Genre: Romance and SMUT!

About: Bill and Sookie, Bill POV

Rating: NC-17/MA

NOTE: I have taken some artistic license with the dialogue. Most is lifted directly from the show, but I have reordered it and combined two scenes, for story-telling purposes. Please just go with it.

Plea from the author: Reviews are lifeblood to a writer. Please – FEED ME! Like Bill, I am HUNGRY! Author/story alerts and favourites designations are tremendously flattering, but reviews, even critical ones, are orgasmic! It doesn't need to be long, or even terribly coherent. Tell me a line you particularly liked, or one you didn't think rang true. Give me a suggestion for the next chapter or another story. Good, bad or indifferent, your feedback makes my day. I even promise to write back and thank you.

Disclaimer: Bill and Sookie are not mine (but I wish Bill were – I promise I'd take REALLY good care of him!): they are creations of Charlaine Harris, brought to the screen by Alan Ball. I have not read the books, and my interpretation is based solely on the 24 episodes of seasons 1 and 2. I take no responsibility for any revelations to come in subsequent seasons.

This story was written to answer a question debated on some of the discussion boards I've visited: Why did Bill leave Merlotte's with the Rattrays in E1? And what did Bill really think of Sookie when they first met?

To fans of my other story, "No Thrill Left in Feeding on the Willing," I will return to Eric and Laura at a later date. This story has a much darker tone than that one. I hope you will take a chance on a Bill fic, even if you prefer the Viking and his glorious plenty. To Bill fans who avoid Eric fic, please try my other story – you might find His Snarkiness grows on you a bit, especially when he's out of Bill's and Sookie's hair!

Hunger

CHAPTER 1

Who would have thought my final death would be more ironic than my life? The Great Revelation was supposed to make the world safer for my kind, but here I am, in graver danger from humans than I have ever been. Once they understood that vampires did not need to kill or feed on them to survive, humans were supposed to be willing to co-exist. But the prey has become predator, learning our weaknesses and discovering our gifts. I, William Compton, who so richly deserved to be staked during the decades I served as Lorena's monster, am now being drained while trying to mainstream and reform. I, who survived all these years from pursuit by the strong and the clever – weres, vampires, human authorities – am meeting the true death at the hands of ignorant, V-addicted, backwater trailer trash. And all because of a waitress?

No, she was something more than a waitress. Something more than human, too, although I couldn't put my finger on what. She intrigued me, mesmerized me. From the moment I saw her, I knew she would change my existence. I just had no idea she would lead to its end.

How did I ever get to this? Returning to my ancestral home of Bon Temps seemed like a sensible idea at the time. My last living descendant, Jessie Compton, had died with no heirs, leaving me free to inherit my old home (assuming the VRA passed). No one complained when I moved in and began renovations, although whether that was because of acceptance, tolerance, ignorance or fear, I do not know. I kept largely to myself, and the town's inhabitants let me be. Until tonight.

Tonight, I was restless and I let my guard down. The house flooded me with memories, bitter-sweet remembrances of my darling Caroline and the children, stolen from me, ripped out of my veins by that she-demon, Lorena. She made me forget my humanity, but I battled my way back to it over the decades since my release. I found some semblance of decency deep inside me, and I joined the fight for the Great Revelation, convinced it would be my salvation, my path to recovery. Returning to this house had brought me brief moments of peace and comfort, but tonight its ghosts haunted me. This was our wedding anniversary, and I hungered not for blood, but for simple, human companionship. Foolishly, I did not realize how deep my other needs ran.

I had heard that the locals frequented a bar not far from here, Merlotte's. I imprudently assumed they would carry TruBlood, and that I could slake my thirst and ease my loneliness among my new neighbours. It started out harmlessly enough; no one seemed to take much notice of me at first, except for the perky, blond waitress who stared wordlessly at me when I sat down. It wasn't the leer of a fangbanger, the glare of a vampirephobe or even the curiosity of the ignorant. There was a connection in that look, and I was spellbound.

She turned to speak to her co-workers, but her posture spoke volumes – she was pleased to see a vampire in the bar, unlike the rest of them. Grabbing her pad and pen, she positively bounded over to my table. "Hi! What can I get for you tonight?" She seemed painfully young and naïve, but that was understandable; I was the first vampire she had ever met. She approached me not with fear, but with excitement, like a child enthralled by her first glimpse of fire, thrilled by the novelty and oblivious to the danger.

She apologized when I ordered a TruBlood, unable to wipe the infectious grin off her face. She might have been sorry, but she didn't look it – she looked positively gleeful. "We don't carry it. Sam got some a year ago, but nobody ever ordered it, so it went bad. You're our first. Vampire," she giggled, whispering what I was as if using a delightfully dirty and forbidden word. But I found it impossible to be annoyed – her candour and lack of fear were completely enchanting.

Her demeanour wasn't all that was holding my interest. Her clothing left little to my imagination, and while I tend to prefer a more demure form of dress, I could appreciate the charms she was displaying. Her skin-tight t-shirt revealed an ample bosom, round, firm, and I was sure, delicious. Her shorts were barely more than panties, showing off shapely, tanned legs and a tight little backside with which I found myself longing to become better acquainted. What kind of a woman dresses that way? I knew what kind, and I knew what I wanted to do. I could picture myself leaping over the table, ripping her clothes off with my teeth, taking her there, in the middle of the bar, making her MINE for all to see. I wanted her blood, her body, her screams of pleasure.

I shook myself – this was most unbecoming behaviour, even in a fantasy. She had not chosen to dress this way; she was merely wearing the required uniform that all the waitresses sported. I glanced at the bar's owner. My eyes narrowed. Hmm... a shifter! Filthy creatures – I should have picked up his scent immediately. So typical of a shifter to treat a woman like an animal. Very well then, I would treat her with the respect she no doubt deserved, even in my very fertile imagination.

I read her nametag. "Sookie," I said, "that's an unusual name. Is it short for anything?" My chest was as tight as her shirt, and it made my voice deep and husky. Her name came out "Sooookeh," and I could see that I was not the only one feeling sparks between us – her nipples strained her shirt and her pupils dilated an inch or two. "N…no," she stuttered, quite flustered, now. "Just p-plain old Sookie. What's your name?" At my reply, she dissolved into peals of girlish laughter. "Bill? I thought it might be Antoine or Basil or like, Langford, maybe. But Bill? Vampire Bill? Oh my!"

I didn't hide my exasperation well, and that sobered her, somewhat. "Is…is there anything else you drink?" she asked me, trying to regain her composure. She was still positively beaming at this wonder in front of her. "Actually, no," I replied, smiling, "but you can get me a glass of red wine, so that I have a reason to be here." She rewarded me with a wide, toothy grin, and I noticed the gap in her front teeth. I imagined myself getting lost in that gap, flicking my tongue between those teeth, giving her reasons to smile. Where was this coming from? My stomach rumbled and I realized that she was arousing several appetites at once. Damn! I should have had a TruBlood before I left the house. "Well," she replied, oblivious to, or ignoring, the effects she was having on me, "whatever the reason, I'm glad you are."

She turned and sashayed away, her ponytail swinging in time with her hips. Despite my promise, I stared at her shorts-clad behind in a most ungentlemanly manner. I closed my eyes and imagined taking her for a walk in the moonlight …

Would you like to read more? Then show me the love, people, and give me some feedback, please! Chapter 2 is written but not finalized. And 3 is conceptualized but not written. So you can have input and influence!