|Bloody Well Through Playing by behind blue eyes|
|Chapter #1 - Chapter One|
Spike casually lit a cigarette. Savoring a lungful, he scattered Harmony’s remains with his boot and watched the scene before him unfold. His first instinct was to intervene. His second was to join. He did neither.
Drusilla had Buffy pinned by the throat.
“Hear the pretty music?” Drusilla cooed. Her nails dug deeper, drawing blood. Then without warning, she let go. Her eyes fluttered closed as she started humming a long forgotten melody only she could hear.
“What is it, my sweet?” Spike approached, while Buffy gasped for precious air.
“It’s a dirge I think…for a funeral.” Spike possessively wrapped his arm around Drusilla’s waist, pulling her tightly against him. Drusilla seductively swiveled her hips.
“Catchy. Not exactly the Ramones, but a bloke could get used to it. What d’ya think, Slayer?” Drusilla twirled out of his grasp, and he stepped closer to Buffy.
“Spike?” For the first time in years, Buffy felt a genuine fear of the vamp before her.
“Shh…We both know how this ends, don’t we?” Spike gently caressed her cheek, trailing his fingers down to her neck. With a sweep of his hand, he brushed back the hair from her shoulder. A single tear escaped and slid down her cheek. She’d allow only one, for those whom she loved, but no more.
He’d have her blood, but not her tears. Never her tears.
“Slayer. My sweet, sweet Slayer.” With his lips, Spike captured the tear then peppered lingering kisses from her cheek to throat. Buffy felt her body reacting, but not in the way she expected. She knew one whimper of pain would send him reeling. Yet all she gave him were breathy mewls and sighs.
Spike nuzzled her throat, his kisses now leisurely sweeps of his tongue. Each fueled her desire, and the instant he latched onto her throat, all she wanted was for him to take her—completely.
Drusilla. Her calling. Death. Every worry, every thought, fell away. All that matter was Spike: his mouth on her throat, his hand buried in her hair and the other kneading her breast.
Boldly, his hand slid past her waistband and dipped between her thighs. Releasing her throat, she was now face to face with his demon.
“I’m offering you the sweetest of deathless death, Buffy. Do you want it?” Each of his words kept in time with his skilled fingers, bringing her to the brink.
“Yes. God, yes.”
Spike increased his tempo, chasing the ever sought after la petite mort. Concentrating on Buffy-fueled-fantasy number ninety-two, he deeply inhaled her lingering scent from the blue cashmere sweater draped across his face. Several more harsh tugs and he growled out his release.
Across town, Buffy awoke with a start. Her gaze darted around the room, trying to figure out where she was. Alone in her room. Spike nowhere in sight. Stumbling from bed, she rushed to the mirror and whipped back her hair from her neck. No marks, no blood, but her panties were damp.
In a modest twenty-year old Chevy pulled off on the shoulder of Pacific Coast Highway, Drusilla straddled and held in a thrall a kindly preacher who decided on giving a ride to a ‘poor lost soul’. Lowering in for the kill, she abruptly stopped as she was overtaken by a vision. “But it's not here...” Confused and angered by what she saw, she plunged her fangs into his throat and drank deep.
Chapter End Notes: Please take a moment to let me know your thoughts.
Taken directly from Episode “Crush”, Drusilla lines: “Hear the pretty music? It's a dirge I think... For your funeral...But it's not here...”
I borrowed “deathless death” from “Take me to Church” by Hozier. Just thought it fit.
“Crush” is episode 92