Apologies for the cliff-hanger but as I'm updating straight away, I hope you won't mind!
This is my first attempt so please read, review and let me know how it sounds! I do most of my thinking when I'm running (I run 10km most days – just in case Alexander Skarsgard moves in across the road!) and I'm aware that things that sound amazing in my head don't always come across as well on paper…
Enjoy
…..
Over in Shreveport, Eric Northman sits behind his desk in a lazy manner, with his long legs apart, blue eyes half-closed and hands resting lightly behind his sleek blonde head.
All in all, it was a curious pose for a 1,000 year old vampire, but the reason soon becomes apparent – a blonde girl is nestled between him and the desk. She looks curiously similar to Sookie – something Eric will later curse his subconscious for – and is currently trying to fit his entire length into her mouth.
Despite the typically impassive look on his face and the languor of his pose, Eric is not, in fact, relaxed or even happy. She's been down there for entirely too long and, even though stamina is something he usually prides himself on, the Viking is now beginning to worry.
When she showed him attention earlier, he bought her swiftly into the back office to seek release and the few moments of silence inside his head which he knows will follow. But now that release isn't forthcoming. As all men know, worrying about it is only going to make it take longer so out of desperation and a little bit of embarrassment, Eric does something he very rarely does.
With lightning speed, he picks up the girl, tears off her denim shorts (another Sookie similarity) and positions her on top of the desk on her back. Getting down on his knees, he licks her thigh roughly with his tongue, making his way into the centre. She instantly jerks with pleasure, clearly as shocked as he is that a powerful vampire is trying to give her pleasure.
Much to his surprise, Eric begins to enjoy himself. The anonymous blonde is convulsing with pleasure as he teases her clit with his tongue and gives it a playful nip. But she isn't screaming, thrashing about and behaving in a way she thinks he expects – it's all very genuine and refreshing.
Just as she's about to reach the peak, Eric pulls away – earning a little whimper of desperation – and then thrusts into her with all his strength. Succumbing to the glorious feeling of him inside her, the blonde comes instantly and as her internal muscles grip him, Eric too sees release on the horizon. A few quick thrusts and he spurts into her, collapsing – rather heavily – on top of the girl and the desk.
Finally, he thinks in triumph. He gives the girl who helped him out a tender lick on the neck, pathetically grateful for how empty his body feels.
Eric's bliss, however, is short-lived. Far from allowing him to stop thinking about pesky Miss Stackhouse, the orgasm only opens him up to the feelings he has been trying to block out since he made her drink his blood in Dallas. Despite the fact that he immensely enjoyed it at the time– not to mention the look on Bill's face– he had since regretted the connection because he couldn't damn well stop thinking about her. She was the one who should be dreaming about him. His plan had backfired rather.
So Eric finds that the very thing he was hoping to avoid has hit him square in the chest. But whilst usually he only feels blasts of contradicting emotions from her (she certainly was an enigma that girl), right now it was very different. Bright, physical pain lances through his heart and body. If Eric hadn't already been crushing the girl into the desk, he may well have fallen over. It was a pain he recognised all too easily after Godric's tortuous decision to leave – betrayal.
Instantly, Eric stands and pulls up his pants. The girl is now completely forgotten and left behind, locked in his office (she won't mind, she's sleeping soundly after the force of her orgasm).
Even though he's dressed casually in a sporty zip-up top and tight black jeans, Eric's power and beauty turns heads all over the club as he passes through the dance floor looking for Pam.
One besotted redhead sighs dramatically as he passes, whispering to her friend: "See, he's even more good-looking up close. And double since he cut his hair. He can bite me any day of the week." Her friend nods in agreement and usually Eric might have smirked at the compliment, then stopped and taken both of them – at the same time, naturally – into the back for round two. But the Viking still had only one woman in his head and he was determined to find out what mischief she was up to this time.
Pam is outside doing the job she loathes most – watching the door. In a tight black leather pencil skirt and pink lycra vest, she's doing a sterling job of over-exciting all the customers as they wait in line. But Pam is bored out of her mind and barely suppresses a yawn as she flicks her whip half-heartedly at a couple of barely legal girls beside her. Even though the pretty girls shriek with happiness, Pam can't even bring herself to bare her fangs at them.
The shrieks increase wildly in volume, however, as Eric appears in a blur by her side, earning himself the flash of a dozen camera phones and the swooning moans of fans – much like a TV star on the red carpet. Pam rolls her eyes in a distinctly human gesture.
"Come to take my place?" Pam drawls at him, knowing he hates queue duty as much as she does. But Eric is frowning, not playing, tonight.
"Oh boy," says Pam. "It's not that delectable little Stackhouse girl again, is it? Because I would not mind having a little run in with her tonight." She smoothes down her hair sensually.
"Actually," Eric mutters softly, as though afraid others will overhear, "it is Sookie that I'm concerned about. I felt something from her earlier. Something… bad."
"Well pop off and go and find her, then. I'll stay here and mind the club. Even though I might stake myself from boredom before you get back," Pam replies petulantly.
"It's not that simple."
"It never is with this one," she sighs.
"I don't know where she is. I just felt a terrible pain before. And it's still there, which… worries me."
"Oh boy," Pam says once more. "She's done a great job at getting under your skin. You're the one who's supposed to be seducing her, you know."
Eric scowls. "Go to that backwater shack she calls work and seek information on her whereabouts from the shifter."
Pam wrinkles her nose and gives a dramatic shudder. "Alright," she replies. "I'll go to that despicable little town and talk to the smelly shifter. But only if you stay outside and let them stare at you for one hour. Oh, and I'm going to have to take your car."
Pam doesn't imagine he'll ever agree to these demands but to her intense surprise, Eric doesn't even reply. He merely takes the whip with one hand and passes over the keys to his spiffy little car with the other. Sashaying off on her red high heels before he can change his mind, Pam jumps into the corvette and screeches away across the parking lot.
Thanks to her penchant for trying to break both the speed limit and Eric's beloved car, Pam arrives at Merlotte's all too soon for her liking. Now she'll have to go and interact with them all. As she speeds up the driveway, Pam gives another forceful shudder, hoping her maker will feel her disgust.
But a strange scene greets Pam – instead of the usual dark, dull woods around the bar, everything is ablaze with lights and sirens. A crowd has gathered at one side of the lot and she makes her way over there, careful not to be seen and noted as suspicious.
Pam can't see – or smell – the shifter, but she does spot the unmistakable glitter of a gold dress at the edge of the humans – it's Lafayette, and so she decides to enjoy herself a little bit. She creeps up behind him and whispers in his ear, her mouth so close that her breath tickles his neck.
"What's going on, y'all?" She drawls in a fake southern accent.
Lafayette staggers backwards and clutches a heart she knows in now beating wildly. "Bitch, is you trying to give me a heart attack? Damn you, hooker!" he cries.
Pam starts to object, then changes her mind. After all, the slur is right – just a few centuries too late.
"No, merely intrigued."
"Well, I wouldn't think you is going to care about this bullshit, but here goes. That there boy with his brains splattered on the ground is Eggs. My cousin's man, and incidentally the one who been going round cutting out hearts for fun. So then that stupid cop fuck Andy gone and…"
Pam cuts him off. "You're right. I don't care. Sorry I asked."
"So what in the name of Jesus is you doing here, hooker?" Lafayette protests. "I got much on my mind."
"I'm here about a certain blonde waitress who has been ensnaring vampire hearts all over the area, and enquiring about her whereabouts tonight."
"If you mean Sookie…" Lafayette begins.
"Damn, you catch on quick." Pam drawls back at him.
"If you mean Sookie," he repeats, "then she ain't here. She off with that other badass fucker, the one she meant to be in lurve with. Don't know where, how long for or why, before you ask me any of that bullshit. But she got herself all riled up with excitement all day, so I bet you it somewhere fine. Who so interested, anyways?"
"Oh Eric was… interested. He said he felt something bad from her."
"That mean she in trouble?" Lafayette asks, annoyed. It's not that he's a bad friend, just that after one big mess only got cleared up a few hours ago (or didn't, in fact, if you counted a prostrate Eggs in the car park) and he really didn't have the energy for more. "Hang on," he continues, "does that mean Sookie had some of him blood? And if so, can't y'all just find where she is?"
"Well, well," smirks Pam, a look she obviously perfected from Eric, "and how would you know all that about the blood?"
Lafayette shrugs uncomfortably.
"To answer your question," she goes on, "I don't know. It doesn't always work clearly – if there's another vampire involved…. blah blah, vampire stuff, blah blah. You don't want to hear it anymore than I want to hear about human squabbles."
With that, Pam spins on her well-shod heel and goes back to the corvette. As a parting shot, she calls over her shoulder to Lafayette: "If there is trouble, do come call on us and play."
"Yeah right, hooker." Lafayette mutters. "Not in a million years." Then he regrets it – she probably heard that.