TITLE: Drunk On You

RATING: M (Do I need to explain why?)

PAIRING: Pam/Tara

SYNOPSIS: Every moment with her was never enough; every heated gaze, every sensual kiss and every caress of fingers against sensitive skin too little to ever really satisfy. She wanted more, always more…

DISCLAIMER: I don't own True Blood, don't sue me, yadda, yadda, yadda.

A/N: So, the past few days I've been writing nothing but academic material. And let me tell you, it is draining. I mean, I was starved of being able to write anything overly creative and I definitely couldn't write anything angst-y, dramatic, inappropriately humorous, intense, sexy or hot. So in a great act of rebellion, I wrote this. Also, aroomofonesown recently bribed me with baked goods (virtual baked goods but hey, it's the thought that counts) to churn out a one-shot so, tada! Happy reading and leave a review if you feel so inclined.

She found herself staring.

At Tara.

Tara, who was behind the bar, clad in a simple forest-green tank top and skin-tight jeans.

She watched.

Blue eyes were electric with barely contained want as her progeny moved about the bar with quick efficiency, her hands in constant motion as she mixed and poured and shook and stirred. Arms of ebony rippled as she worked, well defined muscles ebbing and flowing with each lift of a bottle, each casual flick of her wrist.

Watching Tara tend bar was pure art form and Pam found herself enthralled.

Enthralled…and wanting.

The blonde shifted slightly in her throne, her movements barely discernible even to vampiric eyes. Long blonde lashes fluttered, rendering her eyes to half-mast as her gaze fell upon Tara's bare arms.

There was something about Tara in casual wear that made Pam tingle. Corsets, leather and costume dresses were all well and good, complimenting Tara's dark skin tone and athletic figure but when Tara donned her usual and preferred attire of tank tops and jeans…

Pam felt her control slip through her fingers. Her barely concealed want of Tara filtered into the bond like water through a sieve and the blonde knew the second Tara caught wind of it.

She watched helplessly as Tara froze, one hand suspended in mid-pour as Pam's want careened into her with the force of a freight train. Pam noted the way her progeny visibly shuddered, eyes of pure obsidian slamming shut in a vain attempt to stave off the waves of arousal that now haunted her body.

It took but mere seconds for Tara to regain rudimentary control of her bodily functions but her progeny was a vengeful thing. An onyx hued gaze lifted only to lock onto fathomless pools of sapphire and Pam caught the way Tara's lip curled ever so slightly before she hit her maker with a tsunami worthy wave of lust.

Pam's jaw clenched, her crossed legs tightening ever so slightly as Tara's blatant desire for the blonde smacked her right between her legs. She growled, half in reprimand, half in arousal and felt Tara's silent, victorious laughter tickle down her end of the bond and into Pam's.

The blonde sighed, full lips of painted red parting ever so slightly to allow the near silent sound to waft gently into the air before her. It was quickly swallowed up by the heavy beats booming through the bar's speakers, erasing all trace of its existence. But Pam heard it. Heard it escape from the prison of her throat and trill with the ring of failure.

Failure for allowing her control to slip so easily. Failure for allowing Tara to get the upper hand, to get under her skin.

Her progeny got under her skin constantly. Literally. The bond allowed for such intrusion and Tara, upon learning the finer workings of how the bond functioned, made no qualms about using and manipulating it to her advantage much to her maker's chagrin.

Pam mentally shook her head and straightened her posture. Her face adopted a look that skirted the border between seduction and impassivity. The conflicting combination was fatal, attracting fangbangers and vampires alike to the blonde like a moth to a flame.

It was already working its charm; patrons of Fangtasia, dead, alive or otherwise, were not immune to the dangerous beauty that was the bar's owner. Sitting on that throne perched on that podium, Pam was every bit as haughty and regal as she was deadly and untouchable. It took a brave soul to approach the blonde. Brave…and stupid for Pam had a reputation. She was not only a mistress of inconceivable pleasure but frighteningly knowledgeable in the arts of pain.

She delivered both with painful accuracy.

Azure blue eyes were hooded as they regarded one particular fangbanger who had been shooting nervous yet desirous gazes in her direction for the better part of an hour. He had slowly but surely began inching closer and closer to the podium, pausing every now and then to gather his wits, take a long pull from his beer bottle or to simply stare at Pam with unabashed lust.

Now he was standing by the stairs leading up to Pam's throne. Pam watched as he took a first tentative step up, faltered then repeated the process. She remained cunningly silent as he made it up to the podium but stood in its wings to simply gaze at Pam with naked desire.

She waited, having patience in spades. Pam gave no outward indication that she noticed his slow creep towards her even though she was monitoring his hesitant movements from the corner of her eye.

The blonde also knew that Tara was eyeing him with an intense hawk-like gaze. Her progeny didn't begrudge Pam for feeding on fangbangers, didn't comment when Pam would toy with them in a manner akin to a child playing with a toy they had no attachment to. However, that didn't stop her progeny from tracking eyes of onyx onto every fangbanger that approached her maker.

It was part instinctual protectiveness. But mostly, it was born from possession.

Tara's possessive streak made itself known to Pam now as the fangbanger finally arrived at Pam's side. The blonde spared him but one glance before eyes the color of a deep, endless ocean wandered back to twin chips of pitch, the draw of looking into Tara's eyes far too tempting to resist.

Cobalt eyes rested onto pools of obsidian. There was a challenge in those blue eyes, marred only by a stalwart reassurance that Pam knew who she belonged to.

After a heated stare between maker and progeny, Tara indicated with a barely there nod but not before her eyes of midnight flashed with a warning that Pam could read clear as day:

'Mine'.

Warning complete, Tara returned her attention to the bar and its usual flock of regulars.

Pam in turn, allowed her own attention to fall onto the fangbanger whose face immediately lit up like a Christmas tree when the blonde trailed a critical blue gaze down his body.

"I offer you my services," the fangbanger whispered, his voice shaking with equal parts trepidation and need. He was wilting before Pam's eyes, his eagerness to feel the blonde's fangs sinking into any part of his body zapping him of his strength and basic control of his motor skills. He wavered, swaying slightly on his feet as Pam bore Prussian blue eyes into his mousy brown ones.

Pam eyed him as a human would a menu. She was contemplative as she scanned the length of this all too willing fangbanger's body. She was hungry, yes, but part of the appeal of feeding on humans was the thrill of the hunt. It made the blood sweeter, richer, more potent when adrenaline spiked the life-giving liquid and terror infused itself into its crimson cells.

An unreadable emotion nudged into Pam's end of the bond, instantly distracting her. She snuck a sidelong glance at her progeny; Tara was going about the bar, oblivious to her sudden momentary loss of control over her end of the bond.

Again, watching Tara move around behind the bar had Pam enraptured. Everything about Tara enamored Pam, from the mundane to the spectacular. Her progeny was a rare species, an exquisite creature that in a short time had Pam completely under her thrall. Tara was now so intrinsically a part of Pam that her pores reeked of her progeny's scent, her body permanently branded by Tara's touch. There was nothing left of Pam that Tara didn't permeate; from her heart to her soul to the very structures of her DNA.

The fangbanger shifted, his shoes squeaking ever so slightly against the floor and snapping Pam out of her Tara-induced stupor. She glanced up at the fangbanger, regarded his pulsing jugular vein with vague interest.

She was hungry for fresh blood, yes. But she was starving for Tara.

"Take a hike," Pam murmured dismissively to the fangbanger, uncaring of the way his face fell dramatically. The fangbanger looked like Pam had just snatched away all that was good in the world, replacing every happy memory, every positive emotion with all that was hopeless and bad.

The blonde paid the dejected fangbanger no mind as she focused her gaze and all of her attention onto her progeny. Tara was pouring two different types of blood into a shaker, no doubt in the process of making yet another one of her creations.

Fangtasia had recently started selling bagged human blood after Pam had filled the required paperwork to procure the license from the Vampire-Human Association. The blood bags came from Red Cross, the organization's donors going through a rigorous set of tests before their blood was deemed suitable and sellable.

When the first shipment of blood bags arrived, Tara had wasted no time in experimenting with the different blood types. Pam was her willing guinea pig, trying each new concoction with a straight face and delivering equally brutal feedback. The blonde didn't suffer much though; Tara had developed quite the palate for good blood and as such, Fangtasia now had nightly blood cocktail specials, the pull of a new product combined with it being actual human blood, raising the bar's profits up a notch.

Now, however, Pam didn't care for Tara's well-honed bartending skills or well well-developed palate. She found that she was suddenly and irrationally jealous. Jealous of the way Tara's fingers caressed those bottles of blood. Jealous of the courteous smile that Tara bestowed upon her customers. Jealous of the way Tara's jeans stretched and tightened over that luscious backside as Tara bent to retrieve a glass from below the counter.

The blonde was on her feet before she realized what she was doing. Even as a result of an unconscious gesture, the way Pam flowed to her feet was flawless, elegant and deliriously sinful. It sent an envious sigh rippling through the bar as its patrons bore witness to the panther-like grace in which Pam moved.

Tara's maker ignored all the eyes on her, more than used to the way men, women, supernatural and human followed her with their covetous eyes. They didn't interest her. Nobody interested her. Except Tara.

Only Tara.

Pam stopped by the corner of the bar and leaned against its edge. She didn't have to wait long. Tara served a vampire couple, slung the wiping cloth over her shoulder then meandered her way over to her maker.

"Fangbanger not to your taste?" Tara's voice was husky, set deliberately a register lower in an attempt to elicit a reaction from Pam.

It worked.

The raspy drawl, spilling like a seductive caress from between full lips made Pam ache beneath the confines of her dress. She refrained from letting her sudden flare of arousal seep into the bond however and tossed Tara a coy smile.

"Fix me a drink," the blonde commanded softly, not bothering to answer her progeny's question.

Tara smirked but did as ordered, reaching below the bar for the rarest blood type: AB-. She set about fixing Pam's drink, her hands all but a blur as she vamp sped through the process. Done, she set a martini glass half full with dark crimson blood in front of Pam, a spiral of lemon skin decorating the lip of the glass.

Pam took a sip, the taste of authentic and rare human blood exploding onto her taste buds in a most profound manner. It was akin to having Fourth of July fireworks parading in the wet cavern of her mouth but there was also something in the drink that made Pam's taste buds sit up and pant.

It was her progeny's blood. Only a drop or two if Pam guessed correctly but she would know the taste of Tara's blood anywhere. Tara's blood was intoxicating, heady and powerful, an exotic combination of spicy and sweet that sang to the blonde's senses like a siren's song.

Pam smiled into her drink, sipping the dark red liquid delicately. "What do you call this?" she asked, indicating to her blood cocktail.

"Seduction."

Blue eyes snapped onto onyx, Tara's bold reply enveloping the pair in a cocoon of desire-fueled heat. The bond that tethered them to each other flared instantly to life, thrumming insistently beneath their skins. Tara's desire for Pam was white-hot, an undeniable organism that leeched onto the walls of the bond, eating its way into Pam's body and gnawing at nerves that were already taut with lust.

Pam's released a staggered breath, her eyes slipping momentarily shut as Tara's emotions wracked havoc on her body. When she finally drew back her lids, they revealed eyes that were ablaze with blue fire. The blonde leaned ever so slightly across the bar top. Tracing a lone finger across Tara's full bottom lip, she allowed her finger to linger, to soak up the pillow-y softness of Tara's lip before she pulled away.

"Later." Her voice was rough with desire, her craving for Tara painted across her face. She had to forcibly school her face back into its usual smooth blankness, the effort of concealing her blatant want for her progeny almost draining.

Tara, who was fighting every primal instinct to throw Pam down onto the bar and fuck her into oblivion, nodded, exhaled raggedly then turned swiftly on her heel and went about her bartending duties.

xxxxxxxx

It was after closing time.

Tara was on the couch in the office, decked in silk boxers and a simple black t-shirt. She had her nose in a book of poems when Pam breezed into the room, kicked the door shut behind her and promptly walked over to where Tara was sitting. She plucked the book of poems out of Tara's hands, tossed it over her shoulder then straddled her progeny, her legs bracketing either side of Tara's hips.

Tara reacted by hiking up the hem of Pam's dress and sliding one ebony-hued hand beneath it. Her fingers met tepid wetness, the sheer amount of it drenching the blonde's feminine folds and painting her inner thighs.

Tara wasted no time in plunging two fingers deep inside of her maker, the act causing two sets fangs to drop with subtle clicks. There was no need for foreplay; that was been done and dusted throughout the night, heated stares and sly sidelong glances only serving to fuel the fire that could never really be quenched between them.

Pam keened, carnal desire in every decibel of that pleasurable sound as Tara reseated the fingers she had buried deep inside of her, changing the angle of them so that the tips brushed up against sensitive, spongy, wet tissue. She moaned when Tara initiated a series of slow, deep thrusts, her movements deliberate and unhurried.

"Fuck," Pam whispered, her voice harsh with want, her hips quickly picking up the rhythm and tempo of Tara's thrusting fingers. She reached out and buried a hand into the heavy, supple silk of Tara's sable hair, almost moaning at its silky texture. Gripping a handful of it, she brought Tara's head forward and crashed their lips together. Their mouths met in a furious clash of teeth, fangs and tongue, each seeking to dominate and neither willing to submit to the other as they kissed frantically, their tongues tangoing to a tune that only they could hear.

Tara reached around Pam with her free hand, her fingers feeling for the stitching of the zipper of Pam's dress. Upon locating the lip of the zipper, she yanked it down, though was careful not to damage her maker's dress in any way shape or form. She was rewarded when the blonde's dress fell, pooling at Pam's waist and revealing a set of naked, pale shoulders and full breasts with nipples that stood erect and proud.

Tara broke free from the cunning sensuality of Pam's mouth to take one rosy nipple into her mouth, pausing only to drop a reverent kiss on the spot above the blonde's breastbone. That was the very precise area where the bond rested, thrumming contently when emotions average and buzzing like a swarm of bees when feelings raged.

Right now, for maker and progeny, the bond was a drum, tattooing pulsating beats against the confines of skin and bone as Tara drove her fingers in and out of Pam in deep, steady strokes.

Pam's eyes rolled to the back of her head as Tara continued to lave attention to one pale breast with her mouth, her free hand palming the other one. Her progeny's fingers were hard at work between her legs, sending violent and urgent waves of arousal to go stampeding haphazardly through her rapidly burning up body.

Tara released Pam's breast from her mouth with an audible pop, moving up to the blonde's neck her dragging lips leaving a trail of fire over Pam's skin in its wake. Reaching the hollow of Pam's throat, she attacked it with licks and bites before moving to devour the side of the blonde's neck like a glutton would a buffet.

Pam writhed and bucked on Tara's lap as Tara's free hand left her breast, moving instead down her torso to the bow of her waist. Her progeny's fingers were relentless, her palm marking, shaping and memorizing each dip and plane of Pam's body, demanding of it, a blueprint of which Tara had already long committed to memory.

The blonde grunted when Tara slipped in a third finger, the tempo of her trusts increasing ever so slightly. Her progeny's tongue was a wet, velvet tool, painting nonsensical patterns across her collarbone, down to her breastbone and sliding into the valley of her breasts. There she licked and nipped and nuzzled, the hand between Pam's legs steadily working the blonde up to a frenzied, fevered pitch of uncontrollable ecstasy.

Tara felt Pam's inner walls tighten around her trapped fingers and she began setting a punishing pace, her hand almost a blur as she drove her fingers in and out of the blonde's warm, wet cavern. She returned her mouth to Pam's, fusing their lips together, the blonde's unique taste beckoning her to take, to taste. Tara's wandering hand, which had previously been revisiting the wondrous landscape that was her maker's body now alighted on a pale stomach that was lightly muscled and quivering violently. She splayed out her fingers, her touch booth arousing and soothing Pam as she traced the delicate curves of the blonde's abdominal muscles.

"I need to come," Pam panted into Tara's ear. The tone of her voice was desperate, ringing with notes of pleading. She moaned and reached up to grip at Tara's shoulder, steadying herself on her progeny's lap as Tara initiated a particularly sharp thrust before curling the fingers she had buried deep inside of her maker.

"Not yet," Tara countered hoarsely. She tilted her head back a little, searching for blue eyes that were dilated with desire, her own eyes now darker than pitch and completely blown with arousal. "Not yet," she repeated, her voice husky.

Pam swore, gripped harder at Tara's shoulder and bore down hard on her progeny's thrusting fingers. Her entire body was throbbing, flames of desires licking down her veins in a manner that made every nerve in her body sing with pain. Her body wanted release, needed to explode in that glorious manner that would send a miasma of warmth and satisfaction to go streaming through her body.

But Tara was denying her.

The blonde wriggled about on Tara's lap, her hips undulating in a manner meant to tantalize Tara's fingers into bringing her into orgasm. She groaned when Tara slowed down her thrusts, completely stopping at one point and pulling out only to drag her drenched fingers through her wet sex. Her thumb flicked almost absentmindedly at Pam's clit, her damp fingers trailing through swollen, aroused flesh almost lazily.

"You're pushing it," Pam gritted out. She dropped her head onto Tara's shoulder, biting petulantly at the sliver of dark flesh that peeked out from the collar of her progeny's t-shirt.

Tara shivered as she felt Pam's distended fangs worrying at the vulnerable flesh between her neck and shoulder. However, she continued to toy with Pam, her fingers teasing at the wet, swollen flesh at the apex of Pam's thighs. When Pam began writhing desperately on her lap, pained mewls mixed with colorful curses spewing from her lips, she thrust three fingers back in to the hilt, garnering a surprised and relieved cry from the blonde.

Pam panted heavily and needless as Tara began relentlessly driving her fingers in and out of her. Her progeny's actions were torrid, punctuated only by feral growls and whispers of encouragement. Not that Pam needed it. Already, the orgasm that Tara had begun building inside of Pam was growing, swelling rapidly out of control. It infused her belly with warmth, spiked her blood with anticipation and jangled nerves that were already frazzled and worn.

"You are so fuckin' sexy." Tara's voice was sultry purr, running along Pam's skin like a silken scarf.

Pam moaned in reply, hips bouncing uncontrollably, legs shaking from either side of Tara's hips. She could feel her climax impending. It was inevitable, unavoidable, necessary. A few more thrusts and…

Pam's body exploded, her orgasm a bright and hot thing that sent prisms of colorful light ricocheting against the backs of her eyelids. The blonde came in a screaming starburst of rapture, the release of her passion almost cataclysmic as her body quaked and spasmed under the spell of euphoria and her throat bruised itself during the throes of vocalizing her ecstasy.

Tara watched in awe as Pam came undone, eyes greedy and frantic for every jerk of Pam's hips, the way the blonde threw her head back with reckless abandon, her cascade of thick golden-blonde hair falling in wavy rivulets down her bare back. Her fingers never stopped driving in and out of Pam even as the blonde's inner walls seized and shuddered around the penetrating digits. It was only when Pam's lanky frame gave a great, exhausted shudder before allowing the blonde to slump forward into Tara that the younger vampire slow her thrusts before bringing her fingers to a complete stop.

She stayed inside of Pam for a few seconds, savoring the warm, wet sheath of her maker's sex enveloping her buried fingers in a loving embrace. The loss she felt when she finally extracted her damp fingers was mirrored on her maker's tired face.

"I love you," Tara declared softly. She reached up and cupped Pam's cheek, her thumb brushing away a tendril of flaxen hair. The kiss they shared was one of tenderness, of affirmation, of love.

Pam smiled into the kiss, a soft smile she reserved only for Tara. Her kiss bruised lips lingered long enough to infuse her mouth with the taste of her progeny before she pulled back, eyes shining with love. "I love you too."

FIN