Redonk long A/N: I know, I know, I should be working on the next chapter to Blessed with a Curse, but this wouldn't stop hassling me to be written and it just…came out. A little one shot of how the basement scene should have gone between our two loves, in my mind anyway. For my purposes here, the Tara fuckery didn't happen, Pam is not a maker. Thank god for fanfiction.

"Of All These Yesterdays" is a beautiful tune by one of my favorite bands, Trivium, and it fits, I think. Here's a link if you're interested in that sort of thing: tinyurl {dot} com /ofalltheseyesterdays (without the spaces, duh.)

I don't own Eric and Pam. This is dedicated to my own personal Viking, you know who you are, betch.

"We are too far gone,
we were never meant to make it this far…
I feel the rage and it burns the pages,
of all these yesterdays,
I'm covered fast,
in the falling ashes,
of all these yesterdays…"

"Do it."

A century together, and I can't recall him ever being unable to meet my eyes.

Until now, that is.

My maker, my everything, stands before me, unable to look at my tear streaked face. I want to scream, throw myself at him and beat my fists against his chest, have a tantrum the likes of which he hasn't seen in his millennia walking this earth…but instead I stand there, shaking like a leaf in the breeze, waiting for him to say the words I never wanted him to say. Never thought he would say, even if I lived a thousand years myself.

It is not a progeny's place to question his or her maker, as Eric has told me a thousand fucking times over the last hundred years, and this is no exception. I understand his need, his reasoning, and I will not beg him not to do this. I don't have to, it's not necessary.

I can tell by the look on his face, the sorrow and desperation coursing through our blood, that he knows that my affirmation of his plan is out of respect for his wishes.

He can feel that my heart is shattered.

His eyes flutter closed as he looks at the dingy floor of our basement, swallowing several times as if he has a lump in his throat, unable to form the words he must say. For a moment, I allow myself to hope that he won't be able to do it, but that hope is dashed when he finally looks up at me, his sad ice blue eyes piercing deeply into mine before he begins to speak.

"Pamela," he begins, stopping to take an unneeded breath before gritting out the words, his grief readily apparent in his voice. "I renounce the ties of our blood, and my dominion over you as my progeny. As your maker, I release you."

It's an indescribable sensation inside of my body, as if a rubber band was stretched too thin and suddenly snaps. It sends me reeling. The connection I felt to my master since the second I awoke as a vampire, that I had felt every moment of my waking hours for the last one hundred years is gone in an instant.

I have never, ever felt so alone.

It's never been just me, my feelings, my emotions, my needs. He's always been inside me too, buzzing away every moment of the night, a little flutter in my heart and head that I realize now I have taken for granted.

I let out a choked cry, launching myself into my beloved maker's arms, immediately engulfed by his familiar embrace. My face is pressed against the hard muscles of his shoulder, my hands gripping his arms tightly as my tears fall uncontrollably, my body wracked so hard with sobs it's painful.

I feel his large hand wrap around the base of my neck, holding me to him, as he buries his face in my hair, holding me tightly as I cry. I run my hands over him everywhere I can reach…his arms, his shoulders, the hand securely wrapped in my hair, desperate to feel him since I can no longer feel him within me.

When he speaks again, his voice is heavily accented whisper, thick with emotion.

"You are my child, as I was the child of Godric. You were born into greatness." He pulls away from me, gripping my face tightly between both hands, our foreheads almost touching as he looks into my eyes, his own rimmed red with tears. "Our blood will thrive. Do you understand?"

I force myself to nod, tears pouring from my eyes as he strokes my cheek with his thumbs. He leans in and kisses me lightly on my forehead, pulling back to look at my face, his expression incomprehensible. He brushes away the bloody tears from under my eyes with the pad of his thumb, before slowly leaning in again, giving me every chance to stop him before he softly kisses my lips.

Automatically, I melt into him. I can't help the gasp that escapes me, and he takes a big step back, looking positively murderous.

"I can't do this, Pamela."

Of course he can't. Fucking Sookie.

I stare down at the floor, watching as a bloody tear falls from my eye and lands on a pink toenail peeking out of my peep-toe pumps. I gather what's left of my self-respect around me and slowly look up to meet his eyes, which are blazing like fire in the dim light of the basement stairway.

"I know, Eric. Sookie…"

He closes the gap between us in a flash, backing me against the wall, pinning me there with his hips, his palms pressed into the wall on either side of my head.

He stoops down to my level, his face in mine as he hisses, "Fuck. Sookie. That fairy is of no fucking consequence to me, Pamela. I meant, I can't do this. I can't not feel you. I can't not have my blood coursing through your veins."

He steps impossibly closer so that we are chest to chest and grabs my chin with one hand, wrenching my face up to his painfully, his rumbling voice reverberating through me as he grinds out, "I made a mistake. You are fucking mine."

With a growl he descends upon me, his lips melding to mine. I immediately wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer as our tongues battle for dominance. His hands slide from the wall and slip into my hair as mine grip his shoulders, desperately trying to hold onto him, afraid he may change his mind and leave me here alone.

Suddenly he rears back, his fangs snapping down into place as he rips the jacket of my velour jumpsuit from my shoulder, exposing my neck before he slams his fangs brutally into the juncture of my neck and shoulder, tearing my flesh as he drinks deeply. The sound that escapes me is inhuman at best as I claw at his back, trying to climb up his body. He presses his hips into me, pinning me unwaveringly in place between him and the wall before pulling back again. I look up into eyes gone almost black as he pants unnecessarily, his fangs glistening and dripping with my blood.

His eyebrow lifts slightly in a silent question, and I raise mine back in silent assent, and that's all she wrote.

Tearing my top the rest of the way off, he bends his neck to greedily lick away the blood that has run down from my neck onto my breasts. My own fangs have long since run down as I push his jacket from his shoulders and immediately set to work unbuttoning his shirt. Getting frustrated seconds later I just rip it, sending buttons flying everywhere, pinging off the concrete floor of the basement before disappearing into the shadows. He shrugs off his shirt, flinging it to the ground, then presses his forehead to mine as I work on his belt.

"Pamela…" he groans, causing me to flick my eyes up to his. "We must fix this, min älskling. Now. I cannot stand not feeling you."

I nod against him, finishing with his belt and making quick work of his zipper, when suddenly, with a loud rip, I find myself standing completely naked before him, less a pair of stiletto pumps.

Eric growls in approval before grabbing my waist with both hands, lifting me up and slamming me into the wall so hard plaster rains down on us. My legs wrap around him on their own accord as he grinds himself into me, his mouth crashing into mine again, fangs and all.

I can't contain my moan as our tongues slice themselves on our fangs, our blood mingling in our mouths as we kiss over and over again. His cool hands run wild over my bare flesh as mine clutch fitfully at his hair, his neck, his face, his back, wherever and whatever I can reach.

Finally, he pulls back again, his expression feral, looking every bit the ancient predator he is. He watches my face carefully as his big hands slide down my body, cupping my breast roughly before bending down to take my nipple in his mouth, biting down hard around it. I gasp in pleasure from the pain, arching my back away from the wall as my fingers pull at his hair. His other hand goes to work on my other breast, tugging expertly, eliciting another cry from me before traveling lower, dipping between my thighs, testing my readiness. He groans appreciatively against my chest, seemingly pleased with what he finds.

Loosening my legs' grip around his waist, I slide my hand between us until I reach the unzipped waistband of his jeans, freeing him from their confines. He sucks in a sharp breath when my skin makes contact with his own, releasing my breast before dragging his fangs across my skin, leaving deep scratches in their wake as he makes his way back up to my neck. Lowering his head once more, he licks up the trail of blood he created, from my breast, across my collarbone, and up the column of my neck, keeping eye contact as long as possible before his face disappears into my hair.

My arms slide back around his neck as he places a soft, wet kiss behind my ear before whispering, his lips against my skin, "We'll run together, just you and I. Fuck Russell Edgington, fuck everything and everybody else. Detta är bäst. Detta är rätt." And without further preamble, he slams himself inside me.

My head drops back, hitting wall hard as my gasp turns into a guttural moan, shocked by him taking me so suddenly. His own head falls back momentarily, until he rolls his neck in a most inhuman way, looking at me with black, glittering eyes as he sighs reverently, his cool breath fanning across my face.

"Pamela, min en sann kärlek…I'll be slow next time, I promise. I can't…"

Then he begins to move.

All I can do is hold on for dear life, my arms thrown around his shoulders and our faces pressed tightly together cheek to cheek, as he takes up a punishing rhythm. His hands slide down to support my weight on the back of my thighs as I grab his face, pulling his mouth to mine for a searing kiss.

Speaking in between kisses, my words are a moan of pleasure in his mother tongue, "Det har varit alltför länge, Viking."

I feel him smile against my lips, continuing the brutal pace he set, moving his hands up to hold my hips, slamming me down on him over and over.

"Home," he murmurs under his breath, "Made for me. Perfect."

The only response I can produce is his name, chanted over and over.

"You will drink from me, min vackra älskare," he grunts, "You are mine, Pamela. I fucking own you. Say it!"

"Yes!" I squeak, past the point of coherency.

He grabs my chin almost too tightly in one hand, bringing us eye to eye, never once missing a beat. "The fuck did I just say, you obnoxious brat? I said say it."

"You own me, Eric! I'm yours, I'm yours…" I continue to chant it repeatedly as he claims me, erasing his self-proclaimed mistake of releasing me.

He drags his fangs along my collarbone, the sharp points digging into my flesh, causing me to cry out. He lets the blood well and drip down my chest before running his free hand through it, watching intently as he smears it with his fingertips.

When he looks back up at me, blood painting his lips, which are curved into wicked grin, his eyes dark and glittering as my blood drips from his fangs…I don't think he's ever looked so ethereally beautiful to me. My maker; my father, brother, son. Mine.

This time I won't be letting go of him.

I lean forward, nuzzling his cheek before running my nose down his neck.

"Yes," he hisses. "Drink from me, Pamela, snälla, min kärlek.

I don't need to be told twice. Without further ado, I rear back and strike, burying my fangs deep within his neck as he does the same. I can feel our bond reforming as we both drink, swirling though our blood and intertwining, and suddenly I am bowled over by the intense love and acceptance I feel coming from him.

As I'm hit full-force by Eric's love and lust, his overwhelming need, I'm suddenly spiraling out of control, and soon he is too. I pull myself back from his neck, blood sluggishly running from the deep wound I made and coursing down his chest and stomach. My eyes flutter shut as he rests his forehead against mine, bringing us both through our orgasms while clutching me tightly to him.

His blue orbs capture mine as he combs my hair back from my face, still holding me wrapped around him.

"I doubted you, doubted us, and I am sorry."

"Are we really going to run? Leave all of this behind? The bar, the Authority, the king…" I swallow, not even wanting to say the little twat's name here, now, with him still buried deep inside me, "…Sookie?"

He smiles softly at me before leaning forward to kiss my forehead, shifting himself slightly, causing a moan to escape my lips. "I've lost sight of what matters in the last few years, Pamela. I should have taken you and ran the moment she walked into our bar."

He pulls back, grinning at me. "Hold on tight." I do, wrapping my arms tighter around his neck as he runs his hands down my curves to cup my behind, his large hands easily supporting my weight. Pulling us away from the wall, he turns to carry me up the stairs.

We pass a stunned Ginger in the hallway, who covers her eyes when we zoom past, naked and covered in blood. "I'm sorry!" she squeaks, "I didn't expect you two to be up and I…"

"Go home Ginger," Eric growls, never breaking eye contact with me as he strides down the hallway to his office. "Go home, pack your stuff, and take a long vacation. My treat."

Leaving the stupid bloodbag gaping after us, Eric kicks open the door to his office, throwing me roughly down on the leather couch before covering me with his body once again, sliding inside me immediately, filling me completely in so many ways.

I look up into his eyes, my fingers reaching up to touch his cheek, before they trace the genuine smile on his lips. "We run? Just you and me?"

He nods, pressing his face into my palm. "We run. Wouldn't be the first time we have started over together, no?" I shake my head, he's right, we've began again many times over the last century. "But we cannot leave until sundown, and in the heat of the moment I believe I promised my queen I would be slow and gentle next time…"

And he was. Gods, was he ever.


A/N: Well?

Swedish translations, which I hope are accurate:

min en sann kärlek – my one true love
Detta är bäst. Detta är rätt – This is best. This is right.
Det har varit alltför länge, Viking - It's been too long, Viking
min vackra älskare- my beautiful lover
snälla, min kärlek – please, my love