Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

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
- 5
- 6
- 7
“Go downstairs and get gorgeous,” he’d told her. “More gorgeous,” he’d clarified after she’d skewered him with a look.
“What for?” It wasn’t defiance for once. She was curious.
Franklin reached out and touched her shoulder blade, tracing his finger over its shape. She looked over her shoulder at him, almost coquettish.
“Tonight,” he said. “Is the big game hunt.”
Armed with one of his cards, she’d gone off amiably enough. He made a brief call down to the desk, then repaired to the bathroom for a shower. Hot water sluiced over his long, white body, and unbidden, dark thoughts rose in his mind. Memories he would have done anything to burn out of his brain.
“Forgive me. Forgive me. Please, oh god, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.”
Those faces were dim now, but his other senses remembered. Remembered the sounds of pleading, of crying. The scent of peat smoke and mint leaves and straw. Remembered the fingers that clawed at him. Tiny fingers.
“Papa!”
“You are not my beloved. Get thee behind me, demon.”
Franklin pressed his face against the glass, and whispered to himself, trying to quiet his mind. His mind that so often betrayed him. He tried to find that hollow place where he normally lived, the place he’d carved out of himself. The place where he could hide, where the thing that was Franklin could be vapid, vain and wantonly cruel without guilt or regret. Why was it eluding him?
Tara. Of course, Tara. Sobbing over that broken human woman like a little girl who’d torn the dress on her favourite doll. He wondered if she would have to carve her own hole where she could be right with the gods that plagued her. Or, as seemed more likely, she already had plenty to hide in. He’d made a few of them himself. One day she’d thank him, he thought bitterly and shut off the water.
He shaved with long mastered precision, and worked some product through his hair so that it lost some of its shag, and resolved into loose, glossy ringlets. There was a knock on the door, and he wrapped one of the plush hotel towels around his waist. The bell hop held out a garment bag on a hanger, and Franklin accepted it.
“Add thirty percent to the gratuity,” he said, and the young vampire thanked him, then left. It was Russell’s money, of course, and Russell made a point of tracking him. He very much intended to leave a dead end to his paper trail here in Vegas, but in order to do that he needed hard cash. That said, he was certainly not above spending as much of Russell’s money as possible in the mean time.
The tuxedo, already tailored to his measurements, cost a very pretty penny indeed. It was a Westwood, lined inside with maroon silk, and togged out with pewter buttons which featured a very subtle skull shaped relief. He felt the shape under his thumb, then smiled and started to get dressed.
He did not spare more than a passing glance at his reflection before stepping out into the hallway, but he did enjoy the attention he drew as he made his way through the lobby towards the lounge. Whatever else he was, he had predatory good looks, and even though he relied little on them, he was aware of their power.
Still, his own beauty was a far second to that which he perceived when he entered the lounge. Tara was reclining on one of the many divans, her long braids twisted up into a knot at the back of her head, her body wrapped in a gown of Tyrean purple that reminded him of Grecian art he’d seen. Though this ensemble was deeply decollete and pleasantly taut over her breasts. She was even wearing makeup, just a dusting of black around her eyes. She wore no jewelry save a pair of opal earrings cut in the shape of tear drops. Fire opals, which picked out the amber in her eyes.
“You are a vision,” he murmured.
She didn’t quite smile when she saw him, but rose gracefully. A pair of cream coloured stilettos made her nearly of a height with him, and there was something imperious in her. Something inherited, like her fine cheekbones and almond eyes, as though from Nefertiti’s regal bloodline. He wasn’t nearly old enough to know for sure if they were alike, but the idea charmed him.
He offered his arm, and she took it, her fingertips brushing over the material of his jacket. He had to resist the urge to put his hands on her. If he did that, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from peeling her out of that dress and shagging her blind in front of all the hotel’s guests. He did allow himself the pleasure of stroking her neck with his knuckles.
The limousine took them to one of the newer casinos, one that was Ottomon themed. Though sublimely racist, the club (“Harem”) was perfect for their purposes. It was dark and crowded, but also featured an elevated VIP level that ringed the entire perimeter.
It was busy tonight, and the DJ was working a slow beat. The people on the dance floor were swaying, some drunk, some high, all of them sweaty and pulsing with sexual desire. Tara stopped dead in the cloud of human scent, her head turning towards the writhing limbs and bodies. She hesitated, distracted.
“Peace,” Franklin said, touching the small of her back. He drew his knuckles up her spine, gently exerting the tiniest of command on her focus. She shivered, then leaned into him.
“I’m fine,” she said. He nodded, and they made their way to the stairs. The bouncer did not look twice at them as they ascended. The VIP section was set up with a long bar, and a series of very large booths that went up to the ceiling. Only one was occupied. Seated by himself was a Latino man wearing a white crushed leather suit. He was making notes for himself in a little book, and he had the look of a man of deep business. Franklin reckoned he had a few murders under his belt. He felt a fleeting respect- here was another man of fortune, a man who played his kind of game.
He looked to his lady. “What do you think?”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I think that’s a V dealer, and you’re going to try and pimp me out to him.”
“Pretend. I’m going to pretend.”
She clicked her tongue. “No. I have a better idea.”
“Oh?”
She tapped her lip thoughtfully. “What should I know?”
Franklin considered. “He probably has anti-glamour contacts. It’s a new technology, but most V dealers have them. You’ll have to rely on other means to charm him.”
She glanced back at him. “If I go with him, you’ll be able to feel me? You’ll be able to follow?”
He nodded. He did not say, take care, or be wary. He wanted to see how she carried it.
“Wait at the bar.”
Franklin gave her a little half bow, and went to go perch on a stool. He flagged the bartender down and ordered a TruBlood, his ears tuned to the booth at the end of the row.
Tara, not a subtle soul, opened negotiations. “You look lonely.”
“Alone is not lonely,” said the man. He had a low, slow voice, with just a hint of accent. “May I help you?”
“Might be you can. It depends on you. You’re a businessman, aren’t you?”
“Perhaps. I should warn you that I do not discuss my business affairs in public with strange vampires.”
Tara seemed to consider her words. “If I had some business for you, where could we discuss it?”
He looked at her, and even at a distance, Franklin could sense his covetousness. He bristled a little, but fought the feeling down. He had to trust his baby vampire. He listened.
“If a transaction is to be made, I have a suite in this establishment.”
“My name is Tara,” she said, and offered her hand knuckles first in a perfect imitation of courtier.
“Santino.” His lips lingered a little too long on her skin. His dark eyes moved to Franklin, and he smiled slightly. “Your friend is not happy that you are speaking to me.”
“He’s a nuisance,” she said, and there was a careless contempt in her voice. “But he’s profitable.”
“Ah,” said Santino. “He is your progeny?”
“Unfortunately.”
“And...is he quite young?” Santino was now looking at him much the way a horse breeder investigates a yearling. Franklin did not like it, but he endured. He was going to punish Tara for this, he decided.
“Less than a year,” Tara said, adding a long-suffering sigh, as though she was a world-weary vampire of advanced age.
“I see,” the dealer said, a flat note of disinterest in his voice. “I should tell you, Tara, my clients pay handsomely for my product. A vinter peddles wine, not grape juice.”
Tara looked thoughtfully at Franklin. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded. They were just going to have to wing it. She turned back to the dealer.
“Say I agree. Will you do business with us?”
Santino’s eyes flicked over to Franklin, then back to Tara. “I will do business with you. Your...creature...must remain here.”
She gave Franklin a long, hard stare, then smiled at Santino. “Fair enough.”
Franklin waited until they were in the lobby before he followed. He watched the elevator floor number until it stopped at 17, then cast around for the entrance to the stairs. They were mercifully empty, and he sprinted up to the 17th floor in a blur of speed. Once on the landing, he remained by the door, listening. He could hear Santino’s key card beep, and the turning of the door handle.
“Please come in.”
When they were just inside, Franklin unleashed the force of his will on Tara, articulating as much as he could a single thought.
Kill him.
There was a strangled cry- too soft for mortal ears, but Franklin heard it. He crossed the hallway to where the door of the suite was still ajar. Tara’s mouth was latched to the V dealer’s neck, her fangs buried into the soft skin just under the jaw. Franklin hissed in annoyance as Santino struggled and swore in Spanish.
“Kill him,” Franklin ordered. “I can’t enter until he’s dead.”
Tara made a little whine of protest, shaking the man in her teeth like a cat with a rat.
Franklin rolled his eyes and huffed. “As your maker I command you.”
Tara grumbled, and snapped Santino’s neck. She released him, and he fell into a heap at her feet. Something spilled out of his inside jacket, something bright and shiny. It was a long fine silver chain.
Tara looked at it apprehensively, her mouth ringed with the man’s blood. “He was going to…but he seemed so nice.”
“First impressions aren’t everything.” Franklin said as he kicked the chain away. “You should know that by now. Now help me look for the safe.”
They found it quickly. It was brushed with silver, and Franklin had to bite down on his lip as he went to rip open the door. The searing pain blistered his fingertips, but it faded after a moment. Tara bent to look inside, and let out a low whistle.
“Check the bedroom for a bag,” he instructed. She returned with a gym bag that had the name of the hotel emblazoned on it. Franklin raked the cash into it, estimating nearly a million American dollars.
Tara watched with wide eyed wonder. “Holy mother of god.”
“Come on, come on,” Franklin urged. He opened the sliding glass door to the balcony and ushered Tara outside.
“Oh no,” she said, looking at the far away pavement seventeen storeys below. “This is too high. This is way too high.”
Franklin put an arm around her and she pressed his face into his chest. He concentrated his will, and they rose into the air. She clung to him in a death grip and whimpered rhythmically, until they touched down in front of the Hotel Carmilla.
---
Tara looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, trying to tell if she’d spilled any of Santino’s blood on her Vera Wang dress. It appeared to have survived, but before she could ease out of it, Franklin appeared in the mirror over her shoulder. He’d stripped down to shirt sleeves, and he looked amused.
“What?” Tara demanded. She was just reaching to wipe the last traces of blood from her face.
“Stop,” he said, putting up his hand. “Stay just like that”
Puzzled, she looked at him for an explanation. He said nothing, but made his way towards her, still holding her gaze in the mirror. He stopped just short, and reached around, using his fingertip to catch the blood from the corner of her mouth. He held them to her lips. She watched him as she bent to suck it off, taking his index finger entirely in her mouth before releasing it.
“You were brilliant tonight,” he said, letting his fingers glide along her arm.
Tara let out a breath. “I was scared out of my mind.”
He leaned against her, and moved her hair so he could kiss the back of her neck. “I’m proud of you.”
Tara looked at herself in the mirror, her makeup a little worse for wear, but she had a presence and a power she had not had a few short days ago. His words seemed to slip inside her, and warm her. She couldn’t remember when someone had taken pride in her, and she couldn’t help it. She was pleased.
She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. “Ever fuck in a pile of cash?”
His dark little chuckle crawled over her skin. “I wasn’t planning on going that far.”
His knee nudged between her legs, moving them apart. Suddenly she could feel his erection against the curve of her ass, and hardness seemed to trigger something inside her. With one hand he caught the hem of her dress, and pulled it up over her hips. Her panties, a scrap of lace, he ripped effortlessly aside.
Tara couldn’t stop a moan escaping her as he pushed into her, his cock sinking in to the hilt. He gasped softly, his hands sliding down her arms to where her hands rested on the marble. He circled her wrists with his hands, pinning them where they were.
“Look,” he said roughly, as he moved inside her in slow, deep strokes. “Look at us.”
Tara looked. Her face had the empty quality of pleasure. Her lips were parted, her chin dropped down, her eyes clouded. Franklin behind her, fucking her in that way he had that made her feel like his cock filled everything below her heart. His eyes were intent, his expression pure predator. His fangs flicked down, and he kissed the place where her neck and shoulder joined.
“I want to taste you,” he rasped.
Tara watched herself, almost fascinated by her own acquiescence. Her own submission. She turned her head and watched as the vampire’s teeth went into her neck. Franklin purred against her skin, the sharp pain of it accenting the wet, liquid pleasure of his cock inside her. He let go of her wrists and slid his hands back up her arms. Working deftly, he pulled the straps off her shoulders, and her breasts spilled out. He cupped them in his palms and withdrew his fangs from her neck.
“Come for me, darling,” he said softly, eyes on her, his mouth and teeth red with her blood. Tara shuddered as his influence, combined with the sustained pressure from his thrusts worked on her. Climax broke over her like a crashing wave. She screamed. She moaned his name. She gave herself over to it. Looking the mirror, she saw his lips drawn back, his fangs extended, the beast inside him revealed. He was deadly, and dangerous. He moved inside her.
She came again, arched back, her legs going a little weak as the tightness wrenched inside her. Franklin held her up easily, his hips pressed to her ass as he availed himself of her twisting, contracting insides. She felt his cock twitch, felt him spill inside of her. His roar vibrated against her skin.
He did not release her, but instead bore her down to the marble floor. In his frenzy he tore the dress off her body and drove his cock so hard into her she could feel her pelvis bending. Tara cried out, her nails clawing inch deep fissures into his back. He took her gaze and held it, his cock relentless inside her. His pupils were wide voids, his mouth and fangs bloody from his feasting. Tara tightened her legs around him and squeezed inside, her muscles wrapping him up with pressure.
“Fuck,” he rasped. “Yes.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes locked on hers even as his hips bucked and frissons chased themselves up and down his spine. He twitched, his body going limp across hers.
He sighed in her ear, and she felt his words as much as heard them.
“That will never stop being good.”
“Never is a long time,” she said, though she herself was beginning to realize that he wasn’t a habit she was going to be able to break easily, if at all.
“I’ve been around a long time,” he said quietly. “I’ve had it all, Tara. You’re something else entirely.”
“How long?” Tara suddenly realized she had never asked the question.
Franklin stared at her, and she could feel something inside him tense. He lifted himself off her, and started strip off the remains of his clothes, then went over to the jacuzzi and turned on the tap.
“Long,” he said, unhelpfully. Tara felt the shift of his mood, his ardour fading a little. She didn’t like that feeling- she associated it with telephone calls never returned. She sighed. However old he was, his ego was still as fragile as ever. She wondered about herself, if she wasn’t much better. His behaviour towards her had been monstrous, but here she was, annoyed by his sudden reticence.
She kicked off her shoes, and slid down into the water. The heat soaked into her skin, warming her right through to her bones. After a moment, Franklin joined her, making a tiny noise of pleasure as the water touched his pale skin.
“I want to know,” Tara said abruptly.
“I’m trying to figure out why,” he replied, glib and playful. It seemed forced.
“Maybe I’m trying to get to know you better.”
“Are you really?” his gaze had hardened. “As you’ve said, you hate me.”
She shrugged. “So?”
“If you get to know me more you’ll just hate me more.” Yes, he was definitely sulking
“Ain’t possible,” she replied. She wondered now if it was entirely true. She hated what he’d done to her, hated that she enjoyed what he did to her. Hated his control over her. Hated how good he felt. It was starting to dawn on her that those feelings were not incompatible with...whatever it was she felt for him now.
He lay back against the jets and sighed. “Four hundred and sixty-seven.”
“Jesus.”
He cocked a brow.
“You just seem…” she was fishing for the right word, and landed one. “Immature for your age.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re the one who wanted to know.”
“Your maker...you never knew anything? Heard anything?”
She could tell by his expression she was on thin ice. That, and the sudden wave of agitation that rolled through her.
“No,” he said shortly. “Not once in over four centuries. And before you ask, no, I have never felt any kind of connection or summons, or any hint of presence.”
“Maybe they’re dead,” Tara observed. “Could you prevent me from feeling you?”
Franklin thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I think it would take more discipline than I have.”
“Maybe you’re just lazy.”
He splashed water in her face, and she spluttered. He grinned like a naughty school boy, and then did it again.
“Stop it!” She put her hands up to ward him off. “Okay, jeeze. How the hell am I supposed to know any of this if you never mention it?”
“Because there are things…” he looked uncomfortable all of a sudden. “There are things that a maker is supposed to do. Things they are supposed to anticipate. A new vampire left alone rarely survives. If they do, there’s...consequences.”
It was a sobering thought. Tara imagined herself as she was when she had first come out of the ground. Disoriented and in pain. Starving. Franklin’s presence, loathsome though it had felt, had anchored her, directed her. Without him, she might have gone back to Merlotte’s, and slaughtered everyone she had ever known or cared about. She realized just how terrible, how cruel it would be, to be abandoned that way. Not only for herself, but for any unfortunate human within reach. Sam. Sookie. Jason. Lafayette and Arlene. Terry. Big John. Even Andy. Even Jane Bodehouse or Maxine Fortenberry. True, she hadn’t troubled herself about them since she’d been turned, but the thought of any one of the dead by her hand was unbearable.
She looked back to Franklin, who was not looking at her. He was absorbed in his own thoughts, watching the roiling water. She tried to picture him in the sixteenth century, couldn’t. He was only Franklin to her, her torment, her tonic, the maker she never wanted, the man whose madness had left scars on her. She tried to imagine if he left her tonight. It was almost a physical pain, deeper than just longing or loneliness. She tried to imagine feeling it for four centuries.
“Franklin,” she said, very very softly. His eyes flicked up to her, his handsome, angular face an impassive mask. He started slightly when she reached out to touch his hand, but then his fingers opened and threaded through hers. She flowed into his arms, and he held her against him.
“It’ll be morning soon,” he said. She nodded. She was already drifting.
“I’m falling asleep,” she mumbled against his neck. He slipped one arm under her legs, and lifted her out of the water as though she weighed nothing at all. Where it found no purchase, the water sloughed off her. Where it clinged, Franklin kissed it away. He was still kissing her when darkness covered her mind.
- 5
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Vagaries