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Inspired by BPAL's Blood Moon.

Title: Sing Them for Spite
Author: voleuse
Fandom: True Blood
Pairing: Sookie/Pam
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Why should the Devil get all the good tunes?
Notes: No spoilers

Sookie's feet hurt, her hair smelled like chicken, and some guy from her high school algebra class spent his entire supper order thinking about the color of her nipples. When she went back to the kitchen, Sam caught her arm and asked her if she was okay, but he thought how damn pretty she looked, even with her hair such a mess, and Sookie just wanted to scream. But she just smiled and told him it was the usual thing, and she finished her shift without looking crazier than usual.

It was warm out and her feet hurt, but when she started driving home, she sped past her turn and went all the way to Shreveport instead. She pulled into Fangtasia's parking lot and told herself this was a bad idea, but then again, she really wanted a beer, and Fangtasia was a bar, wasn't it? She stripped off her T-shirt, leaving the camisole beneath, and wished she had brought something other than white tennis shoes to wear.

She didn't recognize the man at the entrance, but when she approached the crowd at the door, he was a puddle of silence in the midst of waves of want, want, want. She shook her hair back and walked right up to him, and though he looked over her, once and twice, he waved her in without even a question.

It was even warmer inside the club, sultry with whispers. The flash of lights played counterpoint with the surging thoughts of the human patrons, but Sookie pushed them out of her mind, strode up to the bar and asked for a beer.

The vamp behind the counter smirked at her, opened the bottle up with a flip of his thumb.

She said thank you, because that's just what people do. She tipped her head back as she drank. The beer was warmer than she would have liked, but still cooler than everything else in the room.

A hand pressed against the small of her back, and Sookie turned, ready to snap at whichever asshole was grabbing her this time. But instead, she faced a mask, a velvety domino, and a tumble of pale hair.

Pam smiled, the points of her teeth barely sharpened. "Miss Stackhouse." She removed her mask, trailed it against the ragged lace of her bodice. "Unaccompanied?"

Sookie raised her chin. "I don't need a chaperone." She clutched her beer, feeling half her own age. "You want something?"

"Just the pleasure of your company." Pam raised her arms, settled the mask over Sookie's face. She leaned close, and her lips brushed against Sookie's hair. "You can be somebody else tonight."

The cloth was warm against Sookie's face, and between Pam and the bartender, she couldn't catch even half a thought.

She took a long gulp from her beer, and enjoyed the freedom of silence. "That'd be nice," she said. "For tonight."

Pam disentangled the bottle from Sookie's fingers, set it on the bar before sliding her palms down Sookie's bare arms. "You like to dance, don't you?"

Sookie nodded, and Pam pulled her across the dance floor, shreds of thought blurring through her mind like radio stations at a dial's spin. She turned her head, saw heads turn to look at her, heard god look at them and I would love to just--

And they were on the other side of the floor, and Pam pressed her against wall. It was rough against Sookie's shoulders, warm as fire, and the music overrode her pulse, and Pam breathed hot on her neck.

"Please don't bite me," Sookie said, and Pam laughed.

"You are so sweet," she responded, darting her tongue against Sookie's throat. "Adorable."

The shadows wrapped around them, and Sookie writhed at the music, at the sway of Pam's hips against hers. She tilted her head back, and the only thing she could hear was the pulse of the speakers, her harsh breath as Pam wedged her thigh between Sookie's legs, inching the hem of her skirt up and up, until she was firm against the cotton of Sookie's panties.

Sookie clutched at Pam's waist, at her hips, moaning. Sweat beaded underneath her mask, and her fingernails caught on the lace of Pam's dress. "Oh," she said, and again, and again.

Pam slipped a hand under Sookie's camisole, pinched a nipple through the thin padding of her bra. "Say please, darling."

Sookie shook her head, felt her hair snag in the ties of the mask. "Screw you," she managed, and Pam smiled, eyes hooded, and ground against Sookie hard, right, and Sookie arched, gasping out.

And all she could hear was her own heartbeat.


A/N: Title and summary adapted from A.E. Stallings's Triolet on a Line Apocryphally Attributed to Martin Luther. Link courtesy of breathe_poetry.


( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
Nov. 18th, 2009 07:41 am (UTC)
GUHHHHH. I really hope they get more scenes together in season 3. I would be incredibly happy in my pants if this happened.
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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