Fic: By Proxy, True Blood, Pam/Eric/Sookie
By Proxy
fandom: True Blood
rating: R
pairing: Pam/Eric/Sookie (sort of)
length: short
for: Porn Battle 10
From the bar, Pam watches the new dancer with little more than professional interest. She’s a pretty thing or she wouldn’t be here in the first place. She moves along the poll like she’s fucking it and she’s good at what she does. She shifts her gaze to Eric. To the casual observer, Eric is watching the dancer, too. But Pam is anything but casual in her observations of Eric.
His eyes are black right now, pupils fully dilated. And his fangs are just showing through his lips. There’s the barest hint of a flush in his pale cheeks. His fingers are almost imperceptibly stroking the arm of his chair. Though the dancer is obscuring Pam’s view of Eric’s bottom half, Pam knows that he is hard.
She can feel it.
Pam knows that the dancer, as hot and as nimble as she is, is not the impetus for Eric’s arousal (and by proxy, Pam’s). It’s Sookie.
Pam leans against the bar, her eyes on Eric and the dancer, her mind wandering to Sookie. Her hand drifts downwards, just over her leather-clad crotch. She strokes, once, waits a beat, and stokes again, a bit harder. The dizzy feeling, though initially not her own, amplifies in her blood. She strokes harder, faster. She’s close now. The images in her mind are beautiful and hot in their simplicity. Kissing, touching, lingerie. Biting. It’s not her with Sookie -- well, not directly. But it doesn’t matter. Eric’s blood will always pull her (willingly) along.
She shuts her eyes, bites her lip, and comes. It’s quick and intense. Then she’s ready for anything, a fraction of a second later.
“Glad someone enjoyed that,” Eric whispers into the air before he dismisses the dancer. Pam smiles at him, though he’s already gone.
fandom: True Blood
rating: R
pairing: Pam/Eric/Sookie (sort of)
length: short
for: Porn Battle 10
From the bar, Pam watches the new dancer with little more than professional interest. She’s a pretty thing or she wouldn’t be here in the first place. She moves along the poll like she’s fucking it and she’s good at what she does. She shifts her gaze to Eric. To the casual observer, Eric is watching the dancer, too. But Pam is anything but casual in her observations of Eric.
His eyes are black right now, pupils fully dilated. And his fangs are just showing through his lips. There’s the barest hint of a flush in his pale cheeks. His fingers are almost imperceptibly stroking the arm of his chair. Though the dancer is obscuring Pam’s view of Eric’s bottom half, Pam knows that he is hard.
She can feel it.
Pam knows that the dancer, as hot and as nimble as she is, is not the impetus for Eric’s arousal (and by proxy, Pam’s). It’s Sookie.
Pam leans against the bar, her eyes on Eric and the dancer, her mind wandering to Sookie. Her hand drifts downwards, just over her leather-clad crotch. She strokes, once, waits a beat, and stokes again, a bit harder. The dizzy feeling, though initially not her own, amplifies in her blood. She strokes harder, faster. She’s close now. The images in her mind are beautiful and hot in their simplicity. Kissing, touching, lingerie. Biting. It’s not her with Sookie -- well, not directly. But it doesn’t matter. Eric’s blood will always pull her (willingly) along.
She shuts her eyes, bites her lip, and comes. It’s quick and intense. Then she’s ready for anything, a fraction of a second later.
“Glad someone enjoyed that,” Eric whispers into the air before he dismisses the dancer. Pam smiles at him, though he’s already gone.