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 |
She was going to wake soon. Franklin sat up against the headboard, folded his hands in his lap and watched her. For a vampire, he’d always been a bit of an early riser, but most new vampires didn’t wake until the sun was completely set. He estimated that would happen in five minutes, and then his baby vampire would wake. He had a sinking feeling that she was going to be angry with him. Sure, they’d shared a moment- okay, a fucking good moment, quite unlike anything he’d ever experienced with another vampire- but he was cognizant enough to recognize it wasn’t because of her overwhelming passion for him. He’d shared blood with another vampire, but he’d never enjoyed the subtle power of he had over Tara’s flesh. He could control the ebb and flow of her blood, call to it, find her no matter how far or how long she ran.
But for all that, he could not quench her hatred, her contempt towards him. He could not order her to love him, or even to like him. He could not glamour her or control her thoughts. Her body and blood, through some weird vampire dogma, was his to command. But her soul was untouchable. And he knew, instinctively, his power to exert his will over her would eventually weaken as she grew stronger.
“You know,” she said, even before her eyes opened. “All that shit I said before, when you tied me up, dressed me up like your little slave doll, that wasn’t true.”
“I know,” he said, feeling a weight settle in his chest. Of course he’d known. That knowledge had lived side by side with the knowledge that his little fantasy would end the same way it always had: a full belly, and an empty, drained corpse.
“You took what I didn’t want to give.” It was a cold statement, not at all the tantrum he’d expected. “You raped me, and abused me, and then blamed it all on me before you murdered me.”
He raised himself from the bed and turned to face her, giving back every bit of her penetrating stare. “I made you immortal.”
She slid out of the bed, and leaned against the corner post, her taut black body reminding him of a panther. Strength coiled under the lazy exterior and she had an easy grace she had not had as a mortal. She watched him as his eyes travelled over her, unable to help himself. And he watched her, as her eyes lingered on his wiry frame, his scars from long ago.
“What do you think this is?” she asked, her slide-guitar accent enhancing her contempt. “Fucked up. You fucked it up. You fucked me up.”
His mouth twisted in a sneer. “Okay. I fucked you up. What do you want me to say?”
A tiny flicker of hurt crossed her face. “Are you even going to pretend you’re sorry?”
In a blink, he closed the distance between them, enjoying the jerk of shock that went through her as his arms came around her. “Why? I’m not sorry. It was fun. I enjoyed it. I would do it again. It doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”
She looked up at him, disgust written all over her face, but she did not try to duck away or push him back. She just glared.
“It was my fear you loved,” she said, and then pushed her chin out defiantly. “I ain’t afraid no more.”
It was true. Her fear, that heady intoxicant, had hardened into something he could not consume. But he sensed in her now something that reminded him of a tonic he could savour. She’d killed in front of him, without hesitation or thought, and just remembering that had made his cock hard. The memory of her beating the living shit out of that human trash had shown him what it was, more than her fear of him, that he found so irresistible. It was embarrassing now to think how much time had wasted with games, when all he really wanted was to taste that sweet acrimony again.
“It’s not your fear I want,” he whispered.
Her lower lip quivered, but her jaw was set. “What do you want from me?”
His mouth twisted up into a smirking smile as he, slowly, backed her against the rough stone wall.
“Your rage,” he confided in a whisper. “Your anger. Your exquisite violence. When you broke that rube’s face open like a fucking pinata, it was gorgeous. You were gorgeous.”
He kissed her quivering lip, sucking into his mouth, letting the tip of his nose brush against hers.
“Why?” A note of pain in her shuddering voice. “Why do I want you so badly? It’s worse than when I drank your blood.”
He nosed against her cheek, inhaling the scent of her- something less tangible than scent, really, more just a recognition of something familiar that tingled where his skin touched hers. “I’m inside you, now. Every fiber of you. Your blood knows mine. It goes deeper than any connection.”
She didn’t shy or try to push him away as cupped her ass. Her fury melted away, and her lips parted with helpless want. More than that- it was crippling need. He pressed her against the wall and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him as he slid his cock into her, knowing he would find her wet. He wanted her wet for him, and so she was.
The defiant tension seemed to go out of her as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her thighs gripped his waist as he moved in her, a slow, lazy rhythm. Her head tilted back, and he kissed her dark throat. His tongue flickered out over the jugular vein, and raised it. He could smell the convict’s blood chasing through her veins.
“Bite me,” she breathed.
“Say you want me to,” he intoned.
“Franklin.” His name was a hiss, full of frustration and desire. Hearing it gave him a shiver of pleasure, almost as much as the feeling of her flesh yielding for his fangs. He sealed his mouth over the wounds and a sustained groan resonated in his chest. The whine of pleasure that escaped her resonated in his teeth, and he gripped her neck in his hand, his fingers digging into her soft skin.
Her blood was enriched from last night’s meal, and he felt his veins perk up, his skin tingle. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been. The prospect of hunting with her gave him a jolt of pleasure. Not wanting to delay that pleasure any longer, he resolved to finish. He thrust into her, once, twice, coming inside her hard and fast.
She came when he did, not the earth shattering orgasm of the night before, but still arresting enough to make her cling to him and whimper. She held fast to his shoulders, her body going limp between him and the wall. He kissed and licked the wounds in her neck until they sealed and disappeared.
“There is something wrong with me,” she said, and there was a faint hint of a sob in her voice. Then, intractable Tara took over. “I hate you so fucking much. How do you make it feel so good? It shouldn’t feel good to fuck someone you hate.”
Still nestled between her legs, he crooked a finger under her chin, and lifted it. “Do you remember what I said to you the night we met?”
She understood him at once. “You said I lost myself to the void.”
“I am the void.”
She stared into him. He stared back, and smiled.
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