DRUSILLA: You're a killer. Born to slash ... and bash ... and... oh, bleed like beautiful poetry.
    Crush
 

 

    Drusilla invited Spike to her bed that morning. No, Spike thought. She didn’t invite him. She all but dragged him. He’d fallen into her arms with relief, leaving his new pet passed out in the livingroom, dazed with him. He had missed Dru. Even after that single morning beside Sarah, which had been confusing as hell. He’d deeply wanted Dru that strange morning, but it had troubled him, her being there. The interruption, and the look on Sarah’s face when Dru came, and the weight of her eyes as she pulled his gaze... No. Don’t think on it now.

    He was glad Dru wanted him now. Glad that Sarah only seemed to make her want him more. He never wanted Drusilla to feel abandoned or alone. God, she didn’t deserve that. His entire purpose in his whole unlife was to keep Dru from being alone. He loved Sarah, all but against his will, but he loved Dru with a life-long eternal devotion which could never, ever, never be shaken.

    Dru pulled him like a succubus to her bed, her seductive smile and suggestive movements as always making him feel like he’d entered a dream. Dru was always his dream. She had drawn him into the night, granted him her gifts of blood and pain, pulled him into her dark fantasies until he barely felt real. “Come, my sweet William,” she cooed, her tongue caressing the words as her hands caressed his flesh. “It’s been too long.”

    “It has been, my sweet,” he said. “Far...” he kissed up Dru’s arm, “far too long....”

    He’d kissed Sarah all evening. Kissed her all over. She’d asked, she had actually asked him to bite her senseless. “Why?”

    “I want to forget last night.”

    She’d pulled out his chains herself and slid her arms into them, making them clink and jingle musically. He hadn’t realized they were musical, before. He’d thought they were just secure. She wore them like jewelry, and told him to bite her. She made him salivate with anticipation, and tremble with desire.

    Drusilla hummed beneath his touch, and he lifted the white silk over her head, revealing her pale, wiry form. He’d always adored Dru’s body. She was a sylph, an angel, a goddess. A demon. He fell over her with a hungry groan, as exhilarated by her as he had always been. “My black beauty.”

    He bit Sarah over and over, shallow, harmless bites, reprising his game of the other night, making her whole body numb with it. His tongue was sore from giving back to her, and his teeth ached from not biting down as hard as he wanted. Her blood was thin. He’d taken very little, considering all the bites, and it didn’t take much to throw her down into perfect euphoria. She had moaned and gasped and whispered his name even before he’d shifted his attention between her legs.

    Drusilla, however, scratched her nails down his back, and he groaned with the twisted pain and pleasure, like the stripes on a candy cane. “Promise me hell on earth, my William.”

    “Every night,” he whispered, bending to her cool throat. “Every sin-blessed night, my sweet.”

    Sarah had wanted to fall inside, disappear from her body, become nothing but the pleasure he would bestow. And she had asked – hoped – that it wouldn’t end as before. That this time, it could be only her. He hoped so, too. He didn’t want to admit that there was something he did not want to share with Drusilla. At least... not all the time.

    He gently kissed Drusilla’s cool flesh, caressing her with his lips, feeling her shiver beneath him in girlish joy. He nuzzled down her throat, along her breasts, gently nipping at her nipples as he slid his hands down her ribs to her waist, scratching her gently with his own black nails as she gasped.

    Sarah tasted of salt and wanton innocence, no guilt in her acceptance of the act of pleasure he bestowed upon her. A product of her time – it would have taken a whore or a vampire to accept this joy when he was a man. But she wasn’t evil, and she wasn’t filled with prudish ideals that turned this into any kind of sin. It was only sheer delight. Even laughing in musical chains, ignited by his bites, spread eagled unmarried on his bed, she still felt innocent. She didn’t act like an eighteen year old girl. She never had. She was far too comfortable with everything he’d done to her. She was open, wanton, wise. He slowly dipped his tongue in and out of her soft little quim, drawing her wetness into his mouth, better than her tears, almost as sweet as her blood.

    While the Victorian novice was gleefully sinning beneath him. He lapped at her as if he was feeding, the faint taste of vampiric blood between her legs, and she accepted it joyfully just as Sarah did. But Dru was a vampire, innately evil, and a product of her time. For Drusilla it was a sinful act of lust, a wicked indulgence, just as it had always been for him. An act considered as immoral, in its way, as killing. No. Worse. A soldier could be forgiven for killing. An unmarried liaison was considered utterly beyond the pale, and could not be accepted in polite society. Really in the end it would be no more accepted in Victorian England than forceful rape would have been...

    And Sarah gasped and moaned and melted beneath him. After he made her scream – scream so beautifully and with such desperate pleasure – he’d crawled up her body and kissed away her tears, and begged her to tell him why she cried. “I miss you,” she had whispered.  And telling her that he was right there only made her cry harder, but she told him she loved him, over and over again, so many times he hummed with it, and she kissed him desperately all the same. He could taste her tears in her mouth. His bites had tangled her mind, it was the only explanation, but it was so sweet. It made his heart bleed, it was so sweet. He unchained her and made love to her, and she clutched him closely and begged him to fill her. It was beautiful. It was perfect.

    It was hell.

    “Drusilla,” he said, after he’d made his vampire lover squeal with her sinful release. “Love.”

    “Mm?”

    “My new pet. Do you like her?”

    Drusilla wriggled her shoulders. “She’s tender and broken and hard and unbreakable.”

    Which meant nothing. “But do you like her?”

    “She’s a killer.”

    “Her?” He stopped, remembering his minion. “Well. Maybe a little bit.”

    Drusilla opened her eyes and blinked at him. “Why do you ask, pretty Spike?”

    “I like her,” he confessed. “I like her a lot.”

    “Then you’d do best to eat her, before she withers away.”

    She hadn’t really heard him. “Drusilla. Listen to me.”

    “There are pansies in the ceiling.”

    “It’s just a ceiling, Dru.”

    “And they’re eating all the butterflies. It’s a terrible travesty of tapestry.”

    “Are you listening to me, pet?”

    “Time to unravel. Unravel time.”

    Spike looked down at her, resigning himself, again, to being left out of her fantasies. He’d wanted to talk to her. He’d wanted to explain to her about Sarah, about what she was doing to him, how he’d felt more real and more complete this last week than he’d ever remembered feeling before. He’d wanted tell her that something was happening, something important. He’d wanted to talk...

    He’d wanted to talk about anything. He wanted to talk about anything at all and have her respond sensibly. She was beautiful, and seductive, and unearthly, and bloodthirsty, and she was always a world apart and three thousand miles away. She could see through reality to the past, present and future, but she couldn’t see the reality in front of her nose. His love, his companion, his creator, and most of the time he couldn’t have a conversation with her that made sense for more than six sentences.

    While Sarah gave lengthy and eloquent speeches debating the nature of evil, and joked with him about disco and Dark Shadows.

    He kissed Dru’s face, over and over again, and even if her mind was traveling, her body was there with him, and she hummed and writhed and loved every touch. He slid into her welcoming body, the first body he’d entered, his first intimation of destiny. He knew better – Angelus had taught him better – but he still got that thrill of eternity every time he touched her. Devotion. No one understood devotion. They threw it aside, just a word. It was more than that. It was everything he was. Drusilla was all he’d ever wanted. God, he loved her. She was his goddess. His perfection. His evil queen. His mad child.

    He really wished he could talk to her.

    All he’d ever wanted had become very complicated these last few days.