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That's Not My Name	By : marksandspence Category: S through Z > True Blood Views: 6314 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I have not created the True Blood (credit to Charlaine Harris & Alan Ball) or BtVS universes (credit to Joss Whedon) and do not have any claim on the characters other than the ones I have added. I make no money off of these stories.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter 8
Author’s note: This chapter contains sexually explicit language and situations. *finally*
Everything had been settled to Peia’s satisfaction by the end of that night. The doctor had managed to come up with something to stabilize Spike’s decline, buying them time. Lafayette, under some duress, had been able to put them into contact with someone who had experience with the kinds of spells that Gillian had likely used. By the end of the next day, Dr. Ludwig, working with the witch had come up with an antidote of sorts – they were under instructions to administer it the following morning once Peia’s obligation had been met. Peia had insisted that Spike stay in their hotel room with a guard instead of being kept in a back room of Fangtasia.
Pam had instructed Peia to report to Fangtasia by 10pm and added in a perfunctory tone, “Don’t wear too much perfume. Eric finds is irritating.” This made Peia’s stomach clench and also made her want to bathe in the stuff, but she resisted the impulse.
By 10, the club was only about half full. Eric, sitting in his usual place, kept a casual eye on the door and noted Peia’s prompt arrival without perceptible reaction. He took note that she looked, for the most part, just as she had the previous three times he had seen her. Her lipstick may have been a bit fresher, but she had not dressed for the occasion in any obvious way. She was wearing a skirt, but casual and not overly short. The look was, as usual, stylish but low-key, flattering to her figure, but not overtly feminine or sexual. He expected to be disappointed, often finding it amusing when women tart themselves up to play the part. Instead, he was pleased to find that this seemed to add to his interest, which had been, in fact, relatively mild.
Pam greeted her and told her to get a drink at the bar. Eric would let her know when he wanted her to join him. So Peia got herself a scotch and sat at the bar, wondering if she should have taken something a bit more powerful. No, she had decided it was better to be alert. She did not look for him in the club – did not notice him observing her. That said, she had surmised the reason for the wait – the reason not to have met him in his private residence – was so that he could watch and pick her out of the crowd, some sort of vampire foreplay, mimicking a predator selecting its prey.
I will be in the game, but I will not play the game, she repeated to herself as she sipped the scotch and tried to distract herself by considering her fellow patrons.
After an hour or so, she felt herself start to get agitated – the waiting was the worst and the more time went by, the sooner it was all going to start. She noticed the man next to her light a cigarette and she turned and asked if she could bum one. The man smiled, offered her one, which she took and promptly put in her mouth. Just as she leaned in to get a light, Eric appeared.
“Ready?” He said, gruffly, grabbing her hand without waiting for a response and pulling her away from the bar.
He took her to his office, which she had seen before when she was exploring the building looking for bats. She could see that there was a door slightly ajar on the far side of the room – a closet? A small room? She couldn’t remember from the plans, but decided it might have been a small storage room of some kind. She glanced around nervously as he sorted some papers on the desk and then looked at his phone, presumably checking messages.
“I don’t suppose you have a light?” She asks, cigarette still in her hand.
“Let me get that for you,” He replies without looking up. He quickly walks over, grabs the cigarette and throws it in the trash, then looks back down at his phone.
She rolls her eyes.
“Those things will give you cancer.” He scolds in a slightly mocking tone.
“Not really worried about that, thanks.” She isn’t.
“You seem nervous,” He observes.
“Uneasy, perhaps. Hard as this may be to believe, I’m new to this whole whoring business. Not really sure how this is supposed to go.”
There is a knock at the door. Eric walks over and opens it a crack. He grumbles something in Swedish to the person standing on the other side. Then he walks back to his phone and appears to send a text.
“Excuse me. I just have to take care of something.” He starts to walk out of the room. “Can I get you another drink?”
“I left my scotch at the bar.”
He nods and leaves. She looks around the room and then cautiously takes a few steps toward the other door. She peers in – it is windowless and about half the size of the office she is in now. To the left is a coffin, but the bulk of the room is taken up by a king sized bed in the middle, black sheets, no covers. Along the floor are some large, unlit candles, with obvious prior use. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then heads back to the other side of the office, hearing Eric’s voice as he approaches the outer door.
Eric walks in and hands her the glass after locking the door behind him.
“Pardon the interruptions. I usually do this sort of thing in the basement where I have more privacy, but we’ve got some…er…people down there.”
She swigs the rest of the scotch, gaining some courage from the boldness of the act.
“Where is the antidote?” She says in a surprisingly level tone.
“It is here. Safe.”
“May I see it?”
“You do not trust me?”
“I do, actually, though I don’t know why,” after a brief pause, “I’d still like to see it.”
“Very well.”
He walks over to a safe on his desk, opens it and takes out a flask. She nods and he puts it back, closing the door, but not locking it.
“What did you tell him?” Eric asks as he leans back against a desk, watching Peia.
“The truth. Mostly. That you wanted to bite me. That I thought you would honor your word. That I don’t mind. It’s all he needed to know.”
“Interesting that you would focus only on the blood.”
“Men are funny about sex,” She states plainly.
“Vampires are funny about blood,” He counters.
Are they? She wonders to herself.
“I’m pretty sure he would have a bigger problem with sex – if that is going to be part of the deal – so I was sure to de-emphasize that aspect.”
Looking at her more closely and inhaling slightly.
“These are not your clothes. You bought them today. You plan on throwing them away.”
“As I said, men are funny about these things.”
“And women are not?”
“Women are more pragmatic. It’s funny because the common opinion is that women can’t separate sex from emotion, but I think that is just what men tell themselves. I think women may actually be better at it than men – the separation. When circumstances require it.”
“An endless history of whores would agree.” Eric adds, without judgment.
She tends to ramble when she is nervous….
“I think the main difference is that our brains are more in control. Men have sex when they want to and they can’t when they don’t. Women are always able to have sex, but we can choose whether or not to let ourselves enjoy it, whether or not to have it mean something more. At least we learn to over time.”
“Over time?” He repeats back to her, skeptically.
“Sure. Every woman falls in love with their first. Some learn faster than others after that.”
He cannot help his mind jumping to Sookie and Bill – perhaps it was not just the blood. He tries hard not to fixate on it, else he will start comparing this human to Sookie and his night will be ruined.
Peia, nervously rambling, continues, “Maybe that’s why men go for younger women – they hope to get them in that early phase when orgasms mean true love.”
Eric moves closer to her now, trying to shake the thoughts of Sookie. As he continues the conversation, he starts to slowly undress Peia. He begins with her shirt – a light cotton blouse with buttons down the front.
“But not you. You are old and wise,” He responds with a hint of sarcasm.
“Older and wiser, yes,” she replies, standing perfectly still while he works on each button of her blouse in turn.
“Than?”
“Than when I was 22.” She hesitates a moment, wondering what his reaction will be if she tells him the truth. “I’m 64 now.”
At this point he has finished with the buttons and he pulls the shirt off of her shoulders, tossing it on a nearby chair. Underneath is a black tank top.
“Do you consider that old?” He asks, barely paying attention, focusing instead on her clothes and the body underneath.
“Well, yes. I mean, twenty of those years were spent in a coma, so I can’t take experience credit for all of them. How old are you?” She asks, honestly curious.
He pulls her tank top over her head, barely touching her skin directly.
“Considerably older than Spike, which is all that is relevant.”
He scans her upper body, now just covered in a simple pale blue bra. He looks up at her face and at her hair, as if noticing the color for the first time. Fingering one of the blue highlights, he asks, “Do you dye your hair to match your eyes, or is it just coincidence?” Glacial ice, he thinks to himself.
She is thrown by this question and flusters, “I, eh, change the color a lot.”
He kneels down in front of her and starts pulling down her skirt. She feels a surge of adrenaline, and her hearts starts beating quickly in response. She has never been in this situation before – never been viewed in this way. She is not self-conscious. Not because she believes herself flawless – hardly – but simply has the acceptance that comes with age. And she has no desire to please Eric – her intention is to do the minimum she has to tonight to fulfill her obligation, nothing more. And yet feeling his appraising eyes on her, having someone see her only physically is disconcerting. As with all situations with which she is unfamiliar, she tries to take back control. She blurts,
“Do you think we can start with the biting? I’d quite like to get that over with.”
He finishes pulling down her skirt, which she steps out of and he tosses next to her shirts. Her panties are the boyshort type, the same color as the bra – cheap, but new, as with everything else. He notes, in passing, not as slender as Sookie, breasts a bit bigger, thighs thicker, waist narrower in proportion, but backside fleshier.
He frowns a moment at her words, looking confused and then scans the rest of her body thoroughly, but quickly this time, turning her around roughly with his hands as he looks again. He steps back, his eyes wide.
“He has never bitten you.” It probably should have been a question, but he is quite sure. There are no remnants of bite marks in the usual places and the only areas still covered would not be choice.
Oddly speechless at his reaction, she just shrugs.
“Why?” He asks, flabbergasted.
“We wanted to keep blood out of it. Keep things honest.” It’s true. She and Spike had the conversation after they first starting seeing each other and she had said she was willing, but it seemed best to them to keep it separate – the food lust and the lust lust.
“You know that is not normal? No vampire would have relations with a human and not take blood. Gillian must have truly messed with his head.”
“Hey, you don’t know him. You don’t know us,” She responds defensively.
“You do not know vampires.” Eric states, definitively.
Suddenly, this just got a whole lot more interesting. A virgin neck is always more appealing.
He walks toward her with a predatory look in his eye and she reflexively backs away until she comes up against the wall behind.
“You have not tasted his blood, then?”
“No, why?” She is at first disgusted, then thinks a moment, “Well, other than…”
He smiles, getting her implication and then picturing her with a cock in her mouth. His face is quite close to hers and he relishes her nervous anticipation. He whispers in a lusty voice while placing his hand on her crux of her neck,
“So he is not yours and you are not his and yet you are willing to do this for him? To give another vampire the rights to something he himself does not have?”
“Flesh is only flesh. There are bigger things to harbor.”
“So that is love, then.” Spoken as if he is trying to understand.
She nods, but then quickly adds in a quiet voice tinged with uncertainty, “I hope so,” still tense expecting his fangs at any moment. This could be the wrong decision. This could ruin everything.
She feels oddly free with her honesty. Perhaps there is comfort in someone else knowing. She will not see him after this, so what does it matter?
“Rest assured, it is only your flesh I seek,” After a brief pause, he continues, reasserting control, “I will taste when I wish to taste and I think, perhaps, there are other things I wish to do first.” And with that, he brings his hand down to her chest, slides it to her back to unclip her bra and tosses the garment to the floor. He then lowers himself enough to slide off her panties, moving his hands along her body she stands back up.
Standing there, naked, she feels a surge of defiance and states plainly as his face reaches the level of her own, “Just so you know, I have no intention of faking it for you. I don’t even fake it for men I like.”
He smirks, mildly amused. He would tell her later that these words, along with the way they were delivered, were among the first to truly spark his interest.
“I do not think that will be a problem,” he counters. “Although, you have convinced me that what I desire is more than our original bargain.” He releases his fangs and stares into Peia’s eyes, “You will give yourself to me, completely. You will release yourself to take seek pleasure in all we do tonight. Show me how you ‘have a good time’,” throwing her own words back.
“No.”
“What?” He retracts his fangs in shock, irritated.
Not another one who cannot be glamoured. What is the point?
“That thing you just did – what was that about?”
“You are not meant to be able to say ‘no’.”
“Oh, so that is what Gillian kept trying to do. I thought she was just trying out some bad hypnosis trick. She got frustrated and gave up eventually.”
“Figures,” He sighs.
Serious now, Peia looks Eric in the eye. “You cannot force me to enjoy this.”
“You feel it would be a betrayal. Something bigger shared.” Maybe he understands more than she thinks. “But there are no cameras, no recording devices. How could he know the difference?”
She just shakes her head and looks away.
“What do you want?” He is surprised how much he desires this.
“Don’t ask. Please.”
Guessing, “I will kill her. You will have nothing left to fear.” This will cause him some trouble if others find out. He will have to be careful…
She thinks a moment. This is the one thing that could make the difference. No more running. She could go back.
“I don’t know if I can,” she says, truly skeptical.
“Try.”
And with that he lifts her up, pushes her back against the wall and with a quick motion of his free hand pulls down his pants just enough and enters her. She gasps at the quickness of it – her body not yet ready. As he works his way deeper inside her body, he runs his lips down her neck while his hand gently strokes her breast.
He lifts his head back up and looks her in the eye.
“It cannot be undone now. Time to just let yourself fuck.” He smiles devilishly and flicks an eyebrow at her.
An escape suddenly occurs to her. She imagines herself to be the most sexually adventurous character she has ever written. In truth, Mel was not terribly unlike herself, but this mental game allows her body to detach. I am a character in one of my stories. I am fucking a tall, muscle-clad, handsome man. This is not real. She repeats this over and over in time to his rhythm, smoother now that her body has released some moisture.
“If we are going to do this right, it’s time for you to get naked.”
With a subtle smile, he lifts her up and sets her down in front of him before taking a step back. He quickly dispenses with his shirt, then pants, never taking his eyes off her.
So long and lean, his body looks like a statue with its chiseled perfection. Although most statues do not have an eye-catching erection, she muses to herself. Following her gaze, he grabs hold of it, sliding his hand up along the shaft to the head (a distance fitting his body, proportionally), where he pulls his foreskin down just enough to expose the pinkish tip.
He takes a step toward her and she holds out her hand with a finger pointing up to stop him, then pointing downward.
“Socks. I refuse to mount a man with socks.”
He bends down to pull off the socks, but before he has the opportunity to stand back up after their removal, she takes a step toward him and boldly puts her hand behind his head and guides his face to her mound. He slides his hands over her hips and grips her ass on either side while he pushes his face forward, mouth open. She lets her hands rest on the top of his head, unable to prevent her legs from spreading a bit wider as his tongue begins to expertly stroke her inner lips. Shifting her pelvis ever-so-slightly, showing him the (sometimes mobile) spots of highest sensitivity, it only takes him a matter of seconds to zero in on where to focus. Suddenly, she feels her knees go at about the same time her mind goes blank with the intensity of pleasure he is giving her. He maintains his solid grip on her body as she starts to whimper and moan, completely unable to stop her body from coming too quickly – she would have preferred to wait a bit, but unusually she finds she has no control. My vibrator has got nothing on the speed of this guy’s tongue.
“Holy shit.” She screams loudly as she grabs hold of the back of his head and presses her pelvis as hard as she can against his face, forcing his tongue into her convulsing hole. It suddenly occurs to her what would feel even better and she pulls away slightly and sinks down to her knees, shifting enough to take his cock in on her way down. He grunts his pleasure at finding himself inside her body again, this time more welcoming in warmth, wetness and now massaging waves of orgasmal contractions. In the haze of her climax, now winding down, she barely registers the sound of his fangs descending. Before her brain has a chance to make sense of it, he pulls her torso toward him and sinks his fangs into her neck with a guttural moan.
“Fuck,” she couldn’t help herself from blurting.
It hurt, though perhaps no more than she had expected. The feeling was raw and hot, but not stinging as she had feared. More surreal were the sounds he was making as he sucked down the blood in shallow gulps. She could feel his tongue, lapping the area where his teeth had opened up the wound – it felt almost massaging, even soothing. She wondered if this was reflex or if he only did this when he was with a lover.
After a minute or two, he stopped drinking, pushed her onto her back and pulled her legs up and around his waist. Then with half lidded eyes and bloodied lips, he began thrusting with growing force and quickening rhythm. If she hadn’t been so wet, it might have been a bit too rough. Instead, after a few minutes, her body adjusted by directing more blood, causing her to swell enough to provide the necessary buffer. Soon every thrust pulled the skin around her clit taught, sending spikes of pleasure down her thighs. Eric straightened her legs so that her ankles were on either side of his neck and continued to pummel her. The first sign she saw that he was about to come was the tension in the muscles of his arms – his grunts were neither loud nor stifled, and altogether uninformative. A stiffness gripped his body and then suddenly his thrusts slowed down to a more human standard. His cock was as hard as an iron rod. His eyes closed, but then in the moment, they flashed open again and he finished with a series of quick thrusts so deep, they were, in truth, a bit painful for her. Of course, it did not matter because once his blood entered her body, it felt like a shot of heroine, the effect on her insides instantaneous. The spasms driving another monster orgasm made even more intense by the presence of his shaft still inside her – something to grip.
Eric rolled off her sweaty, limp body and said with only a little self satisfaction,
“I do not think you could have faked that.”
*
The next round (and the next) took place in the little room with the bed. Although Peia tried hard to maintain her fictional persona, the more blood she lost (and more orgasms she had) the more her guard went down. And Eric, in order to maximize his own amusement, pushed at her mental boundaries, having already dismantled the physical ones.
At one point in the evening, Eric was on his back, Peia riding him slowly, sitting up tall, streaks of bright red blood dripping down toward her left breast from the freshly opened wound on her neck.
“Tell me something he does not know,” Eric insists, gently.
“What?” Peia’s eyes are half closed.
“You have secrets. Tell me.”
Peia frowns, then opens her eyes and looks directly at Eric, their bodies still connected. What does it matter?
“I had children, once. Spike knows I was married, but he never asked beyond that.”
“The scar,” He responds, knowingly, running his finger along the horizontal c-section scar just above the line of her trimmed pubic hair.
She nods, “Spike never guessed.”
“I have been with many women,” he offers in explanation. “Boys or girls?”
“Two boys. Another on the way.”
She stops there and he leaves it, detecting a subtle change in her heart rate. He already got what he asked for.
After a brief motionless pause, Peia pulls up and sinks herself down on him, shifting her pelvis to maximize the friction, alternating the up and down motion with a twirling that teases her g-spot with the tip of his cock.
Eric reaches up and runs his fingers along the stream of blood stopping just short of her breast, smearing it gently onto her nipple. He takes in the view for a moment – pale skin, red blood, pink nipple – before sitting up enough to take her breast in his mouth, sucking gently, licking the blood off before leaving it, the nipple now erect and red.
Picking up the pace, Peia clenches her internal muscles, focusing on gripping him as tightly as she can. He grunts his pleasure at this new trick and begins meeting her thrusts with subtle ones of his own. Their motions get more and more furious, she seems desperate to escape back into this night. Soon her body is sweaty again, soon to release. Already, he knows her body well enough to be in control of the timing. He is also close, but as they pound each other toward yet another climax, he suddenly pauses.
“Tell me you love me,” He hears himself insist.
“Fuck off,” she responds, frustrated by being snatched away from the physical, wondering what sort of game he is playing now. “I don’t fake and I don’t lie.”
“I do not ask for a lie. Pretend I am him and tell me as you would him.”
She shakes her head, not comprehending the purpose in this.
“Why?”
“Because I wish it,” He responds, honestly.
She frowns as if to say ‘that’s not good enough.’
“Please. I am curious.”
Peia sees in his eyes that he is earnest. In that moment, she feels almost sorry for him. She sighs. After a moment, she closes her eyes, conjuring up an image of Spike. She pictures one of her favorite moments. He is looking at her like she is a fool, “I didn’t ask you to come with me while I ran away, you silly git. I asked you to run away with me. See the difference?” Once the image of him is fixed in her mind, she opens her eyes, replacing Eric’s face with Spike’s and says the words, as requested,
“I love you.”
Eric takes this in, but shows no discernable reaction.
*
Later that night, Pam lets herself into the office. Blood and sex in the air, she walks straight back to the little room where she knows she will find Eric. As she walks in, Eric is drinking from Peia’s inner thigh. After taking a brief moment to appraise Peia’s naked body, she starts talking.
“Hate to say it, but you really have to do something about Dwight tonight. I’ve tried reasoning with him, but he refuses to talk to anyone but you.”
He gives Pam a polite finger indicating she wait a moment. He then moves his face from Peia’s thigh to her pussy and quickly makes her come in just a few seconds. Peia seems barely conscious, but enough to let out a moan. Eric beckons Pam over and grabbing her hand, thrusts two of her fingers along with is own into Peia’s body.
Eric looks at Pam, expectantly. Pam makes an impressed face.
“Shit, I imagine that must feel pretty good on a certain body part that I lack.” She pushes her fingers in a little deeper (which prompts a slight gasp from Peia), “Warm apple pie with massaging fingers.”
“It has been a surprisingly pleasant evening,” He offers as he pulls his fingers out.
“What are we going to do about Dwight?”
“I’ll talk to him,” Eric replies, resigned. He starts pulling on some track pants.
“I should be gone less than an hour.” Looking over at Peia, who appears to be asleep, “You can have a go if you like. I would not recommend taking too much blood – she is already on the edge.”
“I can see that. Next time, maybe leave me more than the dregs.” Pam says, mock annoyed.
“She still has some life in her,” he responds.
“I am sure we can find some way to pass the time,” Pam sighs, giving her Maker a quick wink.
*
When Eric returns to the room, Pam is pulling down her skirt, her clothes generally disheveled. She walks over to her bag and pulls out a lipstick and starts touching herself up.
“How did it go?” She asks, rather uninterested.
“Fine. Seems our Bill has developed a bit of a Napoleon complex.”
“He is short.”
“His guards got in some tiff with Dwight’s people. I think it’s settled now.”
“Good.” Glancing at Peia, she adds, “It’ll be daylight soon. Want me to clean her up and get her out of here?”
“Not yet.” He starts taking off his clothes and Pam infers his meaning, so she walks into the office and starts shuffling some papers, getting ready to head back to the townhouse before dawn.
Eric takes a moment, leisurely looking at Peia as she lay motionless on the bed, planning out the last hour of the night. He should give her a bit of blood to rouse her, then a bit more fucking, then it will be time for him to get back to ground before dawn. He is about to bite into his wrist when he hesitates, his eyes widening suddenly.
“Pam?” He calls into the next room.
Pam walks back toward the door.
“Yeah?” She responds when she gets to the entrance. She feels an odd twinge as she looks over to her Maker.
Wide eyed, Eric looks at her solidly and says,
“How do you feel about having a sister?”
Taken aback, she stammers, “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I think I am.”
“Does it matter what I think?”
“Of course it does.” How could she think he would make this decision without consulting her?
“What about Spike?” She asks with genuine concern.
“We can still help him. Find Drusilla and he won’t give a second thought to her.”
“Why this one?”
“I do not know exactly. Just a feeling. I think she would make a good addition.”
Pam looks from Eric to Peia and back again. Obviously, they need to decide this right now – in the morning, she will be gone. Eric feels a bit dizzy with excitement and his feelings spill over to Pam.
“I’ll have Jackson dig a hole out back. Meet you there in 30?” She smiles, despite herself.
“Chill some champagne for tomorrow night.”
She nods and leaves.
- 7
- 8
- 9
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That's Not My Name