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Fic: Honey and Oakwood

Title:  Honey and Oakwood

Fandom:  True Blood/Three Musketeers
Rating: R for violence, sexcapades, and you'll see
Warnings:  Again, characters from Season 3 of "True Blood" are mentioned, certain things are foreshadowed, but no spoilers will be found here.  In addition, there will be blasphemy and ethnic slurs and generally Men Behaving Badly.  So, basically, like my other stories, only with Vampires.
Plot:  This is obviously the sequel to "Losing the Scent."  Eric Northman vs. Aramis.  Things transpire.
Special thanks:  It was delightful of zoi_no_miko  to lend me her Muse for that one really critical scene!  And for that, she has been incorporated into this oevre!
Crosspost:  andoneforall and AO3

My muse says that the function of a good blow job is not to avoid grievously offending sensibilities, but to completely eradicate all remaining sensibilities.  At least for the duration of the blow job.”zoi_no_miko 

Honey and Oakwood

            Eric Northman woke up the following sunset feeling refreshed and infused with possibilities.  The night seemed pregnant with the promise of untold delights, and, unlike the prior nights, this time he actually had a rough idea of where he would be going.  But first, he knew he would need to feed, having learned his lesson from the prior night’s experience.  There was, after all, a good chance that the musketeer’s catlike lover was himself a musketeer, and therefore not to be killed.  Eric was a vampire of principle.

            A few hours past midnight, warm and sated with fresh blood, Eric found himself outside the small house on the corner of rue Servandoni and rue Casette.  He could immediately smell the dwelling he had been seeking, in part by the scent of lavender that he had detected in the air the previous night, and in part by the scent of the musketeer whom he had marked as his own.

            I should have known you’d be here to make things more difficult for me, Eric thought and furrowed his brow.  Moving swiftly, without touching the ground, Eric repositioned himself in the rear garden and peaked in through the partially curtained window.  The two men inside were both seated on the bed, seemingly engaged in another one of their heated arguments.  Eric began to surmise this was their idea of foreplay.

“Well, you are quite a bit more mature than he is.  I suppose that is predominantly due to your unfortunate upbringing.”  Eric had easily recognized his yesternight’s plaything from these words.

            “And, pray tell, what are you referring to as my unfortunate upbringing?” Eric shifted his eyes to the other man appreciatively, slowly taking in his features in the glow of the candlelight.  Eric was pleased.

            “Being in the seminary from the age of six.”

            “From the age of nine.”  Aramis sneered.

            “Regardless, that is still twenty years of terrible schooling,” Athos maintained.

            “I am only twenty-one now!”  Aramis exclaimed with much exasperation.

            “What’s your point?”

            “That you’re terrible with numbers!”

            “I’m good enough with numbers to be able to count to eighteen, which is how old the Gascon claims to be.”

            “That’s still old enough to know better,” Aramis made a dismissive motion with his hand before his lover’s face.

            “Still, I appreciate his balls,” Athos proceeded, undeterred.

            “Don’t you dare talk about his balls,” Aramis hissed.

            This is getting me nowhere, Eric thought, while finding this entire exchange highly entertaining, if, at times, completely beyond his comprehension.

            “Oh, I apologize, my love,” Athos grinned and pulled his lover into an embrace.  “Yours are the only balls for me,” he added while kissing the other man’s neck.  The younger musketeer could not hold back an escaped fit of laughter.  He struck Eric as being preposterously pretty, and potentially delicious.

            “You are deranged,” Aramis purred, “but you say the sweetest things.”

            Now they’re going to do it and that is contrary to my purposes, Eric realized.  Clearly the time had come to use one of the things that Eric had to his advantage:  the link that he had established with Athos the night before, when he had made the human drink his blood.

            “Athos,” Eric reached into the musketeer’s mind, “You have a sudden, irrepressible urge to leave.”

            “I have a sudden, irrepressible urge to leave,” Athos spoke mechanically, inexplicably extricating himself from his lover’s embrace.


            “Just get out of there, you idiot!” Eric thought more insistently.

            “I… I need to go,” Athos said, more firmly, climbing off the bed, but getting caught by one of Aramis’s hands, which clung to his arm, insistently.

            “Get on with it, already!” Eric was getting impatient.  “Tell him ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ or something!”

            “It’s not you, it’s me,” the man inside intoned.

            “What does that even mean?” Aramis felt like he was losing his mind.

            “Walk, don’t speak!” Eric, in turn, also felt on verge of losing his considerable cool.  His fangs ached.

            Inside, Athos had begun to somnambulate towards the door.

            “Where in the name of all that is holy do you think you’re going?” Aramis spun the other man around to face him.

            “Walk, don’t speak,” Athos mumbled in response.

            At a complete loss, Aramis let him go and took a bewildered step back.  Athos swayed a bit, as if in the wind, and then calmly proceeded to saunter out the door.

Outside, Eric had been waiting for him.  The musketeer’s scent hit him with a wave of familiar desire, and he had to remind himself that tonight he was stalking a different prey.

            “Don’t look back, go home,” Eric commanded.

            “Yes, my lord,” came the automatic response.

            Pleased with this latest development, Eric furtively knocked on the door from which Athos had just emerged.  His keen vampire hearing allowed him to detect some sort of shuffling coming from the inside, accompanied by mumbling of something that Eric could have sworn sounded like, “Did you forget your pants?”  The door was flung open and a small, unattractive face peeked out from within.

            “Yes, Monsieur Athos?”

            “I am not Athos,” Eric said, calmly, adroitly glamouring the little man in the doorway.  “And you’re going to invite me in.”

            “Of course, Monsieur, please come in, Monsieur,” the homunculus moved aside, bowing obsequiously.

            “Go away,” Eric commanded, dismissively, moving towards the room that he had observed earlier from the window.

            The man inside had been sitting on the bed, his head resting in the palms of his hands, like the very picture of despondency.  He must have felt the movement in the air, since Eric had made no sound, at least no sound perceivable by the human ear, for the man lifted his head and met Eric’s gaze with surprising self-control.

            “Get out,” the human ordered with the authority of a man used to giving orders.

            “I’m afraid you can’t make me leave,” Eric replied, folding his arms across his chest and leaning his tall Nordic form against the wall.

            “I never invited you in, you cannot be here,” the human continued.

            “Yes, but you cannot rescind an invitation that was not proffered by you,” Eric pointed out.

            “That imbecile!” Aramis shot up from the bed, throwing something across the room.  It shattered into a million pieces.

            “He had no choice, your servant.  I made him do it,” Eric explained, enchanted and fascinated with these developments.  “You know what I am,” he said, finally having looked his fill at the graceful, partially robed form in front of him.  Despite his somewhat disheveled hair and a vague puffiness around his eyes, caused, no doubt, by a dearth of sleep caused by an overabundance of other nocturnal activities, the man looked good enough to eat.  Eric was considering it.  Slowly, he moved closer to the human, inhaling more of his natural scent, which now Eric could easily separate from the scent of lavender permeating certain parts of this house.

            “I’ve met your kind before,” the man explained, “And you should know this impressively sized cross on this chain around my neck is made of silver.”

            “You cannot scare me with a little bit of tawdry jewelry, Monsieur,” Eric moved closer to the human, undeterred.  “I would be happy to bite around that crucifix.”  Eric grinned a wolfish smile and bared his fangs.

            “And have I also mentioned,” the human said in his velvety, melodious voice, “That this dagger,” Eric could not contain a scream as it pierced his flesh, “… is also entirely made of silver?”  Eric felt the searing pain shoot through his body.  It was close to unbearable, but Eric had experienced far worse before.  “It was a present I got from someone who claimed to be quite fond of me.  If he was not already married to his Greek catamite for about four hundred years at that time, I might have interpreted things differently…”  Aramis paused, and looked the Viking vampire over from head to foot.  “Hurts, doesn’t it?”  He withdrew the edge of the blade a little from the wound in Eric’s abdomen, only to plunge it back inside.  Eric let out a howl and sank to his knees.

            “Who…” Eric barely formed the word.

            “He called himself Russell.  Russell Edgington, I believe.  Quite a mouthful, really.  Did you know that he actually has a large part of the Jesuit Order on his personal payroll?”

            “No… I did… not,” Eric choked the words out, sporadically, trying to regain control of his senses and block out the pain.

            Aramis was standing over him, removing the crucifix from his own neck and placing it, as if in slow motion, around Eric’s neck.

            In nomini Patris,” Aramis whispered, as the crucifix burned into the vampire’s pale flesh, “et fillii, et Spiritus Sancti.”

            “Amen,” Eric concluded, surrendering to the pain.  How did things suddenly go so wrong?  While contemplating his escape possibilities, Eric felt another silver chain being secured around his wrists, which were pulled behind his back with surprising swiftness and expertise.

            “Do not leave,” the human said and left the room for a few minutes.  The knife in his abdominal cavity, coupled with the chains across his chest and his wrists, while uncomfortable, probably would not have been sufficient to restrain Eric for long.  After all, he had centuries behind him.  Yet, he was more overcome by his curiosity and the desire to find out what this human supposed would happen next. 

            “Is that a broken broomstick?” he asked, lazily, when his captor had returned to the room.

            “I would urge you to think upon the possibility of your soul’s salvation.  Can a beast like you even repent and be collected into the bosom of Christ?”

            “I can think of few things I’d like to do to the bosoms of Christ,” Eric snickered.

            “I will stake you.  I should have staked Russell when I had the chance, but…”

            “You went soft?” Eric helpfully suggested.

            “It was the Greek boy, Talbot.  He really did love that evil bastard.  And I could not bring myself to take his love away.”

            “How sentimental,” Eric snickered.  “Possibly it would have been more fair to kill this Talbot, if Russell is as bad you say he is.”

            “Russell is the Fiend.”  Aramis seemed resolved.  He lifted the sharpened end of the broomstick and aimed it at Eric’s heart with a look of a man who had done so before.

            “I hope you realize if you stake me, I will get your nice rug VERY dirty,” Eric made a final attempt at humor.

            “Tell me why you came here.  What do you want?  I don’t currently even work for the Order.”

            “I came because I watched you with your lover last night and I decided you might be a fun way for me to spend my time.”
            “Is that the truth?”

            “I am in no position to lie to you, my beautiful captor.”

            “What have you done to Athos?”

            “He’s perfectly all right.”

            “You had your way with him, didn’t you, you lanky, blond… hussy!”

            “What if I did?” Eric teased, exposing his fangs provocatively.

            “He’s mine.”

“It doesn’t quite work that way, breather,” Eric flared his nostrils and tried to shift his hands, testing out his bonds.

“It works the way I say it works,” Aramis pressed the sharp edge of the broomstick against Eric’s breastplate.  “You do not touch him.  If we have that understanding, I might let you live and you’ll be free to go.”

            “Go where?”

            “Where ever you like.  Last I heard, Russell had actually set sail for the New World.  How would that strike you?”

            “Preposterous!  Nothing there to eat but savages!”

            “Well, there it is…”  Aramis lifted his arm again, poised to strike.

            “All right, all right,” Eric nodded quickly.  “He’s yours.  Whatever you wish.  Now liberate me.”

            “You’re really in no position to be making any kind of demands, are you, Nosferatu?”

            “Is that what the word of a nobleman is worth in these parts?” Eric felt his patience wearing thin.  Despite his best efforts, the chain around his wrists was proving to be more solidly silver than he had given it credit.

            “I never gave you my word,” Aramis replied with a snicker.

            “Breathers!” Eric exclaimed and lifted his eyes upwards, as if asking Heaven to judge them.

            “You have direly trespassed against me, Vampire.  You took that which is mine and you used your vile mind tricks to finagle your way into my house, no doubt with the intent of violating me and possibly at my very soul’s peril.  Not to mention, you deprived me of my rightful night of lovemaking.  I simply do not see the logic of your impugning either my integrity or that of humanity in light of these developments.”  With these words, Aramis placed the makeshift stake down and approached Eric with his innate, feline grace.  “And for these crimes, you must pay the final price, lest you wish to meet your True Death.  I find it difficult to imagine anyone, let alone God, having any kind of mercy on you.”

            From his precarious position on his knees, Eric eyed the man suspiciously.  He was beginning to think he should probably turn this one.  So much potential!  He had never met Russell Edgington, but, from what he heard told of one of the oldest living vampires, Russell had very discriminating tastes. 

            “What final price?” he finally muttered.

            “You must do for me now what vampires do best.”  Eric’s eyes opened in wonder.  Truly, this human was worth turning.

            “No..,” Eric started, incredulously.

            “Yes.  You must suck.”

            “Unbelievably French of you!”

            “And don’t use teeth.”  Aramis loosened the strings of his trousers.  Eric, despite his feigned indignation, dropped his fangs with unrestrained excitement.  “I said no teeth,” Aramis wagged his finger admonishingly in front of Eric’s face, and took his cock ever-so-enticingly out and gently tapped its head against the tip of Eric’s nose.  “Proceed,” he stated calmly, leaning back against one of his bedposts.

            Eric eyed the human with growing amazement and admiration.  Apparently, being brought up in a seminary since the age of nine had its advantages.  He made a mental note to make sure in the future that his potential victims were not also former priests.  He took a tentative sniff of the task ahead of him.

            “What are you waiting for, Vampire?” Aramis inquired from above, still leaning nonchalantly against the bedpost.  “You, who calls us breathers.  Why don’t you show me what you can do, since you do not need to breathe?”

            “Hah hah, you slay me,” Eric replied, wryly, albeit giving the human further mental points for that latest verbal blow.

            “That depends…” Aramis shrugged and Eric felt the pressure of the human’s hand on the back of his head.  The musketeer’s fingers coiled themselves into Eric’s long blond tresses, as his face was pulled deftly forward, towards his captor’s tumescent crotch.  Eric closed his eyes and parted his lush, crimson lips.

            If there was one thing Eric knew he excelled in, other than vampirism and facial superiority, it was this.  His tongue instinctively sought out every vein in the throbbing phallus that he was presented with, while a part of his mind was occupied with making sure that he did not accidentally fang the man.  His hands still secured behind his back, it was beginning to dawn on Eric that he might finally be getting the upper hand.  He took the human deep into his throat and swallowed, making the man groan in almost unexpected pleasure.  Furtively, Eric smiled around the man’s cock and continued to languidly slide his mouth up and down the shaft.  It was true:  he had no need to breathe.  This, however, did not stop him from inhaling the slightly cloying odor of the human’s flesh.  Like honey… and… oakwood… registered in Eric’s mind.  Fascinating.  Judging by the grasp of the fingers in his hair and the way the human’s eyes had rolled into the back of his charmingly conniving head, Eric knew he was about to achieve victory.  Eric increased his speed and the pressure of his lips around the base of the man’s organ and willed the muscles of his throat to convulse around it.

            The human’s head was tossed so far back in his throws of passion, that Eric could see the entire length of his pale, almost translucent neck.  It was inspirational.  The man’s hand momentarily let go of his hair, and Eric managed to drop his head low so quickly that the human did not realize what had transpired.  By the time the man’s ear had recognized the sound of the silver cross falling to the floor, it was already too late.  Having liberated himself from at least the most anvil-like of his shackles, Eric sprung forth at the human, toppling him.  It took a few more moments for Eric to liberate his wrists, this time simply by applying pressure to the chain with renewed vigor.  The human was back up on his feet, but he had nowhere to go except against the wall, into which Eric happily slammed him with the full weight of his body, having also finally yanked the excruciatingly offensive silver dagger from his stomach.

            “Now I shall really taste you,” Eric hissed through his bared fangs.

            “Not yet!” the man countered, bringing his arm in a stabbing motion towards Eric’s chest.

            Mouth agape, Eric stumbled backwards, beholding with ever-widening eyes the wooden crucifix protruding out of his breastbone.

            “Why did you stab me with… Jesus?!”

            “Because Christ is Our Savior, you bloodsucking imbecile!”

            Ffffffrench!” Eric wailed, completely outraged.

            Aramis straightened his clothes and calmly picked up the makeshift stake again, aiming it at Eric’s heart.

            “No, wait!” Eric helplessly raised one of his arms to prevent the coming onslaught of the stake.  “I’ll leave France.  I swear to your fucking God on a Stick!”

            “Not the most eloquent of pleas,” Aramis lowered the stake, yet his gaze remained cold and narrowed.

            “Don’t kill me.  I will rejoin my Maker.  Or I will go to the New World.  You promised!” 

            “Stop putting words in my mouth!”

            “You put your cock in mine!”  Eric could see that latest point reached its mark as Aramis shifted his stance to something less likely to pounce.

            “And you will definitely never see my lover again?”

            “I will not taste another Frenchman for at least a hundred years, I swear it!” Eric spat blood on the ground, for emphasis.

            “Fine,” Aramis bent over Eric and roughly yanked the entrenched, blood-soaked crucifix out of his chest.  “Do not make me regret this!” 

            Dizzily, Eric stumbled back to his feet.  He knew it would take a longer while to heal the wounds made with silver and wood, but at least there was time enough to go to ground.  And afterwards, to hell with this place!

            “Bazin,” Aramis called out and the homunculus appeared again in the doorway to the bedroom.  “Bazin, I need you to tell the Monsieur here that you rescind your invitation.”

            “Is that really necessary?” Eric asked, rubbing his chest where the crucifix had struck him.

            “I’m afraid so, yes,” Aramis confirmed.  “Bazin, are you deaf?  Tell the Monsieur he is no longer invited to stay.”

            “Monsieur,” the bewildered servant, who had apparently been completely stunned by his previous glamouring, mumbled.  “You are no longer invited here.”

            “Blast,” Eric mumbled, as a supernatural force propelled him out the front entrance.  He landed with a thump outside on the cobblestones.  He felt his face burning up with shame to the roots of his hair.  He lifted his eyes towards the house and saw Aramis silhouetted in the doorway.

            “Truth be told, you weren’t half bad, Vampire,” the infuriating human said with a tinge of a chuckle.

            “Truth be told, neither was your lover,” Eric snapped, taking consolation in this small conquest over his torturer and humiliator. 

Before the musketeer found words to respond to his latest provocation, Eric was already gone, taking with him the last vestiges of his dignity.  He needed to go to ground and lick his wounds.  He knew without doubt that his physical wounds would heal, but the blow to his ego would likely fester.  In fact, a hundred years might not have been a generous overestimate after all.



( 8 comments — Leave a comment )
Nov. 10th, 2010 10:08 pm (UTC)
OMG YES. I giggled gleefully throught the entire thing. Yes, very very hot, and glad I could assist in even a small way. Aramis is so deliciously devious. I'd almost feel sorry for poor Eric if Aramis wasn't completely correct about the matter.

(Aramis the Vampire Slayer? XD )
Nov. 10th, 2010 10:19 pm (UTC)
Now that I think about it, I wonder if I was subconsciously thinking about this film:


I mean, it's Paul Bettany... as a "Priest"... killing Vamps... What the hell is going ON??!! I must watch it.

Anywho.... Aramis is usually correct in his instincts. Hah hah hah! Glad you likie, my bebe!
Nov. 10th, 2010 10:23 pm (UTC)
I am looking forward to Priest! (Even if it's apparently not true at all to source) Omnomnom Paul Bettany...

(I so gave in and wrote more porn. ;_; )
Nov. 10th, 2010 10:24 pm (UTC)
OMG! Karl Urban is in it too! Someone has been reading SMF/Quo's slash and basing films on it! :P

(Oh! Congratulations! Mostly to ME for getting to read it in the imminent future!)
Nov. 11th, 2010 08:49 am (UTC)
*wheezes* ....and then he got stabbed with a crucifix. Sarcastically.

“Why did you stab me with… Jesus?!”

“Because Christ is Our Savior, you bloodsucking imbecile!”

*cracks up*

My sympathy for Eric is minimal, being touched with hysteria, but still...

(and of course it was Bazin who let him in. OF COURSE IT WAS.)
Nov. 11th, 2010 09:15 am (UTC)
I keep finding new abuses for that crucifix, huh? :P

Hysteria with tears, about sums it up, actually. I laughed and cried while writing that!

(BAZIN!!! How I hate you...)
Nov. 11th, 2010 09:31 am (UTC)
Also, for reasons known only to my sick-fuck Muse, I had a very hard time getting past the "Did you forget your pants?" part, for too much hyperventilating...
(Deleted comment)
Dec. 8th, 2010 10:01 pm (UTC)
Hah hah! Excellent. :D

Also, I agree with the sentiments expressed in your icon most ardently.
( 8 comments — Leave a comment )