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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
- 4
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- 6
Tara showered quickly, not doing more than rising the blood and dirt residue off her body from the night before. She’d insisted that Franklin leave her alone to do this, and he’d obliged, with a smug face. Once by herself, she marvelled at the way the dirt and blood just flaked off and dissolved. It was as though her pores had tightened, her skin becoming smoother and less penetrable than human skin. In five minutes, she was clean. Perhaps cleaner than she’d ever been as a human. She examined herself in the tall mirror set into the rock. While her body had not in any way been depleted of colour, her dark skin now seemed to give off a faint radiance, as though it had become slightly reflective. None of the matted chalkiness of her maker’s English complexion. She reached inward for that new reflex, tensing something inside the front of her skull that caused her fangs to flick down.
They were easily larger than the fangs of any other vampire she’d met or seen, with exception to Franklin’s. Maybe a hair smaller than those of her maker, but almost precisely the same shape.
Fucking damn, she thought. He put pieces of himself in me.
She wondered what else she’d inherited from him, and then decided she didn’t want to know. She went out into the bedroom to find one of his black shirts laid out for her. She said no word of thanks, though she was secretly relieved. She had not wanted to try and get back into the sticky, ruined mess that was the tank top she’d been buried in. Her jeans were not that much worse for wear- a few spots of blood, a patina of dirt- so she slid into them.
Franklin’s shirt was a little loose on her, but she didn’t give it another thought. Only after she was dressed did she acknowledge his presence. He lingered by the doorway with an indulgent smile.
“Hungry?” he asked, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Of course she was hungry. Of course he knew it. She said nothing, but brushed past him, making her way down the hall towards the exit.
“I’m driving,” she said as they walked up to the Chevelle.
“You’re driving?” he repeated, incredulous.
She held out her hand for the keys, twitching her fingers impatiently in a “give it” gesture.
Looking nonplussed, he reached into his pocket, and dropped them into her palm. She gave a little proud toss of her head, and then got behind the wheel. Franklin folded himself into the passenger seat and watched her expectantly.
“Where are we going?”
Some inscrutable instinct told her what to do. She closed her eyes, rolled down the window and listened. In the distance, the sound of honky tonk, a babel of slurred voice, and more distinctly, the roar of Harley Davidson motorcycles. She opened her eyes and looked at Franklin, who nodded his approval. She put the car in gear, and pulled away from the curb.
Tanker trucks passed them going the other way, and Tara toyed with the idea of jerking the wheel to the left. A head on impact was almost guaranteed to create a fireball large enough to consume her and Franklin both. But she pushed the thought away. She wasn’t ready to die yet. There was still more to explore, at present her curiosity was more powerful than her misery.
Her eyes flicked over to Franklin, who had not appeared to have guessed her thoughts. Instead, he stared out the passenger side window, looking at nothing at all. Even for a vampire, there was little to stimulate in Longview. She considered him, then made a concerted effort not to look at him. Could she kill him? How? When? She had sussed out that he had some kind of physical control over her. Sookie had told her that unless released, vampires had to obey their makers. She hadn’t understood just how visceral it would be. And the effect to which Franklin had used it on her- causing her body to be sexually attracted to him- that left a sour taste in her mouth.
She put it aside. It was a problem for later.
The bar was at the very edge of town. It had the feel of a Hell’s Angels pledge, but there were probably more posers than gang members. Music blared out of the low, long shack, and a few stringy looking women were hanging about the front entrance. She could smell some acrid smell coming off their leathery flesh, but she couldn’t quite name it.
“Meth,” Franklin supplied.
“Some things don’t never change,” she said, pulling up the parking brake. She saw that behind the bar, there was a yard full of big rig trailers. She watched unblinkingly, waiting for a signal. Two figures, one male, one female, staggered together around the back of the bar, disappearing into the forest of trailers. Then she was off, moving so fast that the details of the world around her stretched and blurred. In a heartbeat, she found what she was looking for.
Her hand seized the stained collar of the redneck, and tossed him effortlessly into one of the wheel wells, where he crumpled. The hooker, one of the lizard women with prematurely aged face and sour smell, opened her mouth to scream. It was cut short when Tara’s hand went around her throat.
“Shut the fuck up,” she snarled, her fangs already down.
“Please,” the woman garbled. “Please, I have kids.”
“Oh yeah?” Tara hissed, giving her a little shake. “They ain’t gonna miss you, you fucking trash. You let these losers use you like a fucking condom, you piece of shit.”
The rage that was surging through her was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She wanted to reach down this woman’s throat and rip her heart out by the roots. Yes, she was going to die, Tara decided.
“You’re weak,” she spat, demented. “You had a choice. You let this happen. You let him hurt you. You let him do those things to you. You liked it, you fucking whore.”
The hooker, whose eyes bulged, was just aware enough to register confusion.Tara shook her again, like a terrier shaking a rat. Through the blood mist, the face that begged had turned into her own. She screamed, ripping the the woman’s head halfway off her neck and surged forward, fangs first. The hooker twitched and jerked like a clubbed fish, dying quickly now that the spine was the only thing holding her head on. Tara shoved her face into the shredded stump of her neck and inhaled as much blood as she could. Then she grasped the woman’s skull and crushed it, the bones cracking under the skin. A strangled sob escaped her, and she sat down in the dirt, hugging the maimed, ruined head to her chest.
“Tara.” Franklin’s voice was soft, the note of concern alien and unfamiliar to her.
“Are you happy?” she cried. He ducked as she pitched the head at him. “This is what you did. This is what you made.”
Franklin stepped around the unconscious redneck and stood over her, watching her intently. She gazed back at him helplessly, her shoulders sagging. She felt like a child, legs splayed in front of her, sticky mess covering her from mouth to navel.
He crouched down so he could look her in the eye. Something in him, something underneath the swollen narcissism and selfish desire, seemed to sense her anguish. He made as if to reach out to her, but stopped.
“It will pass,” he said finally. He did not elucidate.
Tara searched into his white face, dimly perceiving the details, the sharp angles, the roguish five o clock shadow, the now-blue now-green of his hooded eyes, but could see no answers.
“How do you know?” she demanded, lifting her hands to see the blood and gristle clinging to them.
He tilted his head. “Because I was worse.”
“How?” she asked, disbelieving.
“Because,” he said, his words halting. “My maker turned me, and left me. Even now, I don’t know anything about him...or her. You remember how you felt, before you first fed. I killed an entire village before I got a grip. Men, women. Children.”
Tara stared openly at him. His empathy, his patience, his sudden introspection could almost have fooled her into thinking he was the same person he’d been the night they’d met.
“Children?” She felt a sharp jab, remembering the hooker’s plea to her. I have kids.
Not anymore you don’t. You don’t have anything now.
Franklin’s tongue traced the flat edge of his human teeth, as though considering his words. “I’m not proud of it. I know I’m not...I know I’m a bit mad. But I’m not…”
Tara felt something twist inside her like a knife. She realized with surprise that it wasn’t her pain, but his. And somehow, it was worse. She didn’t understand. And then she did. “You had children.”
He said nothing. She wondered. Then she sensed a flicker of the truth. Horror blossomed inside of her, and she struggled to pull herself away from comprehension.
He rose and looked down upon her, his mouth a rigid line. The agony inside her turned numb. Whatever knowledge he was keeping back, it was a flaming coal too hot to touch. Long practice had taught him how to unremember.
“Get up,” he said harshly. “We can’t stay here.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, very quietly.
He sneered. “Don’t pretend that you feel compassion for me, Tara. I don’t need your fucking pity.”
Slowly, she rose, and took a shaky breath, forgetting she didn’t need to. Her confrontational nature made it hard for her to demure, but she found even footing inside herself. He had already turned to go get the car, but she reached out and caught his hand. He turned, annoyed, but didn’t slap her hand away.
She looked him right in the face. “If you knew anything about me you’d know I ain’t no good at pretending.”
He gazed long at her, as though trying to see through her eyes into her mind, but unable to. His cold fury seemed to flag. He looked down at the hand that held his, dark against his. The hooker’s blood stained his fingers. He pulled away and started towards the car, and she watched him lift them to his mouth.
----
“Where are we going?” Tara asked, after an hour of sustained silence. Franklin was behind the wheel, now. Draining the redneck had not dulled his new edge, but he did seem more focused now.
“Dallas,” he said absently. He was staring over the wheel into the darkness.
“Why Dallas?”
“You’re just full of questions, aren’t you.”
“Well fuck, never mind.”
The minutes dragged, and then he looked over at her. “We’re going to get a flight to Las Vegas. It’s the easiest place in the world to get ready currency. I have credit cards, but I’d rather not have Russell checking my receipts.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Russell has access to your credit cards?”
He pursed his lips. “He thinks I’m irresponsible.”
“Big surprise.”
He glared at her. She desisted and turned her face away, smiling to herself.
They stopped at a medium sized shopping centre. Franklin put a Mastercard in her hand, and went off to occupy himself while she picked out a few essentials. Feeling a shockingly familiar and shallow thrill (usually brought on by payday and a good markdown sale) she made her way into a department store and went to work.
She spent easily twice the amount of what Sam Merlotte paid her in a month. She added two pairs of jeans, a few tank tops and sundries, a black suede leather motorcycle jacket, and a pair of gorgeous snake skin boots to her small arsenal. The confusion and grief of the previous hour felt more distant and less painful as she looked at herself in the mirror. She felt more normal than she had since this entire mess had fallen on her. Maybe even a little better than normal. She shot the lapels of the jacket as she walked out.
Franklin was waiting for her in the food court, looking completely out of place. Amidst the formica and fluorescent lights, he was like a black hole. His skin looked even more sallow than usual. Completing the weirdness, he was sipping TruBlood through a straw while he browsed an Ikea catalogue.
Even if someone failed to notice he was a vampire, he had a distinct whiff of the outsider. But, had she passed him by as a casual viewer, Tara had to admit she would’ve stopped to check him out. With his black curls, bright blue-green eyes, and deep cheekbones, he was an undeniably striking man. The way he was continually sipping like a little kid with a Big Gulp was almost endearing.
He caught her looking, and a little half smile twitched on his face. She wove through the mostly empty tables over to him, and sat down.
“Here,” he said, pulling another TruBlood out of a shopping bag. Tara twisted the cap off, took a sip, and then gagged.
“Oh my god, that’s nasty.”
“Shhh,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “We like TruBlood. Especially in public.”
Tentatively, Tara took another sip, and grimaced. True, it did send a little zing through her veins, but it did not taste like human blood, nor did it warm her the way human blood did. It tasted like salt and metal filings. She tried one more sip, and then pushed it away.
“I know,” Franklin said in an undertone. “We’ll get something when we land.”
The flight was not pleasant, but it was short. Franklin had an Anubis Air account, and he was able to upgrade to a double travel coffin so they could stay together. At first Tara wanted to balk, but as they closed the metal lid over them, she found she was grateful to have his arms around her. From the moment they had left Longview, he had not made any gesture of affection or desire towards her, and it was strange to think of how lonely it had made her feel. Was that his influence? Could he evoke desire from her, and then put her in the cold? Either way, she felt strangely comforted by his presence. Safe, even. That was almost frightening. Sleep washed over them as dawn came. His lips were still pressed to her forehead when they woke.
The limousine shuttle for the Hotel Carmilla met them at the airport. Franklin was still muted and broody as he dropped himself back into the seat, but Tara could not repress a childish wonder. She had never been outside of Louisiana, and she had certainly never been in a limo. She pressed her face against the glass to watch the procession of glittering signs, the lights illuminating the overwrought facades of the great casinos and gambling dens.
The room was just as impressive. A light tight room with en suite jacuzzi and a king sized bed. Franklin seem completely bored by his surroundings, as jaded as any business traveller, but Tara couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to touch the silken grey and red damask duvet. She turned to see Franklin watching her intently, his head a little ducked, as though he was expecting to be upbraided. Tara considered him. He had so many personalities, it was difficult to keep track. Companionable gentleman, manic depressive paramour, persecuted victim, and now this downcast vulnerability. Tara thought she knew better than to be fooled, but she knew beyond a doubt that whatever this was, she had touched some ancient hurt inside him, and he would brook no further inquiry.
She approached him, and didn’t say anything- no caveats, no “this doesn’t mean what you think it means”- because she sensed that she had finally shaken him out of that fantasy. When she rested her hands on his chest and looked up into his visage with its pursed lips and drawn brows, she felt no subtle exertion on her body, nothing beyond the natural pull of his flesh and blood that came from their kinship. It was though his shock back to reality had sapped him of his will or desire to force her arousal. Without the weight of his influence, she wondered about her own power, whether the blood worked in reverse, whether she could evoke impulses, desires in him. Looking at his face, she decided she would wait to try. She wanted to use her hands. And her mouth.
Without breaking her gaze, she let her fingers creep under his shirt. He cooperated, raising his arms above his head so she could lift it off, but he did not reach for her, merely watched her as she explored him. He was fit, and lean, but with none of the ostentation of the protein shake drinking gym rat. It was a different kind of fit- tooled muscle developed over a lifetime of combat. Not perfectly symmetrical, nor unblemished. Her fingers found hardened scars, a few diagonal lines on his right flank, as though he had been slashed. There was also a pattern of small dents, situated on the muscle to the left of his navel. She dipped her finger into one of the dents, testing the depth.
“What made this?” she asked.
His eyebrow arched. “A morningstar.”
“A what?”
He looked meaningfully at her. “You bashed my head in with one.”
“Oh.” Tara felt an absurd stab of chagrin. Then she looked at his face, his slight pout, and burst out laughing. She put a hand on her chest as though to steady herself, head bent down as she giggled, and gasped. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”
Franklin put both hands on the back of her head, and pulled her mouth roughly to his. She squeaked with surprise, then let herself melt into it. His tongue scraped over her lateral teeth, and she made a small involuntary sound as her fangs dropped. He pulled away, and the wicked smile had returned to his lips. He lifted her chin in his thumb and index finger and looked down at her.
“Let me see.”
She drew back her upper lip to show him her fangs. He thumbed them, looking satisfied. “Lovely. You’ve got mine.”
“Did you know that would happen?” she asked, taking his hand and pulling him towards the bed.
“No,” he admitted. “It turns me on, though.”
He surprised her by dropping down on to his knees. He looked up at her as he pressed a kiss to her navel, and she shivered.
He tugged the button of her jeans open. “Everything about you turns me on.”
She stood, paralyzed as he eased the jeans down off her hips. His eyes flicked up to hers again, wicked eyes, eyes that said, “I want you to watch me while I do this to you.”
He hooked a finger into her panties and pulled them aside, revealing her cunt. She was already wet when his tongue delved into her slit. She could feel him smile against her skin as her spine bent forward. She slid her hand into his hair and gripped it as his tongue lapped at her, teasing, probing. She panted, her muscles contracting inside. His fangs slid down, and he angled his mouth so that the wide ivory curve of his left pressed against her clit.
She came, crying, in a hot wet rush. With a growl, Franklin turned his head and sealed his mouth over her, sucking down the fluid that issued from inside her.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” She gasped, her spine vacillating back so she was half on the bed. Franklin rose, grinning like the world’s most evil boy scout, and pushed her legs apart.
Then he stopped, held back, and she looked up at him in dim confusion.
“Get on top of me.”
Tara raised an eyebrow, then shifted out from under him and pressed him back on the bed. She straddled him, sinking languidly down on to his cock. He groaned, shifted his hips a little, then put a hand on her back and pulled her flat against him so her breasts crushed against his chest.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered. “Kiss me.”
As their mouths worked against each other, they began to levitate. Tara opened her eyes just as her back pressed into the ceiling. Franklin purred appreciatively, and then began to thrust into her in earnest. Her nails sliced into his back as his cock hooked her inside in ways that made her whole body quake. He rolled her hair up in his fist and pinned it against the ceiling, and his mouth moved down to her neck. Her own fangs descended as her nose brushed against his skin. The smell of his blood was too inviting. She drove the points home, catching the spray in her mouth. His cry was strangled, but it evolved into a moan as he returned the gesture, his teeth piercing her throat.
It was transcendent stimulation. He cradled her head with his hand, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside her just his blood pulsed into her mouth, thundered through her. All the while, his mouth greedily sucked blood out of her. It went on like that for moments or days, until Tara could feel his blood circulating through her, her blood circulating through him. They came together, perfectly in time, throbbing violent tremors chasing each other through each other’s flesh. Tara felt the contraction rake through her insides, as though the orgasm was in her very veins, threatening to burst her lifeless heart. When it passed, finally, she felt boneless, weightless, as though she had left her flesh. Franklin held her wrapped up in his arms, and together they descended gently to rest on the bed. Tara, atop him now, leaned down to kiss the blood tears from his eyes.
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Vagaries