|Wash Those Sins Away - True Blood - Eric/Lafayette
||[May. 4th, 2010|07:59 pm]
where the daydreams reign
Title: Wash Those Sins Away
Word Count: 1000
A/N: Written for a prompt from comment_fic. "Lafayette(/Eric), taking a shower after having his first sex dream about Eric."
Summary: Once he has woken up, Lafayette can't get the dreams of Eric out of his mind.
It ain't right. Lafayette can still feel the stretch of Eric's cock pushing inside of him, taking him, claiming him. It's like it's real. Like it happened.
He steps into his shower. The pressure is shit and the temperature unsteady, but for now it's hot. For now it's enough to make him feel like he's washing it all away, putting Eric and his bullshit behind him. He stands in the stream and lets the water run over him, all that sin and sweat pouring down the plug.
Soap. He's gonna need a lot of soap.
It's all still playing in his mind, as vivid as if it had been real. In the darkness behind his closed eyes, he is not in his bathroom. There is no water at all. The room is softly lit with flickering candles, and the sheets beneath his bare skin are smooth and silky. Spread out against the bed, he's more comfortable than he knew it was possible to be. Eric rests on one elbow, propping himself up so that he can watch Lafayette with a foreign, indulgent smile on his face. Lafayette has never seen him look like that; he wouldn't have thought it was possible.
Eric's hand strokes over Lafayette's belly, up to his chest. Soft exploration, as if they have all the time in the room - as if Lafayette is as immortal as he is and they have eternity to spend.
"I shouldn't have let you go," Eric says, every world slow and deliberate. His voice shakes through Lafayette's core.
Even as an echo of a memory of a dream it has an effect, and in the shower Lafayette rubs water against his face as if he might be able to scrub it away altogether. He can't be thinking like this. The man is a monster - Eric terrifies him, he really does. Terror and arousal aren't supposed to go together. Lafayette's not a fool. That's how he's stayed alive in this game for so long.
His hand travels down his body, until his fingers rub against the spot where Eric drank from him. It's healed now. There's nothing to see there, nothing to feel, nothing but memories to prove that it really happened, that it's not just a bad dream. The memory are too vivid to be anything other than real -
But these dreams... They're different. They're not the run-of-the-mill "naked in class" dreams. They're not even ordinary sex dreams. Lafayette's had more than his fair share of those and, baby, he'd never complain about getting hot under the collar while he was sleeping. This is different. They're real.
They feel it, anyway. In his dream, when Eric reached for him, he felt every inch of his skin. He knows how Eric's hands feel when they touch him in tender desire, now. He can feel the stretch of Eric's fingers easing him open, can feel Eric's breath against his face as he promises it won't hurt. The invasion of his cock, pushing inside in one long thrust, had been enough to make Lafayette's breath hitch in reality, to make his toes curl.
He presses his forehead against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. "Stop it, Lafayette. Stop," he mutters to himself, as disapproving as he can manage. This isn't something he's gonna think about. He's not gonna let himself think about it, not for a second.
His imagination seems to have other ideas, though, and his cock is hard with interest. Ignoring it isn't working.
"This shit is messed up," he whispers, as he reaches down to take hold of himself: he'll give in this once, get it out of his system. It'll have to stop haunting him after that. He can't put up with another dream that intense.
He thinks maybe he ought to tell someone about it. It's not like he has many people to whom he can turn, but he could find somebody. Anybody. Hell, if he has to he could turn to Bill goddamn Compton. It ain't like he'd be happy about it, but life comes before happiness. He needs to get Eric out of his head, whatever it takes.
As he strokes himself, breathing heavily while the water sprinkles down against his back and shoulders, he remembers what it felt like to have Eric inside him, how powerful each stroke had been. They'd rocked the entire bed and the frame had creaked with each strong thrust. Breathing was impossible; even moving wasn't an option, not with Eric bearing down on top of him, holding him in place. Docile. Too fucked out to speak or think or even wriggle.
"I remember how you taste," Eric had whispered. It should have terrified him. It does terrify him, but as he strokes in time with his memory he's turned on too. The patch of skin that used to hold a bite mark tingles as if it is being kissed. "Sweet. Wicked."
"Ain't nothing about me that's sweet," Lafayette had said, choking on the words even as he offered a filthy grin.
Words and smile faded away when Eric reached beneath him to take hold of his cock, just as Lafayette is doing now in the shower.
"I'd like to taste you again," Eric promised. He placed a kiss, so gentle in comparison to the brutal claim of his cock, between Lafayette's shoulder blades. "Soon."
"Yeah, baby, soon," Lafayette replied - he'd promise anything right now, offer anything, just as long as he got to come like he was supposed to.
Water trickling over his bare skin, he pants in heated desperation, remembering it all, remembering how Eric had chuckled in response. As he hits it just right, his body spasms and he comes, semen spurting against the tiles. Panting, he stares blankly ahead for a moment or two, running it all through his mind once more.
Soon, he remembers, as loud as if Eric was there to whisper it in his ear all over again. Soon.
He swallows hard, and tells himself that he's not scared.
He's always been good at lying.