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Vagaries	By : viciousv Category: S through Z > True Blood Views: 2100 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own True Blood or any of its characters, and I profit in no way from this work. Blood play, violence

Chapter List
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The vampire motel in Longview, Texas was conveniently located. It was underground, a series of old Cold War bunkers that some enterprising soul had converted into a vampire inn. Franklin left his mastercard at the front, and led her into the hallway. They staggered through the door, tangled up in each other, mouths locked and tongues duelling through extended fangs. Franklin kicked the door shut behind them. Tara grunted when he slammed her against it, then felt a purr rise through her as he resumed his attentions. His mouth was greedy on hers, and he hissed when she bit down on his tongue. His blood was something different from the convict’s. There was something familiar, comforting in it. It seemed to tug at her insides, to whisper yes, so good, so right, mine forever and ever.
Tara knew the feeling was deceptive. She knew it was the blood kinship they now shared. She hated him, wanted to disabuse him of his psychotic romanticism, but in this moment, he felt so good. She was high, her mind awash in blood, and his hands, his mouth, his cock pressing against her through his jeans, made her ache. Her fingers spidered over his chest, seeking out the mother of pearl buttons. Their hard shiny smoothness delighted her fingertips. She felt drunk, but without any of the thick headedness or dizziness. Her skin soaked in each sensation, each texture. The tension as she tugged his shirt open, the clicks as each snap gave. Little miracles.
She would have taken the time to explore him as she had not done, to taste his scars, to tease him. But she was too impatient. She shoved him back towards the bed, and he allowed himself to be pinned.
“Tara.” He said her name, letting the vowels curve in his mouth. On impulse, she reached back her hand and slapped him across the face. His head snapped to the side, mouth bloody where those long fangs had caught on his lip. His expression hardly changed, his eyes still unblinking, pupils dilated in the pale blue irises, like a junkie who had just shot to the moon.
He licked the blood off his lips. “Bitch.”
“That’s right,” she drawled. Nothing in her voice resembled the breathy anxiety to please she had affected when he’d trussed her up like a Christmas ham. She raised her hand again, this time delivering a backhand blow, turning his head the other way. He pulled her against him, and shoved his tongue up roughly into her mouth. He moaned, and the sound filled her, creeping down her throat, squeezing on her heart. His hands slid up her flanks, under the filthy, blood stained tank top, and lifted it off her body.
She curled over him, breasts pressing against his face, her fingers tightening in his crow feather hair. He kissed her skin, drew one of her nipples into his mouth and sucked it into hardness as his hands moved deftly, tugging her pants off in a fluid, effortless movement. One finger hooked under her panties and tested her, making her writhe.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he said in that blood-soaked voice. “So fucking wet, Tara.”
She gasped at his touch. It was true, she was wetter than she’d ever remembered having been as a human. He cupped her ass with one hand, and slid the other into her panties, pushing them aside so two fingers could slide inside of her.
“Oh my god” she breathed. Then again, her voice rising an octave as he crooked his fingers as though he was beckoning her. His face was predatory, his lips parted and his eyelids dropped to half mast, as though he was feasting on her pleasure, drinking it in.
“I want you inside me,” she breathed.
A throaty laugh. “How bad?”
He seemed to know she couldn’t say it. His fingers pressed into her, pressed her G spot hard enough to make wetness course over his hand. Then he slid them out, and licked them. Tara noticed there was a reddish tinge to what glistened on his fingers, a thin film of blood. Like everything else in her, composed of blood.
“Tell me, Tara. Ask me. I want to hear you say it.”
“Franklin.”
In a motion too fast to be entirely perceived, he shed his jeans and toppled her on to her back. Then he held back, grinning wickedly, the head of his long, bow shaped cock teasing into her wet slit. Her panties he tore slowly, almost leisurely, letting them rip seam by seam until they were nothing but shredded fabric. He let them fall, and moved his hand over her belly, sliding up over the muscles in her abdomen. She felt herself flutter inside, and squirmed, her blood crying out to him. His blood inside her, in her very skin.
“Say it,” he hissed, and this time it was a snarl.
She relented. She begged. “Please fuck me.”
He slid his entire length into her, his mouth twisting up into a snarl. She arched, and felt him fill her as though he occupied more than just the depth of her cunt, but the width and depth of her lower body. She hooked her leg over his shoulder and he braced himself against it as he drove into her, long, hard repeated strokes. With his fingers, he teased at her clit, circling it lightly with his thumb.
She closed her eyes, then opened them again as he pressed his forehead against hers. At that distance her human eyes would not focus, but as a vampire she could see perfectly into the clear depths of his blue. His eyes stayed open as he kissed her even more deeply, his tongue thrusting down into her mouth in echo of the thrust of his cock inside her. His hips ground against hers, and that animal noise rumbled up from deep inside him. Still he watched her, seeing her as he had seen her that first night, though how she knew it, she could not tell. Only that his face was the same feral mask it had been when he’d held that redneck’s arms behind his back, his eyes locked on her while she demolished the man’s face with her human fists.
You would’ve killed him if I hadn’t stopped you.
I wanted to.
Looking into his eyes, she saw into the black depths of his cruelty. The rattlesnake crazy, the capriciousness, the jealousy. But she could also taste his desperation on her tongue, like an ache in her mouth. The loneliness and confusion. She breathed it in like smoke.
He pressed his thumb over her clit as he executed one deep, hard stroke inside her.
“Come for me,” he ordered.
As though her body was responding to the command, she felt all her muscles inside twist around his cock. She felt it throb inside her as her hips twisted, too, and the elastic waves of tension and release washed over her body. He swallowed her choked cry, kissed the blood tears that welled at the corners of her eyes, and pinned her down as her lower back bent upwards like a bow. He turned his head, exposing his throat to her, and she knew at once what he wanted.
She ripped open the flesh, her fangs tingling as they sank into his neck. Dark thick Franklin blood spilled over her mouth as she worried the wound, opening up his jugular to the air. She slid her tongue up into it, probing the inside of the thick vein. His whole body went rigid.
“Fuck!” It was almost a scream, high pitched and animal. His hips bucked, and she could feel him coming, feel him spilling, like an cool jet spraying inside her. She sucked from his neck until the wound closed, then fell back on the bed, shivering and shaking like one sick with fever. She could feel his tremors, feel them in time with her own, rippling back and forth until the ebb finally slowed. It was a long time before it to subside entirely, and when it did, they were still wrapped up together, not breathing. Above ground, the sun had risen, and darkness swallowed them whole.
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Vagaries