milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Pam enters the bar some time after Eric. Could be a couple hours, could be a couple days. With the way time works between worlds, who the hell knows.

But she needed a break from Eric because just omfg

Really.

Just.

Ugh.

Anyway.

Dressed down in a slim black velour track suit (it matches Eric's, shut up) and flip flops, Pam sits at the bar and orders a bottle of TruBlood. Massaging her temple, she huffs a long-suffering, irritated sigh.

She will be inclined to tell you to fuck off if you ask her what's wrong.

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She huffs a sigh and licks the thick red liquid off her upper lip before turning to look at him.

"Fake blood."

Tahno's eyes glitter as he appraises her again. "Then," he starts, his gaze flicking to her drink and back to her face again, "yer a vampire. D'ya know Eric?"

She sees the glint in his eyes and senses a slight shift in his blood, the way it smells, the way it rushes through his veins.

"Yes. I do."

Her deep Southern accent stretches out the words into several meanings at once.

"Pam," Tahno drawls, and though he says it with an accent, his tone is respectful. "I'm Tahno. You interested in somethin' other than fake shit?"

Eric sure likes talking about her.

Her flat expression doesn't change except for a faintly raised, and finely arched, eyebrow.

"I always am. You offering?"

Eric loves talking about her.

Tahno rolls his sleeve back to offer his wrist. "Sure am," he drawls, and liquefies his whiskey to drop it back into the glass. He downs the shot and sets it on the counter with a quiet clack of glass against wood. "You wanna do it here or elsewhere?"

Her ice-blue eyed gaze shifts from his face to his bared wrist and back again, entirely uninterested in what he's doing with the whiskey.

What a cocky fangbanger.

She's about to question his motives, but if Eric has already told him about her, it's fair to assume that he's warned him. So if he's so willing, it's not her problem.

"Elsewhere. There's always gonna be assholes around who'll think I'm deliberately hurting you."

She slips off the stool and regards him with a hand on her hip.

"And believe me, you'll know if I'm deliberately hurting you."

A tic of her head, gesturing toward the back door.

"Outside."

And she turns around to head for it.

The soft fabric of her track suit bottoms hugs her hips and ass quite nicely and she knows it.

Tahno snorts, rolling up his other sleeve. He doesn't hide his appraisal--and approval--of her ass, and more importantly, her confidence. He smirks, following her, and lowers her collar. "Lookin' forward to it," he murmurs.

Of course she's confident. She's Eric Northman's Progeny.

Once outside in the chilly evening air, she glances around the porch to make sure that nobody is hanging around.

"Okay," she says, turning to face Tahno, looking him up and down and assessing that he's almost as tall as Eric.

"Let's get one thing straight before you go through with this. You're offering; I'm not. Touch me and you lose your hand. And you seem to use those pretty hands of yours a lot."

Tahno holds his hands up, facing her head-on despite the submissive gesture. "Hey, that ain't no biggie," he drawls, and runs his tongue across his bottom lip. "You goin' for the neck or the wrist?"

Hm. He could use a little breaking.

She smiles like the predator that she is.

"The neck."

She shoves him into the nearest Adirondack chair and in a blur of vampire speed, she's top of him, her fist in his hair, tugging his head back.

She drops her fangs with a seductive hiss.

"Comfy?" she asks in an unnervingly pleasant voice.

Why do they always go for the hair, Tahno wants to know. His eyes widen and he's biting his lip and his ragged gasp is torn from his throat and escaping into the night air.

But he smirks up at her once he recovers his bearings, his hands draped over the arms of the chair. His fingers itch to touch her, cup her breast, smooth over the hard small of her back--but no, she told him no touching, so he stays right where he is.

Doesn't mean he can't spread his legs a little under her, though. "Peachy," he responds on a breath, a huff of amused laughter.

That brief spike of fear is delicious.

"Good," she purrs.

She dips her head and inhales along his jugular as it throbs wildly, the scent of his blood filling her senses. The points of her fangs graze his skin, and then-- she bites him.

His hot, sweet blood rushes into her mouth and she moans with hunger and delight.

"F-Fuck," Tahno groans, his hands twitching on the arms of the seat. He almost reaches up for her, almost tangles his hands in her hair, but manages to keep himself contained.

His eyes widen, and his normally pale gaze darkens with dilated pupils. His lips part, and his chest rises and falls in jerks with his quick, shallow breathing, small gasps that threaten to overwhelm him. He grips the chair hard, twitching under her. Getting bit fucking hurts, but he revels in it, the pain dancing along the threshold of pleasure in a way that's just about maddening.

She sucks at his wounds, her lips and tongue working at his skin, swallowing and caressing and licking. It's like getting a really vicious hickey.

The hand not in his hair splays flat on his chest, holding him down. She likes the way his breath comes in short, ragged gasps; he feels more like prey that way. But she can also feel his heartbeat and keep track of it, in case she drinks too deeply.

For the moment, though, she's enjoying her meal. The sweetness of his blood. The heat of his body.

A really vicious hickey is exactly what he signed on for. He jams his eyes shut and opens his mouth, tilting his head back and to the side as much as he can. His breath hitches, and his hands shake.

"Oh! Oh, fuck, you just--" he starts, his accent thicker in his distress. He all but squirms under her, tilting his hips up and arching his back.

She has to admit, he is enthusiastic. She can work with that.

She utters a low, purring growl.

Her hand on his chest relents for a moment, letting him thrash around for a bit. And then she forcefully pins him down again, sucking at his throat with renewed hunger. She drags her hand lower down the front of his body. Where she'll stop, nobody knows...

Eric did say she was dangerous.

Tahno curls his toes in his shoes, his heels digging into the earth. Her teasing him is too much, just too much, and when he opens his eyes his normally pale gaze is blown black.

He raises his hips as much as she'll let him, soft, frantic moans escaping his parted lips. His grip gives him white knuckles; he doesn't dare let go of the arms of the chair.

If he lets go to grab onto something else, he'll lose the arm, too.

All his struggling has made his blood run thick and fast, and it's not long before she's had her fill.

So she's bored now.

Her hand stops at his stomach, and she shoves him down hard against the chair to keep him still. Lifting her mouth from his neck with a satisfied purr, she tugs his head back to look at his face. Well, he's not unconscious, so that's all right.

"How're you doin', sweetie?"

Her full lips are stained crimson with his blood.

Tahno gasps when she shoves him, and gasps again when the warmth of her lips leaves his neck. He wants nothing more than to kiss her, to bite her back, to taste her skin.

He offers her a thin smile in a pale face. "J-Just peachy," he drawls, his honey-smooth voice roughened by arousal and pain.

She runs a cool fingertip along his jaw and under his chin.

"Good. Breakfast was delicious."

Pricking the pad of her thumb on her fang, she rubs her blood on the oozing wounds on his neck. The punctured skin knits and heals, only leaving behind a smear of blood. She's a very neat eater.

Pushing off the chair and standing up, she retracts her fangs with an audible click, and flips her hair over her shoulder.

Tahno peels his fingers away from the arm of the chair, considering her. Saying, 'wanna fuck?' probably won't work like it did on Eric, unfortunately.

"Good," he purrs back, lifting his chin for her. He doesn't know whether he's allowed to stand or not. "Well. I should probably get cleaned up."

No, it wouldn't. Smart boy.

"Yeah. You should probably also take care of that, too."

She twirls a finger in the general direction of his crotch.

Tahno smirks, arching a brow at her. "I'd say, 'don't worry 'bout me', but yer clearly not," he drawls, and stands, rising to his full six-foot-three height and fighting lightheadedness. His hands remain loose at his sides, but he rests his weight on a tilted hip. "Nor should you."

"Trust me, I'm not," she says flippantly, returning the smirk.

"Well, then. Nice meeting you. If you see Eric around, tell him I said hi."

She turns to head back inside, but she pauses at the door.

"Oh, and by the way -- maybe next time, you'll get to keep your hands if you touch me. Maybe."