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downwiththeficness · 2 years ago

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The Guarantor-Chapter 37

Summary: Frankie went to work every day knowing that there would be an end. A deadline. Reconnecting with her adoptive father, Godric, throws that deadline into question. Teaming up with Godric’s child, Eric, obliterates it entirely. With an uncertain future ahead, Frankie has to learn if she can trust the people around her, let alone herself. Eric Northman/Bisexual!Fem!OC

Word Count: ~1,900

Warnings: None

Taglist: @mousee555

A/N: This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence, and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. Anyone under the age of 18 should not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.

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Frankie stood before a door, trying to make herself knock. The door was unassuming—white, with a golden knocker and black scuffs near the bottom that suggested it had been kicked open a time or two. There was nothing scary about this door. Nothing at all. And yet, her hand hovered a few inches from the paneling.

“You don’t have to do this,” Eric prompted from his place near the stairwell.

This was the first thing they’d ever argued about, really argued about. Eric didn’t see the point in bringing up the past and Frankie couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t confront it. It took a lot of compromise, but Eric eventually agreed to let her go in alone—only if he was near enough that he could get to her if things went wrong.

Frankie’s mouth screwed up in determination, “I got it.”

She knocked a bit too hard and a bit too loudly, but she knocked. Frankie shifted on her feet as she waited for someone to answer, not sure if she was ready to face the person on the other side.

The door opened, revealing a man in his sixties with a receding hairline and a face that looked dour even when he was smiling politely.

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Romero Vitaly?” she asked, hoping that she looked as non-threatening as possible.

She didn’t know why she asked him that question. Frankie already knew who he was, had already done the legwork of confirming he lived in this exact apartment.

He hesitated, “How do you know that name?”

Romero had taken on a pseudonym after he’d faked his death. He had a fake social security number, birth certificate, even a fake high school diploma. What he couldn’t fake were his fingerprints, which was how Masha was able to find him in the first place. The single arrest for disorderly conduct inadvertently set the course for his daughter’s life.

Feeling both relieved and annoyed that he thought she was a stranger, Frankie asked, “Can I come in? I’d like to speak with you about something.”

Romero’s eyes widened as he leaned away, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We can talk here, if you don’t mind.”

To Frankie’s right, Eric straightened. He’d walked her through this exact scenario a few hours before, told her exactly what to do to get inside the apartment. Lock eyes with him, think the thought she wanted him to think, push that thought into his mind.

In other words: Glamour the motherfucker.

Moving closer, Frankie looked Romero in the eye, focusing her gaze on the honey brown of his irises. Let her in, she thought at him, she’s harmless.

She’s harmless.

Frankie thought those words at him, used her mind to push them at Romero. She could tell when it started to take effect. Romero’s face relaxed, his mouth open and his eyes far away. The pressure between them that kept their minds separate faded to nothing more than a light mist. Frankie waded through it with a singular purpose.

She’s harmless. Let her in.

“Please, come in,” Romero said in monotone.

Frankie smiled as she felt the barrier between herself and the door fall away, “Thank you.”

The apartment smelled of alcohol and decades old smoke. Frankie was met first with a living room that was separated from the kitchen by a bar top. The furniture was evidently second-hand—worn and scuffed with time. Romero led her to an armchair where she sat, crossing her legs.

Taking his own seat on the sofa, Romero appeared to come out of the fog she’d created, “Why are you here?”

She smiled softly, “You don’t recognize me?”

Romero shook his head, “I’m sorry. Should I?”

Frankie licked her lips, saying, “My name is Francesca Meek. I am your daughter.”

He blinked at her, saying nothing for a long time. Frankie could hear his heart beating fast in his chest, could sense the rise of his anxiety. She let him think about it, watching him as he grappled with this new information.

“You’re lying.”

Frankie dipped her head, knowing that he might not believe her, “I know this is hard to understand, but I survived the fall from the bridge. I was taken in by someone who loved me very much. I had a good life with them.”

Romero shook his head, “This can’t be true.”

“It is,” she replied, “I’d refer you to Anton, but he’s dead. You know that, already don’t you?”

He was still shaking his head, muttering to himself that he didn’t believe it. His hands rubbed against each other, calloused knuckles providing dry friction.

Frankie leaned forward, catching his eye, “When you faked your death, Anton came looking for me. I worked your contract for five years, until I found a way out.”

Romero’s mouth hung open in shock, “I didn’t know...I thought you were dead.”

“I know,” Frankie said in a rough voice, “I know you didn’t mean for me to take on your burden.”

He sputtered, visibly looking for something to say, “I—I heard—heard Anton died.”

“Yes, that’s true,” her tone was uncharacteristically patient.

“A man,” Romero continued, “A man called Andrei came to see me. He said there was new head of the family, but I didn’t have to worry about it. My contract was taken care of.”

Frankie nodded, “Yes, I’m sure Andrei was speaking on behalf of Masha.”

“Who?”

“Anton’s daughter,” she clarified, “She made a point of keeping the fact that you were still alive a secret.”

His hands turned over, palms facing up in supplication, “I had no idea.”

She wanted to reach out to him, to lay a hand on his arm. She didn’t, “I know.” Then, “I came here to tell you that Masha is also dead. So is Yuri, Anton’s son. There’s no one to call in the debt you owe.”

The relief Romero felt was palpable. His shoulders and head dropped a few inches along with an audible exhale. Frankie watched him with interest, wondering if she looked the exact same way when she walked up the stairs to the house with Godric that first night in Louisiana.

“I didn’t just come here, tonight, to tell you that,” Frankie said, “I want to know why you did it?”

Romero looked up, “Why I did what?”

“Why you faked your death,” Frankie clarified.

It was a question she’d had for many years, a question she never thought she’d ever get answered. Now, sitting in this little apartment filled with stale air, Frankie was determined to find out.

His spine straightened, “I couldn’t do it, anymore.”

“Couldn’t do what?”

“Couldn’t work for him,” Romero’s voice was small as worked through is explanation, “I couldn’t go day in and day out, doing the same thing over and over, with no end in sight.”

She cocked her head to the side, “There was an end date on the contract.”

He cast her a sardonic look, “You know that’s not how it works.”

Frankie agreed with him silently.

Eyes in the middle distance, Romero continued, “I knew it… I knew I would never get out. I knew that my life would be lived as a Morozoc lackey until the day I died.” He paused, drawing in a shuddering breath, “and, I couldn’t do it.”

Frankie understood—God help her, but she understood. Steadying herself, she dug deep and went for the only other unanswered question between them.

“I guess that leaves just one final question,” she said, “Why did you throw me from the bridge?”

It was the central question of her life, the pin on which her entire existence spun. Romero seemed to struggle with it, his hands shaking where they were folded in his lap.

“There was something...wrong with you.”

She frowned, “Wrong?”

“Yes,” he said, his words coming quickly, “it was the way you looked at me, as if you could read my every thought. You stopped crying after Susan left—your mom, I mean. You stopped crying and you would just look at me.” He sniffed, “I couldn’t get away from your eyes.”

He stood and made his way over to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of dark liquor and bringing it back to the sofa. Sitting, he pulled the top free and took a huge gulp. The smell of alcohol wafted towards her.

Hissing, Romero croaked, “Your mother used to talk about the Fae, about how they sometimes switched human children for one of their own. I thought it was just stories, but when she left and it was just you and me...I couldn’t get away from you.” He drew in a breath that caught in his throat, “I was consumed by the knowledge that you weren’t mine, that you’d been switched at birth.”

She didn’t believe in faerie tales, but she definitely believed in the desperation in Romero’s tone. He reeked with distress and fear.

Frankie struggled to understand what he was saying, “So, your solution was to throw me from a bridge.”

Romero looked up, seeming to have forgotten she was there, “Bridges are the way between one place and another, right?”

“I guess,” Frankie said, caught off guard by the way the conversation was going.

He was looking at her with ferocity in his eyes, “I thought that I could give you back, and they would send my daughter to me in return. Because you weren’t mine.”

She drew back, anger rising unexpectedly, “You’re right. I’m not your daughter. Maybe I never was. My father, the man who raised me, is dead. And, as much as I want my vengeance for what you did to me, I can only thank you.” Frankie paused, letting what she’d said wash over him, “Thank you for throwing me off that bridge. Thank you for abandoning me. My life has sometimes been hard, but I was loved—I am loved.”

Romero was quiet, his face closed off.

Frankie continued, “I don’t know what I expected, coming here, but I wanted you to know that I lived. I survived the fall, I survived paying your debt, I survived all the consequences of your bad decisions. I survived then, and I will survive for a long time, far longer than you will.”

She flexed the soft palate of her mouth, letting her fangs drop down. Flashing them at Romero, Frankie felt no small amount of satisfaction for the way he jerked into the back of the couch, eyes wide. She could smell the way his fear reached new heights and it was tantalizing.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Frankie said, drawing her fangs back behind her teeth, “But, I wanted you to know what became of me after all these years.”

Tears dripped down Romero’s face as he sobbed, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Frankie peered at him quizzically, then nodded, “Apology accepted. I’ll let you get back to your evening.”

He flinched as she stood, which was satisfying. Frankie moved at a human pace, waving a farewell as she left the apartment. She could hear him locking the deadbolt behind her, the silence cut through with intermittent sobs.

Eric was waiting for her, phone in hand. He pocketed it and held out his hand to her expectantly. Frankie took it, walking with him down the stairwell and out into the night air. As she stepped onto the sidewalk, Frankie looked up to the sky. The stars were shining beatifically, dotting an arm of the galaxy and they moved through space. These were the same stars that Godric beheld before he died, possibly the same stars she would look up to as she met a similar fate.

Stalling at the corner, Frankie breathed deeply, catching a faint scent of roses, “What do I do now?”

#The Guarantor #True blood #Eric Northman #vampires #AU

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downwiththeficness · 2 years ago

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The Guarantor-Chapter 30

Word Count: ~4,000

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content

Start from the Beginning Previous Chapter Next Chapter

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Frankie sat across the table from Carissa, listening to her talk about her upcoming trip. She hadn’t sat down with the other woman in a long time, which left her feeling guilty as Carissa talked about her new job, one of the perks of which was an expense account that let her fly regularly enough to get a first class upgrade.

Carissa had changed since Frankie saw her last. She was still platinum blonde and tattooed, still had piercings glinting in the overhead lights. But, her makeup was softer, smokier. She was wearing nail polish that wasn’t chipped. There were diamond drop earrings hanging from the gauges in her ears. In other words, life seemed to be treating Carissa well.

“It sounds amazing,” Frankie gushed, “Where can I apply?”

Carissa’s expression was a little bit smug, “I don’t think they have any open positions right now, but I’ll let you know when one opens up.”

Holding her mug close to her chest, Frankie leaned back and said, “So, what do you do, anyways?”

“I consult, mostly,” Carissa answered, tossing her hair. “That’s why I have to fly out to the different,” she stumbled a little bit over the word, “offices.”

“Oh, yeah? Consult about what?”

It was an honest question. Carissa had always been a hard worker. Dedicated. But, Frankie had never seen a particular expertise at the laundromat. She did what she was trained to do, but rarely took the initiative to suggest new projects—not that there was anything creative about cleaning clothes. Giving a mental shake, Frankie reminded herself that they weren’t exactly best friends in Jersey and that there might be things about Carissa she didn’t know.

“Um,” Carissa started, tilting her head to the side in thought, “Its a lot of things. I do some life coaching here and there. And, um, research.”

“Research?”

Nodding, Carissa continued, “Yeah. Like, on the occult and stuff.”

What kind of company needed consults on the occult?

Frowning, Frankie cocked her head to the side, “Really?”

Giving a little shrug, Carissa offered a kind of self-conscious smile, “Yeah. Its been a hobby of mine since I was in high school.”

“So, you decided to turn it into a side gig?”

“Gotta make money, somehow, am I right?” Carissa shot back with a grin, “I got debts to pay, just like anyone else.”

Frankie lifted her glass in a salute, “I hear you.”

Carissa giggled as she clinked her mug with Frankie’s, “So, talking about money, are you still at that clothing store?”

“I’m still there,” Frankie answered, a bit of disgust in her voice, “My boss keeps hinting at taking a management position, but I don’t know…”

It wasn’t that Frankie didn’t think that she could do the work, she just didn’t have any idea how the next couple of months were going to go. The push and pull of her life didn’t seem like it was going to settle, and Frankie didn’t think she had the capacity to dedicate herself to anything more than clocking in, doing her job, and going the fuck home.

“Not your dream job, huh?”

“What do you mean? Working retail is my life’s passion,” Frankie deadpanned.

Carissa laughed, “I got you. Its a job, right?”

“Yeah,” Frankie replied, “Its a job.”

“You still living with Eric?”

She wasn’t exactly surprised at the question, but the direct tone made Frankie sit back a little, “Yeah. I mean, I thought housing down here was cheaper, but my pay is barely covering gas and food, insurance, and all the other shit I gotta pay for, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” Carissa said, “That’s why I got my side hustle.” Then, “Are you guys still, like, friends or whatever?”

Frankie took a fortifying sip of her coffee, “Um, I think we’ve kind of moved past that.”

Intrigued, Carissa leaned forward, “Really?”

“I mean,” Frankie edged, “We’re...he’s my…person.”

She was willing to acknowledge that they were more than friends, but somewhat less confident in saying that they were in any kind of committed relationship.

Carissa waited for Frankie to say more, and when she didn’t, she said, “That’s really nice, Frankie. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks.”

“I just hope you’re being careful.”

Frankie flinched, “What?”

“Being careful,” Carissa repeated, gesturing towards Frankie, “I mean—sweetie, he’s a vampire. They’re kind of dangerous, don’t you think?”

Mouth open, Frankie had to take several moments to process that statement, “Yeah, they can be. Absolutely.”

She thought about Masha, about the Queen. Neither of them would think twice about using their power, their strength, to make someone do whatever they wanted. There was no fear of that with Eric. From the very beginning, they had been up front with one another about what they wanted, about their motives. That level of honesty gave Frankie a certain amount of comfort.

Carissa seemed to want to say something, opened her mouth to do so and then closed it. The look she was giving Frankie was as much concerned as it was guarded.

“I just think you should be careful.”

Frankie smiled, hoping to reassure the other woman, “I’m being careful.”

They moved on to other topics, but Carissa would periodically stop and look at Frankie with concern. She didn’t want to pry into Carissa’s experiences with vampires, knowing that they probably weren’t good. And, she appreciated that Carissa wanted Frankie to be careful. She didn’t think there was anything she could say that would alleviate that concern. Carissa would just have to see on her own that Eric didn’t mean Frankie any harm, and that would take time.

As they were leaving, Carissa gave Frankie a hug, “I’ll be out of state for a couple weeks, but we should get together when I come back.”

“Definitely,” Frankie replied, “Text me.”

Carissa walked away, her apartment not far from the coffee shop, and Frankie dug into her jacket for her keys. She pulled them free and headed to the lot where she’d parked only to find someone waiting for her.

Young. Maybe twenty three or twenty four. Blonde. Dressed in jeans, blazer, and heels. She perked up when she spotted Frankie, smiling a friendly smile.

“Francesca Meek?”

“...Yes?” Frankie said as she slowed.

The woman offered her an envelope, which Frankie hesitantly took.

“At the risk of sounding like a cliche, you’ve been served,” she smiled and walked off.

Confused, Frankie turned the envelope over in her hands. It was made of thick vellum, and sealed with wax. Frowning, Frankie broke the seal and opened the letter. She read it once. Twice. Three times. Then, jaw clenched, she stuffed it into her purse and hauled ass back to the house.

When she got there, Frankie set her stuff down, pulled off her jacket, and sat on the couch. She dropped her head into her hands and sighed deeply. Frankie remained like that for a while, until she had gotten over the initial shock. Then, she stood and ran her hands down her jeans to smooth the wrinkles.

With another deep breath, Frankie took herself upstairs and laid down. Sleep came easily, and when she woke, the sun was starting to set. Rubbing her eyes, Frankie sat up and stared at nothing until her brain caught up to the fact that her body was awake.

Feeling gross, she showered all the day’s grit from her skin. Standing in front of her dresser, Frankie debated throwing on a t shirt and leggings. She even went to grab a pair from the pile. And then she thought better of it.

Going to her closet, she took from the hanger a sundress in a pale pink. It had come into stock at the store just in time for the Spring season. When Frankie took it out of the packing, she immediately saw herself wearing it. Trying it on in the dressing room had only confirmed what she knew the second she’d held it up for the first time. Frankie used her employee discount for the first time to buy this dress.

Slipping it on, Frankie turned in the mirror. She rarely wore anything like this, but the soft linen hugged her body in a way that was so flattering. Running her hands through her damp hair, she piled it on top of her head to get it out of the way.

She felt pretty, and Frankie didn’t care that she wasn’t going anywhere that night. She didn’t care that she’d gotten more bad news. If Frankie was going to worry about yet another insane turn in her life, she was going to feel pretty while she worried.

Traipsing down the stairs, Frankie went directly to the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine. She poured herself a healthy glass and slid onto one of the bar stools to enjoy it. About halfway through the glass, there came a sound of a door opening in the laundry room. A moment later, Eric emerged with his jacket thrown over his arm.

He took one look at the glass in her hand and frowned, “Since when do you drink wine?”

Frankie made a sound in the back of her throat, holding up a finger to indicate that he should wait. She pushed from the stool and padded over to her purse. Envelope in hand, Frankie walked up to him, holding it aloft.

With a fair amount of skepticism, Eric took the envelope and read the contents. Frankie watched him with half a smile as she picked up her glass and took a long pull. Brows lifting, he tossed the letter onto the island.

“We knew that was coming.”

“We did.”

“So, you’re not surprised.”

“I am not.”

“And yet…” he glanced down at her glass.

Frankie reached for the bottle and refilled it, “If any occasion calls for drinking wine, its being summoned before the Vampire Council to testify against my ex-girlfriend.”

“And employer,” he added.

“That, too.”

He touched her cheek, a light brush of his fingers, “Are you upset?”

She sighed, “Not really. Pretty sure my boss is going to be pissed that I’ll need time off to fly all the way to New Jersey so that I can handle it.”

Eric huffed a laugh, “You’re lucky they aren’t making you travel to Europe.” He rolled his eyes, “Weeks in a stuffy castle while the Council debates everything down to the color of the ink for the signatures on the decision.”

Frankie lifted a brow, “As opposed to what? Weeks in a hotel room while they debate who gets to announce it?”

He gave a nod of acknowledgment, “Point.” Then, “I doubt you’ll actually stand before the Council. Their first step is to use mediators to see if the issue can be resolved without having to stand on all the ceremony of an actual Council session.”

She shrugged, “Either way.”

Eric eyed her carefully, “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “Its just more shit from Masha, you know?”

An arm snaked around her waist, “This is the end of it. She won’t have any cards left to play when we’re done with the Council.”

Frankie sighed, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, “We’ve said that before, and she just keeps coming back with more.”

He looked at her pointedly, “That’s the beauty of the Council, Frankie. When they make a decision, it is final. If Masha tries to get around it, she’ll face the sun.”

Doubtful, Frankie muttered, “Masha doesn’t believe in death, especially not now.”

“One day,” Eric said, “I’m going to show her that death is very, very real.” When Frankie didn’t react, he blurted, “You’re not making the face.”

“The what?”

“The face,” he repeated, “Whenever I talk about killing Masha, you make this face.” He imitated her, his mouth pulling down into a pout, “You’re not making the face.”

Eyes dropping, Frankie drew in a breath, “I guess I don’t feel as strongly about it as I did before.”

“You’ve resigned yourself?”

She shook her head, “More like I’ve come to terms with the fact that Masha is digging her own grave.”

He looked impressed, “I think I’d call that growth.”

“I think I’d call that exhaustion,” Frankie shot back with a laugh.

“I’ll take it,” Eric replied, kissing her temple, “Can you be ready to fly out in a few days?”

“Yeah, I’ll call my boss tomorrow morning.”

“Good. We’ll aim for a flight on Thursday, then.”

Frankie pulled back, “We? You’re coming with me?”

He looked at her in confusion, “You think I’d let you face the Council alone? You think Godric would let you go alone?”

“I,” she started lowly, “hadn’t considered that.”

Eric made a sound of frustration, his hands framing her hips firmly, “What did you think presenting you to the Queen was all about?” Not waiting for her to answer, he continued, “Did you think that was for show? A performance?”

Frankie stared at him, agog. The intensity of his words left her speechless.

Eyes fierce, he cupped her face, “I’m on your team, Frankie.”

She kissed him. It wasn’t much more than a hard press of her mouth against his, but Frankie could feel him smiling into it. She leaned into him, fingers curling into the material of his shirt. One of his hands dropped to the curve of her ass, the other sliding around to rest on the back of her neck.

Deepening the kiss, Frankie wrapped her arms around his shoulders as she ran her tongue along his lower lip. Shifting side to side, Eric guided them backwards. Frankie went with him, walking on the tips of her toes so that she could keep kissing him. As they passed through the doorway into the laundry room, he began to pull up the hem of her dress.

Grasping his hands, Frankie pulled each deliberately from her body. Loosing them, she pushed firmly into his stomach until he relaxed against the wall. For his cooperation, Frankie kissed him, licking into his mouth and catching his lower lip between her teeth. Running her hands down his chest, Frankie followed that path downwards to trace the outline of his growing erection.

He groaned softly, and she could see the points of his fangs peeking out from behind his lips. Flattening her hand over the fly of his pants, Frankie went to work on opening them. The button fly took longer than both of them would have liked. She could feel the muscles in his core tightening as he resisted the urge to help.

When she finally thumbed the last button open, Frankie grabbed the waistband and yanked it down just far enough so that she could get at what she wanted. He hissed as she wrapped her hand around him, giving a slow, firm stroke. Frankie glanced at him to find that he was biting down on his lip, two tiny rivulets of red dropping down his chin.

Feeling unnaturally bold, Frankie pulled him down to her so that she could lick away the blood. His hips pushed forward, the movement eased with the pre come that was beading steadily from the tip of his cock.

He kissed her greedily, pushing his fingers beneath the strap of her dress. Open mouthed kisses ran the length of her neck and as far down her chest as he could reach. Frankie arched into him, feeling heat chase the cool path of his lips.

She broke the kiss, tugging up his shirt and lowering slowly to her knees. On the way down, she rubbed her cheek against the flat of his stomach, nuzzling the sensitive skin beneath his belly button. Under her lips and hands, he trembled. When Frankie ran her tongue up the length of his cock, Eric’s head dropped heavily to the wall as his mouth opened in a loud, almost relieved, moan.

Hand working his length, Frankie sucked on tip, tongue rolling over sensitive skin. Tilting her head to the side she rubbed her lips along a thick vein, letting him feel her breath. Looking up at him from beneath her lashes, she licked a scalding line from his balls up and over her own hand until she reached the head.

“Frankie,” he grated, his fingers sinking into the strands of her hair.

They spasmed when she gave him a particularly hard suck, his hips thrusting forward too fast for her to pull back. With an almost embarrassing sound, Frankie drew up a bit and caught her breath, blinking away the welling tears.

His apology was not much louder than a whisper. Frankie reached up and placed her hand over his in her hair, reassuring him silently before she got back to it. Holding him steady, she took him down to the back of her throat, forcing all the muscles in her neck and jaw to relax and breathing deliberately through her nose. With small, slow bobs of her head, she tried to mimic the way he stirred himself inside her.

Which was, apparently, the right move.

Eric’s body bowed, the hand in her hair clenching with the effort it took to remain still for her. He couldn’t seem to help the little rolls of his hips, the way he wanted to remain seated as deeply as possible in her mouth. Knowing that her jaw wasn’t going to be able to handle much more, Frankie circled the base of him with two fingers and her thumb, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked hard on the upstroke.

Her hand followed her mouth with a twist, leading the way as she dove back down. Soon enough, Frankie caught her rhythm. Every flex of muscle, every hitch in his breath gave her all the direction she needed until he was so close to coming that she could taste it.

“Close,” he warned, voice ragged.

Frankie grasped his hip to ground herself, listening to the way his moans grew breathy and strained. He hardened between her lips, coming with a shout that echoed off the walls of the room. What Frankie couldn’t swallow down dripped over her chin and hands, leaving her a mess.

Eric didn’t seem to give a single fuck as he yanked her to standing and spun to crowd her against the wall. His kiss was messy, tongue rolling against hers so that he could taste himself. Rucking up the fabric of her skirt, he pushed his hand into her underwear and ran two fingers through her soaked folds. With a rotation of his wrist, he gathered the slick that coated plush flesh and sank those fingers inside.

He went to work, grinding the heel of his palm against her clit. Frankie whimpered, scrambling for purchase against his shoulders as he scissored his fingers to stretch her wide enough so that he could slip a third inside.

She was full and wet and—so suddenly that she didn’t have any time to prepare—coming hard.

If she hadn’t been sandwiched between Eric and the wall, her knees would have given out and Frankie would have melted into a puddle on the floor. Her thighs shuddered with the effort to hold herself upright. Her head felt too heavy.

The waistband of her underwear fell away, the material tangled around her ankles. Eric’s hand lifted her leg up and out of them, wrapping it around his waist. He held her chin up so that he could get a good look at her. She rolled her eyes at the way he smirked down at her, too self-satisfied by half.

In a smooth, practiced movement, he thrust into her, seating himself as deeply in her pussy as he had been in her mouth. Frankie bit her lip, brows furrowing as she adjusted to his length. Eric paused, kissing that little furrow until it smoothed.

“Alright?”

Frankie blinked rapidly, forcing herself to nod, “Uh huh.”

He moved closer, gathering her in his arms to support more of her weight, “Hold on.”

She tried. Frankie really, really tried. But there was no way she had the strength to keep hold of him when he was fucking her nearly through the wall. She cried out, the muscles in the leg that was supporting her burning with the exertion. Eric growled lowly, yanking it up and around his waist so that she could lock her ankles behind him.

All the air punched out of her as he hitched her higher, grinding. He kissed her briefly, resting his cheek against hers as he rolled his hips up against into her. Frankie ran her hand up his neck and into his hair, mussing the carefully gelled strands.

The need to come seared through her, white hot. She tightened her arms and legs around him with a pathetic whine, undeterred when he chuckled and pulled back to look down at her. Their gazes held, and behind the arrogant smile, Frankie could clearly see something dark in his eyes. Eric had never looked at her with such possession, and the way it made heat run rampant over her body was unexpected.

She touched his mouth, pressed her thumb into the razor sharp edge of his fang. Eager, Eric sucked the pad into his mouth, eyes closing in pleasure. The pace of his hips picked up, little growls rumbling in his chest.

Loosing her thumb with an obscenely wet sound, he buried his face into her neck. Knowing what he wanted, and more than willing to give it to him, Frankie turned her head to the side in offering. Without preamble, he bit down.

Frankie screamed.

She was more than used to the way his bite felt by now. She knew about the initial heat of pain, the strange pull of suction as he drank. She knew about how that pain could bloom into mind-melting arousal if he were so inclined.

With this bite, Eric was so inclined.

Her body clenched tight around him, suspended on the edge of a knife, until she tipped over in an orgasm that nearly blinded her. He felt her, released the bite to groan against her skin. She tipped her head back, letting him hold her full weight.

Still hard, Eric pulled out and set her on unsteady feet. Confused, Frankie watched him pull up his pants so that they rested, open, around his hips. Then, he grabbed the front of her dress and hauled her over to the hidden wall. She was too off balance to ask what was going on, could only wait as he tapped out the key code for the door.

Her world turned on its axis as he picked her up and jumped, landing at the bottom soundlessly. Another blur of movement, and he was throwing her down onto his bed. Frankie landed on the mattress, righted herself, and immediately went to work on the zipper of the dress.

By the time she got it and her bra off, he was naked and pressing his body atop hers. Spreading her legs, Frankie rested her hand on the center of his chest. Eric flinched, eyes closing as he drew in a shaking breath. Lining himself up, Eric’s heart kicked to life as he thrust forward, an animal sound bursting from between lips that were peeled back from his teeth.

Bracing his weight on his forearm, his movements went fluid. Frankie hand her hands down his spine, her nails digging in. He fucked her hard, eyes squeezed shut, unabashed sounds of need falling from his lips. She could feel him riding the line, desperately trying to hold onto himself and completely unable to do so.

With one last thrust, Eric held himself inside her as he came. His body shook, his hand dropping to her hip to hold her to him. Frankie pushed his hair back from his face, lifting a little to kiss his cheek as he came down.

With more care than she anticipated, Eric eased out of her and laid against her side. He wrapped an arm loosely around her waist, chest rising and falling rapidly. Frankie tangled her legs with his, enjoying the foreign warmth emanating from his skin.

“That was good,” she said unnecessarily.

He hummed in appreciation.

“Was it the dress?” she asked with a grin, “I think it was the dress.”

Eric laughed, “Sure, it was the dress.”

Frankie joined him in laughter, “Knew it.”

#The Guarantor #True Blood #Eric Northman #vampires #AU

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