tampered | log [incomplete] | you're feeling quite peckish, aren't you?

log [incomplete] | you're feeling quite peckish, aren't you?

When; At Night.
Rating; PG-13 (R? Sam likes to curse.)
Characters; Eric Northman (

itextedyou) & Sam Oliver (

idkmybffsatan)
Summary; Eric is hungry.
Log;

Sometime in between his arrival to the city and now, Sam Oliver had become insane.

At least insanity seemed a likely culprit, considering what he was about to do. Blood bartered for a few greenbacks; like softcore prostitution, with fang against wrist instead of mouth around cock. For a guy who's soul was bought and paid for by the devil, he should know better than this. Deals that involved one's physical (or metaphysical) person would probably screw you over in the end. And wasn't selling your blood to a vampire just a few rungs down the ladder from selling your soul to the devil?

Then again, blood was just...blood. Cells, plasma, iron and whatever else was in it. (Sam hadn't paid much attention in biology.) It wasn't like he had not donated blood in the past. But in the end, it wasn't ethics that swayed his decision. It was the idea of subtly defying the devil, to prove to himself that this was still his body, and that he could do whatever the fuck he wanted with it, contract or not.

And this was why Sam was currently walking down the stairs to the basement of Fangtasia, bottle of Heineken in hand.

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Eric would say that the equivalent of five hundred dollars was nowhere near 'a few greenbacks,' but a hefty chunk of change, but he won't protest that cost and he needs what it will get him. The situation here was different than at home, and Eric was and always would be good at adapting. This wouldn't be the first or last time he would pursue this sort of a deal. When Sam arrived, he was perched on an extra bar stool in his basement office, dressed in flip-flops and a pair of drawstring sweatpants and a tank top (because semi-evil vampires sleep too), shaking a can of red spray paint which he'd been using on a fixture for the bar upstairs.

He turned to wave at the young man before standing, dropping the can of paint and stalking across the room to find a towel to wipe his hands in.

"You have good timing. I just woke up thirty-five minutes ago."

It was hefty chunk of change, more than he'd ever expect to make in a month back home, but it was still in exchange for something sketchy. But whatever, Sam had wavered enough already, at the same time blowing the entire matter out of proportion. He was over it. Though he did secretly hope that Eric couldn't read minds, otherwise his headvoice would probably be earning him quite a few pansy points.

He had changed earlier for the occasion, switching into a navy blue t-shirt, just in case, you know, something splattered. But Eric probably wouldn't be that messy - this wasn't a barbecue dinner. Throwing back the remainder of the beer, Sam stood there for a moment as he watched Eric stalk across the room.

"You're a late riser," he paused. "I mean, of course you are. "

Eric dragged a chair from the corner of the room, a red leather armchair, moving it in front of the utilitarian-looking office desk that held all of the relevant papers and the computer. There was another beer on the desk-- this one a Blue Moon --and Eric held it out to Sam as he slapped the arm of the chair in question. Setting on the desk was a short pile of white dish-towels and a basket of Dum-Dum pops, clearly meant as a joke. The smile across Eric's face made that plainly known; if he cared about dripping, it was only that it might get on the chair.

"Funny again. You're a surprisingly funny man." He gave another jiggle of the beer bottle. "Obviously you weren't kidding about the liquid courage."

Reaching into the back pocket of his sweats with his free hand, he pulled out a sizable wad of cash, all in twenties, although there was nothing suspicious about the origin of the money. It had come out of the cash register upstairs twenty minutes ago.

"Frightened?"

"You're not too bad yourself." He raised a hand, gesturing toward the set-up on the desk. "Hilarious. Did you think of that yourself?"

If Eric was going to have a few laughs at his expense, then Sam would have no qualms doing the same. It might be stupid to poke a lion with a stick, but then again, Sam was hardly the type to pay mind to common sense in the midst of conversation. Besides, it wasn't like he was frightened - wary, yes, due to the vague similarities of this exchange and a certain other; but he wasn't afraid of the blood sucking, or even the six-feet-infinity vampire that could definitely fuck him up. Sure, Eric probably had fangs tucked up somewhere in that mouth, yet hadn't he met souls with a mouth full of them? Compared to the tentacle monster and the swarm of man-eating bugs, he was relatively harmless.

Okay, maybe harmless wasn't the right word. He could probably snap his neck within a half of a second. However, the point was that Eric wasn't monster in his eyes -- he was a potentially dangerous predator, but he didn't seem to be inherently evil. And if he was going to go back to judging people by what they were, wouldn't he be a damn hypocrite?

"I'm not scared," Sam replied firmly, the corners of his lip tugging into a sarcastic, lopsided smile. He even added in the raise of an eyebrow to further emphasize his point.

He set down the empty Heineken on the desk before taking the offered beer in one hand, the cash in the other. If Andi came to the City again, he would use it her buy her something nice - maybe a piece of jewlery, something shiny and subtle that he knew she would like.

Now with Eric's side of the exchanged fulfilled, he took a seat in the gaudy, red chair, leaning back comfortably. Glancing at both of his arms, he shrugged to himself before stretching both out toward Eric.

"Pick an arm. I don't care," he spoke, "By the way, I'm not sure of my blood-type, so I guess it's going to be sort of like a grab-bag deal."

On the bright side, there was a part of Eric that honestly enjoyed a certain level of what could charitably be called spunk in a human-- a little bit of defiance or self-comportment, and a sense of humor, around him. At home no less than here. He waited off to the side as Sam settled himself into the garishly red leather armchair, raising two blond eyebrows at the declamation over being frightened.

"Nervous, then," he snatched one of the towels and folded it on the arm of the chair, before grabbing Sam's left arm with a lingering stare that was halfway a look that a human might give a turkey panini with pepperjack cheese after a hard day and halfway the clinical look that a nurse would give while poking at a particularly tricky IV site, and he pressed the arm down over the towel, before sliding a stepstool over and perching himself on that. Paying for it-- paying for almost anything-- wasn't something Eric found particularly demeaning, but kneeling in front of someone, accidentally or symbolically, was a different matter.

He didn't laugh, but the sideways smirk on his face was laugh enough. He liked puns, so why wouldn't he like to go the whole nine yards with the sex metaphors. The two fangs popped into place out of his upper jaw, less like the conventional monster movie canines and more like the striking fangs of a snake, long, thin and closer together.

"Don't worry. I hear everyone's nervous their first time."

He wondered why Eric had chosen such an awkward position — it seemed like an uncomfortable way to take one's meal, standing there perched on a stool, legs bent. Yet, there was no point in questioning the vampire and he was too lazy to try. In fact, Sam was perfectly fine just sitting there, comfortable even, as he crossed his legs and leaned against the back of the chair. There was no evidence of resistance in his posture, arm remaining slack and compliant as Eric grabbed him.

"Not nervous," he flashed a smile, this time showing teeth, "I can pretend to be scared, if you'd prefer."

By the time he had sat down, Sam had already prepared himself for the worst - in the event that Eric is an Eager Beaver and decides to bury his fangs into the flesh of his arm without warning. What else might he expect? His arm probably seemed like a piece of cake to the bloodsucker. Definitely Chocolate. Admittedly, there was also a part of him that enjoyed the thrill of the act; a vague sense of danger that translated into excitement, enough to break the increasing monotony of the City, if only for a few minutes. Sam hated to admit it (or more like he'd never admit it), but he had grown somewhat expectant of this sort of excitement.

Sam was observing the vampire with an odd sort of curiosity as he lowered his fangs; light blue eyes meeting the Eric's own in a trained stare. And as he pulled out that shoddy pun, well- of course Sam had to roll his eyes.

"You'd think after how many centuries, a vampire could come up with something better than that."

"Actually," He shifted in the stool, leaning forward with a smile that pressed fangs against his lower lip, quiet teasing in his voice. "I do prefer it if they pretend to be scared. But only if they are very, very good at it. You see, it makes me nostalgic."

He kept Sam's stare for a long handful of seconds before laughing and tearing it away, hands moving to pin down the other man's arm with little force but a blurred speed, making his eagerness obvious. He seemed like an honest enough boy, but Eric had been lied to by enough employees recently at home, so feeding from this one and having the vaguest hint of an idea where he was could be beneficial. He was hungry besides-- people here were harder to convince, and glamour had never been Eric's strong suit.

"Wrist or elbow? Elbow is more discreet, unless you would like a conversation starter. You know-- you should never stare one of us in the eye."

Sam let out a gasp, short and barely audible, as a grimace spread on his features with the sudden jerk of his hand. He was expecting Eric's strength to match the caliber of his speed, wondering if he'd return home tonight with a broken hand. He must have gone a tad overboard with the ribbing - ignoring repercussions and shortsightedness were Sam's specialty.

But as Eric pinned his arm down, Sam realized that he was perfectly fine; if anything, the sudden flash of speed was probably just for show. A bit of flourish to freak him out, since he was sort of asking for it.

"Was all that really necessary?" Shooting another glance at Eric, he once again stared him in the eyes until finally breaking it with a shake of his head — as if to underline his growing exasperation. "Elbow then. And thanks for the tip, but I don't think I'll make a habit of meeting vampires anytime soon - not my sort of crowd. I doubt we have any back home anyway."

That smallest of warnings seemed to have worked well enough and Eric sat quietly, eyes still raking Sam's forearm and elbow until he finished speaking.

"Yes," he said, addressing whether or whether not that was necessary. Being Eric, all things he did were considered necessary. Elbow, said Sam, and Eric shot him the broadest smirk he had yet, before leaning forward and digging both of the slightly curved forefangs into the lower artery underneath the soft skin of his inner elbow.

He wouldn't be much good for talking for the next five or six minutes. Though he wondered how Sam would fill the time-- the idea of how awkwardly it might be that he did so did amuse a black little part of Eric's heart. Or a black huge part of his heart, either or.

The fangs were definitely not your usual needle in the vein, as noted by the small 'fuck' whispered beneath his breath. It was a step above being step above being stabbed with fucking fork by a crazy, old woman at your best friend's cousin's Quincieta. But it still wasn't pleasant - well, actually, that was a lie. The puncture had hurt, but the actual drawing of the blood was oddly comfortable -- enough for him relax the building tension in his arm.

Then again, this was a hundred times more awkward than the fork incident. More awkward than that time had had to wear that pumpkin costume, more awkward than Sock's bro-touches, or even that time they all compared dicks in the highschool locker room.

He just tried his best to not to watch, tilting his head upward as he distracted himself with the cracks on the ceiling. Too bad this was a new building with no cracks to be soon. Oh well, Sam could make due by tracing invisible patterns instead.

"Wow, this is more awkward than I expected. Imagine if he'd use the neck," he whispered to himself.

This one had seemed interesting almost immediately-- many humans in this place did, and Eric was always all about sampling whatever he could, especially if he could find something rare. He'd found the artery that he'd wanted, and after only a handful of minutes, he was done, the supernatural qualities in his saliva already healing the wound-- thankfully, or Sam would have made a mess of the chair. As it was, only a thin stream leaking out of the edge of Eric's mouth as he finished and pulled away, wiping the length of his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. It smeared, but it kept it from making a further mess.

Eric rolled his eyes at Sam's whispers and the anxious, awkwardly self-aware he stared at the ceiling as he fed. With a small noise like a snort, he bent over again to draw his tongue intently over the wound, despite Sam's earlier protests that bandages and gauze would be fine. Why chance an infection. Firstly, Sam was an employee, and secondly, Eric didn't want trouble in this place. That done, he dropped the arm with a clinical boredom, although there was clear satisfaction written on his face.

"That wasn't so bad, was it," drawled the voice, deep and monotone and passive, with the barest hint of a subtle Louisiana accent. "And don't whisper. We can hear you. It is like watching someone shout along to music on their iPod without realizing everyone else is listening."

Sam was always a lucky fellow, so it made sense that he would pick the best moment to finally take a gander. Lowering his gaze, he immediately caught the sight of Eric's tongue sliding against his skin. And Sam felt it too, tiny pinpricks of hair rising on his arm, followed by the tightening of his shoulder. His expression was set somewhere in between disbelief and shock, with his mouth half-agape and eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"Well, what I said was true. It is sort of awkward for me. You seemed to have enjoyed yourself though." His tone was sharp, annoyance tracing its edges, "But did you really have to lick me?"

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log [incomplete] | you're feeling quite peckish, aren't you?

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