|You Leave Me Wanting More - True Blood - Eric/Lafayette
||[Jul. 25th, 2010|01:15 pm]
where the daydreams reign
Title: You Leave Me Wanting More
Word Count: 1620
Warnings: Sex toys
Spoilers: Vague S3, but doesn’t fit with canon.
A/N: Written for the “sex toys (worn under clothing)” square of my kink bingo card.
Summary: After leaving Lafayette with another gift, Eric comes to check up on him.
The smell of stale beer and trapped sweat assaults Eric the moment that he steps inside of Merlotte’s. He has to pause, feet steady on the ground, and close his eyes in distaste. There is a reason, he remembers, that he usually stays out of such small-town establishments. For a vampire’s senses, there are extraordinarily unpleasant - and not everyone is as tolerant of the stink of the humanity as Bill Compton manages to be.
The car he sold to Lafayette for a precious one dollar note is parked outside, so he can’t fool himself into thinking that he ought to check elsewhere. Through the stink of the bar, he can smell the perfume that Lafayette wears, and beneath that the tease of his skin: his blood.
The bar has gone quiet, all eyes upon him despite making no attempt to draw attention to himself. The gazes upon him go unacknowledged, and he walks to the counter. The red-headed waitress standing in front of it scurries away, suddenly busy on the other side of the room. Lafayette’s cousin glares at him from behind the bar. Eric really does hate small-town small-minds: he has no desire to be liked by humans, by food, but it becomes wearying when he has business to attend to.
“I’ll take a True Blood,” he says, although he has no intention of drinking it. It tastes like distilled garbage. “And I wish to speak to your cousin.”
Hands braced against the bar, Tara cocks her head to the side. Her shoulders are steeled and her hair tossed back. “You should go. Sookie ain’t here.”
He knows as much without being told: while her scent lingers in the air, it is nothing more than an echo. If she was here, he would be able to sense her instantly. His mouth would start to water. “I am here for Lafayette, not Sookie.”
She glares at him and he glares back; she doesn’t get him his drink and he doesn’t repeat his request for it. Not all battles need to be won.
“He’s busy,” she answers.
Eric gives her no response.
“He’s working.” No doubt if Sam were here he might dare to give Eric a lecture on disturbing his staff. For now, his ears are mercifully free from such an attack. “You should go.”
“I’m here,” he states. He is here and Lafayette will take a break in order to see him. Of that he has absolute certainty. “I’ll go round back myself.”
He doesn’t bother to thank her for her help - and instead wonders if he ought to offer her a job in Fangtasia. She has the attitude, if not the fangs. It is something to think about, but it is far from being at the top of his list of priorities as he walks to the kitchen uninvited, past the disgruntled patrons and unhappy waitress.
Inside the hot kitchen, the smell of fried meat is an overwhelming assault, hitting him hard. It makes his footsteps halt for a moment and his eyelids flash closed then open again in distaste. Humans are truly disgusting, he thinks. “Lafayette,” he says.
Still in front of the grill, Lafayette’s shoulders tense. He doesn’t turn around, and when he glances down Eric can see how tightly he is holding the spatula. “Figured it’d be you causing a noise out there,” Lafayette says.
“The blame rests with Tara, not myself,” Eric says. “I came to check on you. We need somewhere private.”
They both know what this means.
Eric finds himself rather entranced by the near-future.
“Sam’s gone outta town. We can use his office,” Lafayette offers. “Don’t tell him or he’ll blow his shit.”
The expression makes Eric frown in distaste, but he leaves the kitchen - he doesn’t look back to ensure that Lafayette is following him.
Inside Sam’s office, he has a brief moment to himself, which he uses to flick through the books and decide that this place is not worth attempting to buy-out. Once Lafayette has arranged for someone to watch his burgers - or whatever other unimportant thing he had felt was worth the delay - he slinks through the door and closes it behind him.
“I’m working,” Lafayette says. He speaks to Eric’s chest, unwilling to raise his head to meet his eyes. Smart boy. “You better have a reason for being here.”
Eric keeps his head bowed in a lazy attempt to disguise his smile: he has no doubt that Lafayette must know exactly why he is here. Carrying such an intrusive object at Eric’s insistence, Eric knows that he must be able to think of anything else. The very way that he walks is altered.
Rather than wasting time with spoken answers, Eric moves with the speed that only vampires possess: blurring forward, he grabs hold of Lafayette by the straps of the dirty wife-beater he’s wearing, pulling him until he sprawls over Sam’s desk, bent neatly in half and perfectly on display. “I have a very good reason for my presence,” Eric says.
He doesn’t care to elaborate, and by the time he pulls open Lafayette’s jeans he seems to have caught up with what is going on, wriggling his hips in order to speed along the process.
Eric pushes his hand inside the baggy material, down inside Lafayette’s boxers to the cleft of his asshole: instantly, his fingers touch hard plastic. With his face impassive, Eric allows his fingers to explore the item, feeling the stretch of Lafayette’s body around it to encompass its size.
Taking hold of the flared end, he pushed the dildo further inside of Lafayette’s body, replacing the inch or two that it has slipped during Lafayette’s work day. The air in Lafayette’s chest leaves in a rush, as if he is too full. Something needs to be released. He swears, and Eric watches the back of his neck, half-obscured by the cloth he is wearing over his head. “You is a bad man,” Lafayette whispers.
Eric’s mouth twitches in amusement. He doesn’t care to argue with him on that count. It’s true enough. “I will go if you would like me to,” he offers.
It is safe to give such an offer when he knows that Lafayette will not accept, cannot accept when he is panting and pushing back against the toy. “Don’t you fucking dare,” Lafayette warns - so Eric stays here, where he wants to be. Humans are so easy to predict and even easier to manipulate.
He doesn’t start carefully; he doesn’t try to ease Lafayette into it. Instead he withdraws the toy almost completely before he plunges it back inside. He makes Lafayette moan and whimper, remind him of exactly what he wants from him: complete submission, complete ownership. He is content to allow Lafayette to run off at the mouth when he likes, to swear up a storm if it helps, but when he wants something then he wants complete access. No resistance.
Lafayette offers what he wants, willingly.
He swears over and over again as Eric fucks him with shallow thrusts of the dildo, and the curses grow louder when Eric reaches beneath him, slipping his other hand inside his jeans, and grabs hold of his achingly hard cock. In tandem, he moves both hands, knowing exactly how to make Lafayette fall apart.
When he sees the sweat on Lafayette’s forehead and hears the nearly-there pounding of his heart, he pushes the dildo in as far as it will go, and whispers his instruction into Lafayette’s ear: “Hold it,” he says.
Lafayette is too strung out to grumble, doing what he is told and clenching hard. With it securely in place, where Lafayette will have no choice but to focus on it all night, Eric nods to himself in satisfaction and pulls his hands out of Lafayette’s jeans. He zips them back up for him and pats Lafayette on the shoulder once.
“Come to Fangtasia before you go home tonight,” he asks and orders.
Lafayette pushes himself onto his feet again by bracing his hands against the table, as if he might be unable to stand without help. “That’s it?” he says. He sounds like he’s just run a marathon. “That’s all you came here for?”
Eric looks down at the front of Lafayette’s jeans, at the peaked tent of interest there. His eyes linger for a moment, but he does not touch him again. He looks back up to meet Lafayette’s eyes, and is glad when his gaze doesn’t dart away in self-protection. It is only when he is too dizzy with lust to know any better that Lafayette forgets to fear him.
“I would prefer it if you don’t touch yourself until you see me again,” Eric says, choosing to leave Lafayette without an answer to his question. He will be able to answer them himself.
“Son of a bitch,” Lafayette murmurs.
That is all that Eric cares to listen to, stepping backwards and leading them out of the office, bored with this smelly little bar already. He has work to do and has spent too much time on personal matters already tonight. As much as he might wish it, eternity is not his to play with: there are duties and tasks that must be fulfilled.
He leaves the bar behind, with Tara and Arlene’s eyes trailing him all the way out after Lafayette retreats into the kitchen. “Ladies,” Eric says, nodding his head to say goodbye. Neither one of them answers him.
He steps into the crisp night, the smell of Lafayette’s skin on his hands. He sets to work - and, this time, he has the prospect of Lafayette’s future visit to look forward to.