Fangtasia Stories: Wet Patches and Gravel Gifts
Set at the end of Club Dead
Eric wandered into the bar just before opening time, and made his way to his office.
"Doo doo-doo Corvette..."
He opened the door of his room to find Pam sitting behind his desk, chuckling away to herself as she wrote on some note paper. She glanced up, and then continued scribbling.
"I thought you were taking the night off?"
"I was, but I got bored." Eric hung up his jacket, tipped her out of his chair onto the floor, and then settled back into the seat. Pam stood and went to sit in the chair opposite.
"You missed me."
"Like I miss getting headaches and defecating," Eric mumbled.
"You're such a liar. I know you missed your Pam Pam."
Eric picked up the piece of paper Pam had been laughing at. "What's this?"
"Oh, it's a Dear Abby letter I wrote for Chow. I'm going to send it in, see if she can't offer him some words of wisdom."
Eric read through it and smirked.
"Very nice."
"So. Give me the news," Pam said. "You hardly called me at all while you were in Jackson. I felt left out of all the action."
"Firstly, tell me what has happened here." Eric put his feet up on the desk and got himself comfy. "Did I miss anything? I trust you have been taking care of everything while I've been gone."
Pam sighed. "Absolutely nothing happened. It has all been very dull."
"You missed me," Eric smiled.
"Like I miss that recurring bout of thrush I had in 1846."
"Of course you missed me. Things are always much more boring without your big ball of Viking fun around."
Eric settled back in his chair with his hands behind his head. Then he looked around his office, and suddenly became aware that things were different. Tidier. Pinker. Pam noticed he was scanning the room.
"What?"
"What the fuck did you do with my office? Can I smell potpourri? And why is there a lace doily underneath my desk organizer?" He picked up a pink pen with a fluffy pom pom on the end of it. "Pam, you need to get your pink girly shit out of my office. I've only been gone a few days, and it looks like Hanna Montana threw up in here." He pointed to his sofa. "Embroidered throw pillows?"
"Yes, yes, all right. And it's not potpourri, it's one of those Glade Plug-Ins, Enchanted Forest scent. It was smelling quite stale in here. I would've had it all sorted by the end of the night, you came back early."
Eric sighed. Enchanted forest?
"Anything at all remotely interesting to report?" he asked.
"The queen called for Bill earlier, she is infuriated because he is not returning her calls. Looks like you rescued him just in time."
"I did not rescue Compton, Pam. Sookie did." He was not ashamed to admit this, he realized. He was proud of her.
"Really? How very enterprising she is. I think this is my influence, rubbing off on her. And Bill being saved by a human waitress? Well, that's just about what I expect of the feckless nerd. He's going to need to call the queen. She wants whatever he's been working on, and she sounded grouchy."
"Excellent. I want us all to meet, tonight, at Sookie's house. We will remind Bill to call her then. He may have already spoken with her, but if he hasn't, we can make her wait a little longer, since it is sure to infuriate her further. Bill is sure to get a thorough telling off."
"Why can't we meet here? Why do we have to go all the way to Sookie's house?"
"She is injured, and will not be able to make it here. I think it would be appropriate to have a debriefing."
Pam snickered.
"Not that sort of debriefing, Pam."
"How is the Sookie de-briefing situation?"
"Briefs, panties, brassieres, all kinds of underwear, still remaining in place." This had been true, after all. Eric had no intention of elaborating on what actually happened between them right now.
"And the Alcide situation?"
Eric waved a hand dismissively.
"Perhaps some mutual attraction. Unfortunately for Alcide, he has no hope of competing with me, in any department, and he also appears to have quite a demanding and psychotic ex, Debbie Pelt. He made the foolish schoolboy error of pretending to Miss Pelt that he'd had sex with Sookie."
Pam had already read something about this on the were-blogs she'd recently been checking out. They were such ignorant assholes with very pathetic lives and exceedingly low IQs, in Pam's opinion. Their grammar and spelling was laughable, but their little pack fights and relationship issues were actually rather entertaining, like a cheaply made and badly scripted soap-opera that you just can't help but tune in to. Pam was hooked.
"Really? How disrespectful. She didn't, did she?"
"Of course she didn't."
"Weres are such idiots. Does Sookie know about what he said?"
"Yes. She was not particularly impressed."
"And Bill?"
"Again, she was not impressed." Eric smiled.
"She is a very forgiving creature, though, do you not think?"
"I doubt very much she will forgive him this, do you? And even if she does, can she trust him as her lover again? I think not."
"Hmm. And you said there was some kind of problem on your way back, and at her house last night?"
"Yes. First, we were jumped at a gas station on the way home." Pam raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Not something I want to talk about. Sookie showed herself to be quite capable with a shotgun, and I glamored one of the idiots into telling me who sent them."
"She can fire a shotgun?"
"Yes."
Pam looked suitably impressed. Sookie was indeed turning out to be more than simply a perky waitress.
"What then?"
"Then there was a shit load of weres waiting for us at her house. I got shot and Sookie got beaten. Compton and I had a grand old time massacring them. I think that's the most fun I ever had with Bill."
Pam pouted jealously.
"Oh, you and your BFF Bill had a nice time draining some dirty weres? Did you get all horny afterward and soap each other up in his big antique claw-foot tub?"
"Shut your face, Pam. I can have fun killing things without you, you know. And don't mention myself, Compton, and soap together in the same sentence ever again."
"What happened to Sookie?"
"As I say, she was badly beaten, which is why I need you to go over to her house, and help her with her human needs."
"Excuse me? You need me to what?" Pam looked at him as if she had misheard.
"She is in quite a state, I doubt she is barely able to move. She might need some help before we visit her tonight. I don't know if she has anyone else around to help her. You are a female, whom she knows reasonably well. She might let you give her a hand."
"What? Like, fix her a vessel of some sort of soup, and do toilet things?" Pam pulled a face. Such tasks were very much beneath her.
"Look, I trust you to just aid her as she needs it. Be nice to her. Do not be inappropriate, and do not leer at her or misbehave if she has to get partially or even fully naked."
"You want me to nurse a human?"
Eric gave her a glare. Pam went to say something more but Eric held up his hand.
"Just do it."
He began opening some mail that was in his in tray. Pam just sat and watched.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Eric asked, before waving a hand. "Sookie's. Go."
Pam huffed and rose from her seat. She was mumbling all the way to her car.
Eric looked at the phone and considered calling Sookie, to let her know Pam was on her way. He wondered how she was feeling. He wondered if she'd allow him to heal her. Instead of dialing her number, though, he dialed another.
"Bill."
"Yes."
"Be at Sookie's house at 8:30."
"Oh. All right. Tearing up those weres last night was excellent sport, Eric. I thought that..."
Click.
Eric wasn't in the mood for conversation, least of all with Bill. He sat back in his chair and thought about what had happened.
He had had a seriously busy few days. Going undercover in another area, searching high and low for your stupid, dullard underling, surviving an embarrassing silver net incident, receiving multiple gunshot wounds and taking on a gang of weres really can take it out of you. Even if you are 6 ft 4 inches (maybe more, it was really dependent on footwear and the tousled-ness of hair) of kick-ass Viking magnificence. He'd seen a lot of tasty action.
Yet all he could find himself thinking about was a certain blonde telepath.
What a little marvel she was turning out to be. And how brave and determined. She'd aided Herveaux in hiding the body of a were, survived a serious staking, taken out Lorena, and rescued Bill. In the midst of all this madness, she also had the strength and drive to almost have sex with him.
What a woman.
And then, she'd decided she'd save the day and been all kick-ass at that gas station (which might have given him a semi, if he was being truthful about it, even though at the time he'd been incredibly embarrassed about the whole silver net situation). He'd accidentally on purpose blurted out in front of her that she was his future lover, after hitting one of their attackers when he mentioned Sookie's boobs. Eric scowled at the memory and regretted not damaging the nasty little breather in a more permanent way.
The 'future lover' comment had confused her a little, which had infuriated him for some reason. In fact, they'd had what almost amounted to a 'lover's tiff' on the way back to her house, and it had gotten even more heated when they arrived. He'd insulted her, apparently, though not purposefully, and she'd totally snapped and said she was done working for vampires.
Then there'd been the were fight, the like of which he hadn't enjoyed in ages, which had turned into a bit of a blood-bath. Poor Sookie was now a complete mess, her beautiful body quite badly damaged.
It had indeed been a very, very eventful evening. Quite exhilarating, in fact. Truth was, he'd never felt so alive as he did when he was around Sookie. Every inch of him pulsed when she was around, not just his cock, and quite bizarrely, more recently, he felt a need to comfort her, and soothe her, and care for her. Not just to get her into bed.
What the fuck was all that about?
Eric had no intention of analyzing these random and and quite frankly, disturbing emotions right now, and instead decided to turn his attention to memories of more physical pleasures.
If only Bubba hadn't walked in.
Eric closed his eyes as he recalled their all too brief liaison at Russell's mansion. The perfect, warm, wet feel of her, writhing on his fingers. Their mutually wild and natural desires taking over, the physical need so intense for them both. She had been ready to yield and Eric was more than ready to give her what she needed. He would give her more pleasure than she had ever experienced before. He had no idea what Compton was like in this department, but he was guessing it was nothing to write home about. Eric wanted her to scream his name, to pleasure her over and over again, in ways she never even believed possible. There would be no going back from that. She would never want another lover. She would finally be his.
Sadly, it was not to be on this occasion. The King of Cock-block n' Roll had seen to that.
Eric recalled how she had drank from him. To have his little bullet-sucker take his blood once more was just simply divine. He'd come all over her back like a teenager shooting his load over the Victoria's Secret catalog, completely unable to control himself. And then his fangs had lightly brushed her skin, and she was off the bed, like a spooked kitten. A kitten sporting a suspicious looking wet patch.
Fucking fuckety fuck fuck. Fuck.
Eric lowered his head to his desk and banged his forehead on the surface a few times.
Idiot.
It was hot. Very hot, in a shameless, dirty way which he never usually had an issue with. But it was just not what he intended. Plus, he needed so much more.
Eric was a very patient being. But his patience was wearing thin. He was quite sure that they were going to be together, but he would need to have Sookie very soon, or his balls might explode. Or implode. Either way, it was going to be messy, and it would result in the final demise of his thousand year old testicles.
He beat his forehead on the desk a few more times.
His mind flashed on an image of her, dancing with her friend at Club Dead. Winding her hips, wiggling all those wonderful jiggly areas. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her. He was completely and utterly mesmerized at her wonderful, wild, joyful display. Who thought anyone could dance so sexily to Pat Benatar?
He wanted to watch her dance again. Every night. In private.
Eric shook himself out of it. Sookie had done what she had set out to do, and she had done well. Bill had been rescued and the queen was none the wiser, it seemed. It was regretful that she had ended up getting a severe beating. The least he could do, he thought, was get her driveway fixed.
His intention had been to show his appreciation in a much more physical, intensely pleasurable manner. But after their tense drive back to Bon Temps, Eric's complaints about the state of her driveway were the final straw for Sookie, it seemed. Eric resolved to give her what she most desired right now. If that wasn't to be him, and his considerable bedroom talents, then it would have to be something a little more practical, but perhaps no less satisfying. Nah. Who was he trying to kid? Gravel was a poor substitute. Still, it would have to do for the time being.
Sookie admitted she couldn't afford it, and she wasn't going to take any payment for her time in Jackson. He couldn't just give her the money to do it, since she'd think he was insulting her, again. Compton wasn't going to do it. What had Sookie said? He was spending all his money on the frickin' Bellefleurs? Why the hell would he be spending his money on some distant relatives who hated him, instead of his beautiful, loyal girlfriend? Strike that. Ex-girlfriend. Again, Bill slipped further down in his estimations.
Eric had never given the gift of gravel before. He figured it was a nice gesture, a 'thank you' for her help, a sort of apology (though he still wasn't sure exactly what he was apologizing for), and a whack around the back of the head for Bill, all at the same time. And she could hardly give it back, even if she wanted to. Also, he wouldn't have to curse and drive so carefully each time he came to visit her house. Which he was intending to do, more often, with possible multiple stay overs. Soon.
Very, very soon.
V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V V
"Well hell-ooo gorgeous."
Eric cocked an eyebrow at the obviously drunk female were who was standing over him, gripping on to the table of his booth. Non-vamps very rarely approached him sober, unless they were proper fang bangers, and knew not to taint their blood too much with alcohol. He wasn't sure exactly what to make of this creature.
"Good evening."
"You're Eric Northman, right?" she slurred.
"I am. And you are?"
The inebriated were leaned closer to him and Eric fought the urge to back away. She smelled like incense sticks and sandalwood, with a hint of eggs and a trace of mustard. More prominently, she smelled like vodka and tequila. She had short, brown hair, parted at the side, and Eric thought she seemed like a taller, broader, more masculine-looking were-version of Hitler, sans toothbrush moustache.
She touched the end of his nose with her forefinger. Clancy, who was sitting opposite Eric, immediately stood, ready to strike, and there were a number of gasps and concerned mumblings circulating around the room. Eric stared back at her coolly.
"I'm the woman of your..." She hiccuped, before continuing. "Dreams, baby."
She squished his nose, before poking at his cheek, and falling over onto the floor, where she hiccuped again and appeared to pass out. Eric looked at her with disdain, and leaned down to her.
"I very much doubt that, darling," he whispered. "Unless it was that dream I had where a drunken were vomited on my shoes."
Some of her group came over and picked her up, looking embarrassed, and offered apologetic smiles, before quickly dragging her off. Clancy sat back down.
"Who the fuck was that?"
Eric shrugged.
"Do you want me to deal with them?"
"No, it's fine. So what were you saying, about this prediction the Ancient Pythoness gave you?"
"Well, she said something about the fact that I would meet my final death at the hands of a being born of water, some crap like that, I don't really remember."
"What else?"
"That I should never drink from type O Negative humans, because it's bad for my chi, and my skin, or some such nonsense."
Eric smirked. "Hmm." He knew that Clancy stayed clear of the O Negs, and had often wondered why.
Pam drifted over and sat down beside Clancy.
"What are you two talking about?"
"The AP."
"Oh, Old Pythy?"
"Yep," Clancy said. "The Pyth Meister."
"Pythykins. El Pytho. What about her?"
"Have you ever had a prediction from her, Pam?" asked Clancy.
"No, not that I believe any of that stuff, anyway. Eric did though, didn't you?"
Eric rolled his eyes. He hadn't intended on letting Clancy in on this. Pam had such a big fucking mouth.
"Yes," he groaned.
"Really?" Clancy's interest was piqued. "I didn't know that. When was this?"
"It was at an Amun summit six years ago."
Eric didn't really want to elaborate further, but they just sat there staring at him.
"She told me that my soul mate would find me," Eric mumbled. "When I needed her." He squirmed a little.
"Tell him the rest," Pam pressed.
Eric shook his head. "She was off her tits on fairy-juice that night. Completely obliterated. She had no idea what she was saying. It means nothing at all. You don't even believe in it, Pam."
"I know. But it amuses me."
"Go on," Clancy urged.
Eric sighed. "She told me..." He hesitated, wondering how he could make it sound any less sappy than it did. He looked around to check who might be listening, and leaned forward. "She told me I would find my heart again. That I would be saved. And that I would be king."
"Whoah." Clancy was impressed. "That was way better than mine."
"She tells everyone the same thing," Pam scoffed. "She told Long Shadow he'd be king too, and look what happened to him."
"Are you suggesting I won't be king one day Pam?"
"No, of course not." Pam began back-peddling. "What I mean is she says the same stuff to everyone, she just changes it up a bit each time."
"She didn't tell me I'd be king." Clancy was still miffed.
"So what?" Pam waved her hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter, it's all a pile of crap anyway."
"I agree," Eric said. "It's bullshit. Soul mate. Like I have a fucking soul anyway, or a need to be 'saved'. She said a lot of random crap that evening. In fact, I do believe she tried to come on to me. She definitely touched me inappropriately on a couple of occasions. She licked me, as well, when she was whispering in my ear."
"Eww." Pam put her hand over her mouth and looked like she was attempting to refrain from vomiting.
Clancy shook his head.
"That is... just... awful."
"Indeed. Not pleasant," Eric agreed.
"She didn't lick my ear."
"What?" Eric shook his head at Clancy. "Why, did you want her to?"
"No, but she told you that you would find your soul mate, and be king, and she came on to you. I got some nutritional advice and, happily for me," he gave some happy jazz-hands, "I know I'm going to meet my final death by fish. Whoopee. Not so much as a grope. I'm just saying, that sounds like she fancied you and was being biased, since you got a much better deal than I did."
"Really, Clancy, there is no need to be jealous," Eric said seriously. "I'm sure if you went and offered yourself to her she'd oblige you with a good tonguing. Or perhaps something a little extra? Then she might give you a more sufficient prophecy."
Pam snickered. Clancy huffed and took a gulp of his blood.
"Well..."
"I didn't try to charm her. I just happen to have this effect on the ladies, even the mad, ancient, blind, drooling ones."
Pam looked at Clancy, and could tell he was seriously considering seducing Pythykins. How could anyone really believe in this stuff? Eric could also read his intentions in his face.
"Seriously, it's not worth it," Eric said. "Even if you do locate the AP and give her a good seeing to, who's to say she would give you a better prediction?"
"Yes," Pam agreed. "It might get worse. Depending on your ability to satisfy her needs."
Eric and Pam smirked at each other, and Clancy made a retching face. Then Eric downed his blood and stood. He made his way across the bar, towards his office. He cast a few dangerously seductive, panty-melting glances at some customers as he passed them, for shits and giggles.
He closed the office door behind him, sat behind his desk and shuffled some paperwork. He stared at some figures, but couldn't concentrate.
Sookie was certainly going to be his lover, of that there could be no doubt. The connection was strong, and she wanted him just as bad, he knew this. He had felt it.
But was it remotely possible...?
Eric shook his head. The dirty old AP had said she would find him. It hadn't worked that way. Sookie had appeared at the bar with Bill.
It was completely absurd to believe in any of that shit, especially when it was spouted by a drunken AP. There was no possibility that the future was already planned out, Eric thought.
You choose your own path.
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Dear Abby,
I have a very unusual problem that I am hoping you can help with. I am a vampire, and as I am sure you are aware, we have quite a reputation for being incredibly alluring to humans and seriously hot in the sack. Well, I never had a problem at all picking up the fang bangers, in fact, I was quite the Romeo. That was until I began working with my colleague, Pat Crowsloft.
Pat is a seriously red-hot blonde bi-vamp, and since we began working together, I hardly see any action at all. No one barely casts me a glance, even when I try to be extra flirty and seductive, and show off my elaborate tattoos. Pat gets all the pussy, and cock, and I don't get a look in. She makes me look and feel pathetic and completely emasculated.
Last week, all I could manage was a fumble with a balding fifty-eight year old Risk Management Officer called Colin. And that was only because Pat had rejected him earlier in the evening for being too flabby and smelling like dog biscuits. The most exciting sexual encounter I've had this week was when I thought someone pinched my butt, but when I turned around and winked I realized I'd just caught my pants in the cash register.
Not only is Pat more attractive and sexy than me, but she is also far more intelligent, stylish, successful, popular, and amusing than I am, and she could take me in a fight if I were armed with a four foot long stake and she had little more than one of those tiny pencils you get in Ikea. In fact, she wouldn't even need the pencil, it would be totally superfluous, since she can reduce me to a quivering wreck with little more than a glance. She's quite simply more superior in every way, and would most likely win a contest for the most brilliant and talented vampire, such as Vampire Idol, or the Vampire Olympics.
I am completely in awe of Pat and yet loathe her and her apparently limitless and effortless talents. I am losing all confidence in myself and my sexual prowess. I just don't know what to do. Please, please help.
Chow, Shreveport, LA.
