lazy_but_loyal | (no subject)

Eric was away for the evening.

This meant Pam could use his office.

After Fangtasia opened for business and the night's festivities got underway, Pam assigned a bouncer to the door and told Ginger to keep an eye on the bar. Because there was something Pam had to do. Rather, someone.

She pulled Yvetta off her shift -- assuring her that she'd still be paid her usual wages -- and invited her into Eric's office. Clearing some space on the desk, Pam sat her down, reached up the woman's miniskirt, and did away with her panties.

Fairly soon, in addition to the thumping techno music that reverberated throughout nearly the entire building, a crescendo of gasping, keening cries could be heard through the office door.

...Cries that were cut off by a ringing telephone.

Annoyed, Pam got up and out from between Yvetta's legs. She grabbed the receiver and stepped a few paces away from the table while Yvetta remained where she was, leaning back on her hands.

"Fangtasia," Pam answered, "this better be good."

A hesitant, halting voice was on the other end of the line. "Oh, hi, Pam, it's Jessica Hamby. We talked yesterday? I'm the one who-"

"I remember you perfectly," she snapped. "What is it?"

The hesitation was almost palpable. "Um... Well, I really, desperately need your help. I don't know where Bill is, and gosh, you guys are the only other vampires I know-"

"Spit it out, cupcake. I'm in the middle of something."

Behind her, Yvetta snickered.

"Right," Jessica continued, trying to compose herself. "Um... You remember how I was asking how you would- y'know, what you would do if you, like, killed somebody by accident?"

Pam sighed. "Did you call the hypothetical hardware store and buy a theoretical chainsaw?"

"Yes! And that's just the problem! I went to get the chainsaw, and now he's gone."

Okay. That was unexpected.

"What?" she said, one eyebrow arching.

Jessica sounded understandably flustered. "I left for like fifteen minutes and he just disappeared!"

Pam was actually somewhat curious, in that this sort of thing doesn't happen every day, but not so curious to be concerned. Maybe there was a zombie wandering around Bon Temps right now. Who knows? It really is none of her business.

"So the problem you have is that there is no dead body in your house?"

"...Yeah."

"Doesn't sound like a problem to me. Gotta run."

Pam returned to the desk and hung up the phone as Yvetta grinned up at her, eager for her to continue.

"Babies, they're all the same," Pam snorted, smirking. "Now, where were we? Oh, right..."

She placed her cold hands on Yvette's knees and spread them wide.

"Lie back, sweetheart," she purred, sinking lower, "and think of Estonia."

[NOTE: Dialogue taken from True Blood episode 3x03.]

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Oh, she knows him and his showers.

Sure, he may smell of dead werewolf, but she always did like the way he felt after making a kill. There's something very raw and very primal in that victory, and she's drawn to that.

She opens the door and leans on it for a moment, watching him.

"I'll be ready in a few," she says, and she steps out, closing the door behind her.

Out in the bar, once the music is shut off, it's an instantaneous cue for everyone to finish up their drinks, pay their tabs, pick someone to go home with, and leave. The staff clocks out, including Yvetta and Ginger, and Pam collects the cash and the receipts to put in the safe. She can check them tomorrow.

He is leaning on the door to the office, face washed clean.

Waiting for her.

"How was the night?" He asks.
"Apart from Yvetta."

Smirking.

She brushes past him.

"After last night, tonight was mercifully non-eventful, thank fuck," she replies as she keys in the safe code, stashes the evening's earnings, and shuts the door, locking it.

"I don't expect it to last, but I was never that much of an optimist."

Even so, she smirks up at him, her hand sweeping lightly across his chest as she reaches for the light switch to flick it off, before heading back out to the main bar. Her little leather-and-fishnets ensemble is still holding up nicely.

He ambles after her, his eyes gliding slowly down her body.

He likes the little leather and fishnet ensemble.

"Your hair looks nice."
Because he always likes her hair.

She smiles, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Thank you," she replies, amused. "It usually does."

Walking over to a bank of light switches near the exit, she flips them off one by one. The interior of the bar goes dark one section at a time, the red glow of the stage dimming last.

"It does," he agrees, as he walks over to stand next to her.
Idly twirling a small section of hair around one of his fingers. His fingertips brushing against her neck.

"Cam you handle this place tomorrow as well? I'd better get an early start."
And he finds that being behind the wheel of a car helps him think. Especially if the music is on.

She turns to face him as his fingers brush over her skin.

"Oh, why not," she sighs, as if she were begrudgingly doing him the biggest favor in the world.

"But try to put in an appearance for at least the second half of the night, okay? Some fangbangers don't know what to do with themselves if you're not here to be fawned over." She pats him lightly on the very spot where he'd been shot.

His lips twitch a little at the touch.
He is still sore.

"I'll do that," he says. "It shouldn't take more than a couple of hours. Please tell me that some of them are at least borderline interesting."

He could do with some action tomorrow night.

She lays her palm flat, gently smoothing the fabric of his shirt over his stomach.

"They're fangbangers, Eric," she says dryly. "You know I can't tell them apart even if they tried to be interesting."

"But you know what you like," he purrs, close to her ear.
"And if you like it, there's a chance I might as well."

It's not a given. But it comes close.

"That's true," she murmurs, turning her head slightly toward his lips.

"I'll keep an eye out for anyone who might deserve a little V.I.P. treatment."

"And if someone's interesting enough," he whispers, his lips just a fraction away from her skin, "we could always spoil them. And get Ginger to look after the bar for a little while."

They likely won't.

But it's a nice thought.
And fighting always did leave him - keyed up.

Edited 2014-09-13 16:05 (UTC)

She smiles and breathes out a soft chuckle.

And she manages to step back a little to look up at him without his lips touching her skin.

"We'll see."

It is a nice thought.

"Let's go. We need to get home before dawn if you're going to take that shower."

And if she's going to watch him strip before she goes to coffin.

He reaches past her to push the door open.
"Ladies first. "

It's an old joke. It's still good though.

He keys in the alarm and fishes out his car keys.

If I meet a lady, I'll let her know.

The phrase is on her tongue, but she only smirks, brushing past him through the door.

It may be an old joke but he always did treat her like a lady.

He casts a brief look around the empty and silent room and then he walks through the door as well, letting it shut behind him with a click .