Author's note: This is another of my Bill and Sookie fictions I am archiving here in moments of boredom. It's just a little bit of smutty fluff built around a fun premise of dirty word Scrabble. Er, my fictions tend to credit Sookie with more intelligence than she has on the show most of the time...the setting is during the 'Two Weeks Later' at the end of Season 1. Enjoy, and your feedback is lovely.
In case you were wondering whether I still love Bill anymore after the pretty craptastic season finale, the answer is yes. In fact the evilness was quite the turn on actually. I really am incorrigible ;)
I was relieved when the sunlight streaming through the open windows began to dim. Not only because it signalled an escape from the sticky, unbearable heat of the day, but also because it meant an end to boredom and restlessness, loneliness and the tiny, persistent ache in my chest I felt whenever he wasn't around. I'd always been such a daytime person, but I loved the night, despite the weirdness that I knew lurked in its shadows, the monsters and friends that walked on two legs and four. I loved the rustling sound of the late breeze through the oaks, its caress on my sweaty skin, the chirp and whirr of bugs and frogs, the bright stars that sprinkled the sky, the rich smell of the dirt in Gran's garden after a sudden cloudburst. For now I walked as easily in the night as I did under the sun; I'd had to learn to.
My steady stream of visitors had died out after the first night back from the emergency room; all my friends preoccupied with their own lives and their own griefs. I had spend two days whacked out on pain pills and hobbling between the couch and bed, all the unfinished jobs around the house that needed doing going neglected. I slept a lot, watched endless movies on TCM, finding the black and white world of a less crazy age a great comfort. Sometimes I had nightmares, hideous images of my life over the last two weeks invading my sleep. The bloodstained heap of my Gran on the kitchen floor, cut to ribbons, the vampire exploding in a fountain of blood over my terrified, trapped body. The blood that puddled from the edge of the shovel buried in my killer's throat. A smouldering ruin of a house, a hazy figure walking towards me, turning to ash in the sun. Babbling, cursing, whining spiteful thoughts echoing in my ears from all the people who had looked at me with disapproval and fear.
I wish I had the energy to go back to work so I could get away from my shell shocked brain, but I couldn't manage it quite yet. All I could do was mope around the house until the only sweet spot on my horizon knocked on the door when the dark came creeping in like a comforting blanket. The cause of all the drama, but I tried not to think about that; my boyfriend, though it still seemed ridiculous to call Bill such a common, everyday name. I still didn't know what he was to me, but now more than ever I needed him. Was it love, this constant painful tug of desire and dizzy excitement in my guts? I didn't have anything to compare it to as Bill was my first, all I knew that I was sitting bolt upright in my nest of books, candy wrappers and Gran's old quilt, watching the sun slip below the treeline, as alert as a dog waiting for its master.
Not a good comparison; I groaned, immediately thinking of my other rescuer from peril and possible death. Poor Sam, he'd retreated from the field ungraciously as soon as he'd realised I only had eyes for Bill. Going back to work would be awkward to say the least. He'd been nothing but sweet to me when he came around to visit, but I hadn't missed the hurt in his eyes. I'd have to find the balls to talk to him eventually. About that kiss and everything, and how sorry I was I couldn't give him what he wanted.
Sighing heavily at the muddled state of my love life, I got off the couch and headed upstairs to the bathroom, taking my time. I was still real stiff, and my face was gross; puffy with bruises that spread down under my shirt and shorts. It was almost bad enough to make me have second thoughts about letting Bill heal me, but then I thought about last time; hallucinations, heightened smell and taste and hearing, and most embarrassing of all, a libido that raged and bubbled all day and all night. My appetites were bad enough without adding vampire blood, and I so wanted to be normal. As much as possible, as I suspected from now on, normality would not exactly define my life.
I neatly dropped my clothes in the laundry hamper and jumped under the shower, wanting to be pretty and sweet for when Bill arrived. Well, as pretty as I could be with a smashed in face. Not that he cared, he had kissed every bruise as if they were badges of honour, and then kissed me some more, until my knees gave in and he had to carry me to the couch. I had become mighty frisky, but had to be content with some good old fashioned making out; he would not go further because he was scared of hurting me. That was alright with me the first night, I was too beat up and woozy to think about sex, but I had been spending too much time today thinking about my vampire in a rather X rated way, almost to the point that my hand was wandering between my legs. On the couch no less, and what would Gran say about that kind of carry on?
Tonight, yes tonight I was determined to get him to sweep me upstairs, and damn his gentlemanly worrying. And I had a plan to get what I wanted; a game of words. I wasn't educated, school was an ordeal for me and college had been unthinkable as well as unaffordable, but I was well read for an up country waitress, and while lying around all day bored out of my mind I had gathered together a great collection of words for some peculiar seduction.
Dressed in a little white cotton frock that was sprinkled with embroidered flowers, smothered in coconut body butter, my hair loose around my shoulders, I smelled good and looked as good as possible in my current state. I had set the Scrabble board up on the coffee table, poured myself a glass of wine and popped a bottle of O Negative in the microwave when I heard his firm knock at the door; perfect timing. A shiver of pure lust and tightening in my lower belly made me tongue tied when I opened the door and saw him there, and he raised a dark brow as he sensed what I was feeling. The sleek, sculpted lines of his torso, the breadth of his shoulders and strength of his arms were visible through his tight, white shirt, my favourite, and his jeans hugged his narrow hips and other places.
His beautiful lips quirked in one of his small, sweet smiles, I stepped forward and buried my face in his chest, inhaling his musky, dry scent before tilting my head to receive his cool kiss. 'You look much better,' he murmured into my parted lips, our eyes locking, a tiny spark dancing in his blue depths. 'So much so that I cannot resist doing this.' He lifted me off the porch and carried me wrapped around him into the house, still kissing me deeply, his tongue snaking into my mouth to curl with mine, but I hissed as my bruised ribs protested against his grasp. Bill drew back, the raw desire in his face dampening down in an instant. 'Perhaps not,' he sighed, depositing me carefully on the couch. 'I wish you would let me give you my blood, Sookie, I hate seeing you like this.'
He frowned, and I pouted and shrugged, not letting on how desperate I was to be held and kissed and fondled and more. What's a bit of pain when you're in heaven? 'I'm totally fine, Bill, stop fussing. The pain is much less today,' I said lightly, hopping to my feet again and moving more gracefully than I felt like doing to show how non- fragile I was, disappearing to the kitchen and bring back his bottle of blood and my wine.
Bill was sitting in the easy chair on the other side of the coffee table. 'Scrabble?' He said curiously as I handed him his drink. I sat back on the couch and curled into a comfortable position, my unbruised, tanned legs drawing his appreciative eye. 'I thought you didn't want to play this ever again after I beat you hollow last night.'
'You're not gonna beat me this time,' I said sweetly, tossing my head. 'I'm ready for you.' He gave me a skeptical look over the rim of his bottle. A hundred and seventy years old, speaking several different languages, with long, lonely nights with nothing to do but read, before Wii was invented, Bill knew words I hadn't even heard of and couldn't even pronounce. But I wasn't interested in winning the actual game, but an orgasm, several in fact.
My boyfriend took a dim view of cheating, being the authentic Southern gentleman, but I'd hidden several letters between the cushions of the couch so I had enough ammo. We started to play slow and easy, chatting about my day, the local gossip. My wine disappeared quickly, giving me a nice mellow buzz along with my fading pain meds. My good girl inhibitions slipped away as fast as the wine down my throat, and I threw down my first word, aroused, which I certainly was looking at him, so handsome and elegant, his sexy, soft drawl over some political thing he'd seen on CNN halting for a second when he noticed my word. I snuck my hand down between the cushions to fish out a letter for my next round, wanton, which I remembered him calling me in bed once. It was damn hard trying not to laugh, wearing my best poker face and suppressing the naughty thoughts that were flying around my head, thoughts he could easily sense.
His blue eyes began to narrow and grow dark, he radiated suspicion, but he still didn't ask me what I was up to. Thrust followed devour, then submit, penetrated followed engorged; my face was hot with blushes, my throat sore from holding back giggles. I was proud of myself when I started chattering blandly about the upcoming football season, which I vaguely followed since Jason used to play for the local team, all the while squirming as if I had ants in my panties. But Bill wasn't fooled. His long, delicate fingers toyed with the square white letters, spelling out not something long and dense, but short and blunt, somehow managing to arrange it so it was laid next to the word naughty- whore.
'Bill! That's a nasty word,' I exclaimed innocently, biting my lip to hold back a shriek of laughter and flicking my skirt over my hand so I could sneak out a couple more cheat letters.
He was grinning now, highly amused, but his eyes were piercing and hot as they raked me from head to bare toes. 'Depends on who is being called such a word, and the context,' he said obscurely, but I got his meaning straightaway. In bed, such nasty words only added to the fun. The thought of him calling me a whore in that low, sweet voice while doing terrible things to me made me feel suddenly faint. I bent over the game board as I laid down the word engulf, my dress gaping to show I wore no bra underneath. His hands flexed on his knees before he countered with frottage; I didn't know what it meant but it sure sounded dirty. Okay, he was totally into it now, but as fun as this was, I really wanted him to crack. Who wanted to play dirty word board games when you could be experiencing the real thing?
A couple of small words followed that still managed to be suggestive, take and wet, when I laid down pleasure, butterflies fighting in my stomach at the way he was studying me, as if deciding on the best place to sink his fangs. Oh god, it had been way too long since that last happened. Not taking his eyes from the swell of my breasts above my neckline he spelled out yield, and I wondered if he had been cheating just like me, it was too perfect. I dug under the couch cushions to play my last hand, hoping I'd done enough to make the drought break. The air in the room had become so thick it itched against my skin, I was sweating with the heat, with unfulfilled desire, and only his long, cool body against mine could soothe me.
My face burned as I put the letters down neatly against the nearest F. Fuck me. 'You win, my little cheat,' I heard him purr, before I found myself up off the couch and travelling up the stairs at a superfast speed, the ache in my ribs from Bill's iron hard grip absolutely nothing compared to my satisfaction.
There was something extra exciting about making love in my childhood room; its pink, flowery space invaded by a big, dangerous male, the bed where I had slept so innocently since I was small dominated by solid, muscled limbs, hot eyes and strong hands running over my naked, quivering body. I was lying in the centre of the white coverlet, trying hard to stay still and passive according to Bill's instructions. He had removed my dress and panties with the most delicate of touch before stripping himself bare, and partially due to concern for my welfare, and partially just to be mean, had told me to not move a muscle in case I jolted my stiff, bruised body too much.
'Lie still and let me take care of everything,' he had whispered before lowering his dark head to my breasts, his mouth, pink and warm from tangling with mine in a kiss that went on for delicious minutes, closing gently around my left nipple. But it was impossible. My legs wanted to twine around his waist and bring his heavy erection up against my loins, my hands longed to wander down his back, mapping the lines of his powerful frame before cupping his gorgeous round ass. I wanted to fuse his marble flesh with my hot, sticky, human softness, brand myself with the chill of his rock hard body, take his cock deep inside me and ride him until I felt nothing except pleasure and the prick of pain at my throat as he pierced and sucked and gorged himself on me.
I wriggled and bucked under his weight, breathing hard as he mouthed each breast in turn, flashes of pain from my ribs and joints a background annoyance. My legs lifted and scissored across the small of his back, drawing his loins flush against mine. I felt my folds sliding slickly along his cock. 'Ooh...ow!' I gasped. He looked up, letting my nipple pop free from his lips, and frowned.
'I thought I told you to stay still,' he rumbled. 'Why do you never do as I ask, Sookie?' In the zone and annoyed with him stopping what he was doing just to tell me off, I tugged at his hair, bringing him up for a kiss to shut him up. He reached for my hands, bending my arms backwards over my head and pinning them easily with one hand. I wriggled rebelliously against him, gasping at the weight of his hardness nudging against my entrance. 'Maybe I should tie you up for your own good,' he added in a sinister tone, breaking away to give me air.
I glared at him, though I felt a big lurch of excitement down below, and he smirked at me in that smug way he did whenever he knew I was putting on a ladylike act. 'Why do you need to when you can hold me down with one hand?' I said, my offended tone not very convincing.
I licked my lips nervously, his blue eyes were almost black, ad I knew his fangs were going to pop any second. 'Good point, but I need both hands for what I am planning,' he said silkily, leaning in to trace the shape of my lips suggestively with the tip of his tongue. I moaned, and then squeaked when he suddenly disappeared, leaping off the bed and flashing to the dresser and back before I could even blink. The flimsy scarf slid over my wrists, binding them together in a knot. I guess I should have been offended or worried, but I wasn't. Based on the handful of times we had made love I trusted him completely and was totally greedy for new experiences, and the thought of being more helpless than usual made my body flood with heat, prickly and raw.
When he had tied the other end of the scarf to the headboard and sat back to look at me I smiled at him in invitation. His fangs ran out then, his long fingers clenching into fists as a wave of thirst hit him. It had been many days since he had tasted me, and I guess he could smell how hot I was for him, along with my blood pumping under my naked, bruised skin. No pain, no shyness, no bad memories, no boredom, it was now just me and my waiting lover, the air of the bedroom thick with anticipation. I trembled with a jolt of happy, mindless lust. I felt the prick of his fangs on my lower stomach when he kissed me there, inhaling deeply of my scent and purring ever so slightly in his throat. I lay as limp as one of my old dolls, my excitement coming out in loud gasps as he eased my thighs apart, lifting and pinning them wide open before lying between them comfortably, as if fixing to stay there for a good long time.
There was always the risk he would nick or slice my delicate flesh when he loved me with his mouth, but he was an expert, the spice of danger only adding to the pleasure. At first his tongue was gentle, exploring the shapes of my folds, circling my nub and withdrawing, drinking in the taste of my juices. My mind was a void of velvety black, the sensations wrapping me in its embrace, but then his big hands moved to spread my flesh apart, holding me completely exposed to his mouth. His tongue pushed inside me, and I moaned and lifted my hips, finding it replaced with a long finger, then two, then three, and I was lost, crying out and writhing, the scarf pulling sharply against my wrists.
Though the blackness dragged at me I forced my eyes open to watch him, so scary and sexy it made the blood in my body sing for him, its siren call along with my taste and crazy responses driving him mad, messing with his tight control. He trembled with effort as he lapped at my clit with long, sure strokes, as if in no hurry, his fingers working me somewhere high up inside that was so sensitive I could barely take it. Then I could no longer watch. My lids slammed closed and I surrendered myself to the dark, shot through with bursts of light and my own weird, strangled cries as my body began to dissolve, pulsing like a heart as I came against his lips, around his hand.
He did not hold back, too wound up to refrain from taking blood, and I gave it to him eagerly, sobbing with new pleasure as he grasped my thigh and latched on hungrily, the pain of his tearing bite disappearing with the sweet flood of my blood into his mouth, sucking frantically as his hand cupped and stroked, drawing out my orgasm, giving as well as taking. I thought the scarf might rip in two the way I was fighting it, riding it, oh wow. My raw throat babbled a string of words that would be perfect for my obscene Scrabble game. Bill looked up at me through heavy lids, licking his lips clean, his expression and the crouch of his body reminding me strongly of a cat after devouring its prey. He scanned me closely to check I was alright, then his mouth quirked. 'Not only are you recalcitrant, you also have a mouth like a harlot. I should punish you,' he said leadingly.
I smiled lazily. 'I don't know what that first word means, but I'm guessing it means I didn't listen and stay still,' I replied, my voice husky and confident, a real femme fatale. 'And you can't punish me when I'm all beat up.'
One of those startling shifts in movement found us face to face, one hand cupping my cheek tenderly while the other held my hip. I squeaked a little in surprise, then his darkened eyes caught me and pulled me in, as if he was glamouring me though we'd established he couldn't do that. Love was in them, and wonder and exasperation and a teeny bit of mischief. 'Oh, there are other forms of punishment,' I heard him whisper before a fluid movement of his hips stole my breath and my words. My eyes rolled back, I saw my bound hands straining against the old scarf as the pleasure and pain burst in my womb.
After that first deep, satisfying thrust he began to tease me with it, not giving me all of him as I craved, but shallow, small movements that made me whine in protest. I lay there passively, behaving myself though I wanted to dig my heels into his gorgeous butt and push him down hard, fill me up with his thick cock until the dark tide of orgasm began to build in me again. I arched my neck to reach for his lips, nipping and sucking at them roughly, so cool and sweet, using my tongue to explore the cruel sharpness of his fangs. He was lying directly above me, my breasts squashed flat against his his scratchy chest, his hands in my hair. He was so gentle there was no griping in my ribs or other wounded spots, but it was frustrating as hell. 'Please...please, Bill, I don't care if you hurt me. More...' I finally begged, pathetic and shameless. 'Untie me.'
'You will let me lead?' He murmured, using my hair to pull my head back. I gave him my most melting look and nodded, wanting to be free so I could touch him, wrap myself around him, encourage him to take all of me. The hard knot at my wrists loosened with one flick of his hand, and I grasped his shoulders as he rolled us over carefully, drawing me into a sitting position on his lap. Immediately I felt him slide deeper inside me, hitting my limit and making me gasp for breath. I held on tight, not moving an inch as he rocked me back and forth on his length. The pressure in my belly from the friction and wonderful fullness began to swell, fiery pleasure burning and tingling, the place where were were locked together growing slick with my juices.
I rested my head on his shoulder, my right hand slipping down his chest to tweak his nipples, then moving south to my clit. Only once before had I touched myself in front of him, but I wasn't shy, utterly brazen in my need to come hard and forget everything horrible in my life in the explosion and the long, lazy afterglow. My teeth sunk into the curve of his neck, and he growled as I moaned like a little whore and circled my hips above him, my fingers teasing the hard nub of flesh the way I always did when alone. His careful movements became harsher as he forgot himself, holding my ass and lifting me up and down while arching his hips upwards, filling me completely with each thrust, bruising me in a way I loved and needed.
Electricity shot out from somewhere dark and hidden and travelled to my fingers and toes, I tightened around him like a fist. 'Now...now, come with me,' I sobbed, leading us into the madness though he was the one who was meant to be in control. A low groan shook his hard body and his head dipped to my breast, seeking my hot blood as he climaxed. I held his rumpled head there like he was a child, offering it freely, neither of us caring it would make me weak. His fangs punctured the soft flesh only slightly, a brief stab of pain then a sweet suckling as we shared the rippling, liquid heat of orgasm, and shared life in the presence of death. I was transported into another place, every care and ache far away and unimportant.
Having got what I needed I would now settle quietly in his arms, take my pills and sleep, with no nightmares to bother me, until he left me alone with the dawn, a little bit sorer and weaker but much happier than if I woke without having won the game. As he licked the wound closed and rolled me gently on to my back, trembling with our aftershocks, I struggled to open my eyes and smile at him with gratitude and a fierce desire that might have been love. His strong face was soft with the glow of satisfaction, and his blue, blue eyes were as happy as I'd ever seen them. 'Thank you for letting me win,' I said groggily, before sinking back in the pillows to doze, knowing for sure he would wake me to take my pills and then wrap himself protectively around me and stay there all night. For he was mine and I was his, and nothing was going to take that from us now. We had survived, and we had healed. Tonight we had proved it.
THE END