously overstocked wardrobes. His hands trailed further up her calves until his fingers found her smooth thighs. Feeling adventurous, he focused on her inner thighs coming perilously close to her sex that smelled more enticing than ever since she was completely herself again and scented along by the distinct perfume of their children that carried both their essences. Eric wasn’t ashamed to admit he was starved for the taste of her and had been for many years. Unfortunately, despite Pregnant Sookie’s claims that she had been ‘so horny’ throughout her pregnancy, there had been but one gentle encounter when the two Sookies had become one again. Between all the scrambling over what needed to be done before the babies arrived and Sookie’s fatigue Eric was sorely missing out.

 

His nose grazed along after the travelled paths of his hands as a small moan escaped from Sookie’s pouty mouth. He blew some cool air against her heated sex through the thin barrier of cotton from her ever-practical-panties finding that titillating spot. When he didn’t hear another delighted moan he peered above the giant mound that was her belly only to be met with soft snores and a minute amount of drool escaping the corner of her mouth.

 

Eric returned to his former position and continued to rub her feet dotingly. He didn’t dare sigh again as he feared his face might become stuck in that position.

 

A/N: sötnos is a Swedish pet name, literally meaning sweet nose which I’ve always found very endearing, but meaning something like sweetie/cutie pie. We should all be very thankful CH never made Eric Dutch because a large portion of our terms of endearment are fart and faeces-related. Don’t ask me why because I have no clue… The majority of our swear words are interestingly enough penis or disease-related… yes, we’re a strange people, we’ve never claimed to be otherwise.

 

 

 

 Thanks to msbuffy again for sprucing this up with her super speedy beta skills!

 

 Galatea’s descent chapter 16 is here

 

 

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