A/N: Hey guys! And so here I present another one-shot for your reading pleasure centered around our favorite canonical couple. After watching Pam's performance last Sunday with the shrink and then tuning in for last nights episode, this sorta just bounced into my head. Hope you all enjoy and if you can, please leave a review. They make my day, seriously!
In a flash of movement too quick for the human eye to discern, Pam had grabbed the corpulent psychologist from his swivel chair and threw him down on the padded leather chaise, straddling his blubbery legs with a throaty groan. Throwing her sheaf of corn silk like locks over her shoulders, she willed her fangs down with a sharp, resounding click as her nostrils were assaulted by the pungent odor of day old tuna fish. Beneath that though, she could smell his blood - hot, thick, and rushing through his veins, propelled by the pulses of his racing heart. She moaned again and this time it wasn't for mere sound effect.
"That's right," the stinking human gasped, his beady eyes glazed lust, "Bite me. Drink my blood. Fuck me!"
Pam caught the psychologist's hands in hers before he could tangle his stubby fingers in her hair. Pinning them over his head, she leaned forward, her ample chest pressed flesh against his pillowy pectorals. "There now daddy," she crooned, her Southern drawl especially pronounced as her voice dropped an octave, her bee-stung lips brushing against the shell of his ear making him shiver beneath her, "Lay back and let me work."
She didn't want his hands on her, groping and clawing. She didn't want him to even attempt to dominate things. She wielded the upper hand here and if she didn't make that expressly clear, the tides would rise into even more undesirable waters.
Pam allowed herself to slip into that age old role of the temptress. She played the role well for she had learned just what buttons to press and which strings to pull from a tender age long ago when her heart still beat. She had learned how to play one's strongest weakness against them, how to make them butter melting in the palm of her hand, how to make them bend to her will. Now it comfortable waters she tread, almost enough to take her mind off of the quivering blob of flesh beneath her.
Almost.
Ripping open the hideous sky blue prison shirt and tossing it over her shoulders, she rolled her hips with a low growl through her fangs, grinding into a rock hard erection pressing shamelessly against the human's khaki trousers. The psychologist hissed emphatically, kicking his head back and exposing his throat.
But Pam did not bite. She didn't want his blood. She wanted into Gen-Pop. She wanted to see her progeny. Tara. That was the motivation that kept her focused on the task at hand and not puking up Somchai's blood all over the four limbed whale. Besides, the stipulations could have been worse. Considerably so.
He squealed like a suckling piglet when Pam made quick work of his clothes and the remainder of her own.
She made herself go numb.
Dr. Hornball came in three minutes, his hoarse moans and heavy exhales seeming to bounce off of the four walls as his short cock kicked and jerked sporadically, hot jets of white fluid oozing from the tip. Pam's lips curved upward in a smirk of triumph as she reached for her discarded prison garb.
"Glad you enjoyed yourself, now, for my end of the deal?"
"Right away."
The human fumbled with his trousers, nearly tripping over his fat feet twice as he redressed. Pam stood with her arms crossed beneath her breasts, watching his every movement with something akin to revulsion swimming in the depths of her ocean blue eyes.
She hadn't expected the relief that had come over her when she saw Jessica as she and the psychologist exited the room. Though the progeny of Bill fucking Compton was annoying, a familiar face in the face of the True Death was always welcome. And besides, each step she took alongside the redhead brought her closer and closer to Tara.
"Did you just have sex with him?" Jessica whispered and Pam fought not to roll her eyes.
"I did."
"And how was it."
The blonde gave a characteristically nonchalant shrug, "Oozy. But productive."
As they walked across the metal grating, Pam gazed down into the holding area known as Gen-Pop and had she been human, her heart would have skipped a beat. Standing off in a corner well away from the others, with Willa at her shoulder was her progeny. She couldn't see her face, just the top of her head but in that moment it was enough. Her hair, those thick ebony tresses draped over her shoulders, brushing her exposed muscular biceps and as hideous as the prison clothes where, Pam couldn't help but admire how the powder blue color complimented her Child's midnight kissed skin.
Good God, she was spouting sonnets.
But her feet couldn't get to the lower level fast enough.
The instant the door to the holding area opened and Pam stepped inside, her glacial eyes sought out Tara. And an instant later, her progeny's obsidian gaze locked on her own. Relief flooded the bond as recognition set in and Tara took an involuntary step backward just as the guards from up above called out that it was dinner time and for the vampires to form a line to collect their rations of poisoned True Blood. A spark of panic shot through Pam then and she hoped Willa had relayed the message. Tara sensed this at once and gave a tiny nod, mouthing 'I know' to which Pam gave a fleeting acknowledgement before joining the line for rations, keeping her eyes trained on the head of the vampire in front of her, fighting to refrain from sending another glance in Tara's direction. With the guards watching their every movement and documenting them, they could not under any circumstances arouse suspicion. No one could know about the tainted blood and no one could know Tara was her progeny.
And that in itself was the only thing that kept Pam from running to Tara's side and taking her in her arms.
They had to stay in one piece until Eric returned for them.