BtVS Fic - Bloody Twilight
Title: Bloody Twilight
Author: caffeinified
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairing: Spike / Drusilla
Rating: PG - 13
Disclaimer: I don't own them. It's just for fun.
Summary: Post NFA Spike was the only one who survived. Except wait… there’s Dru.
Spike pushed away one demon, then another and drew the broadsword he’d brought. His stance was tense, ready for battle. He was very much outnumbered. He looked to the slayer behind him as they were surrounded. “Got anymore bright ideas?” He called back, mockingly.
He knew he’d followed the girl blindly into this mess. She was the new slayer and had gone off half-cocked when she’d heard about the demon nest. While he liked the slayers a little cocky, this one was brimming with the ‘I’m just waiting to get killed’ juice. In this world? You couldn’t make it with that attitude, super power or not. The girl had wanted action? She’d gotten it.
The rules in this world had changed quite a bit since the last apocalypse… since the battle where everyone he’d known had died. People knew about vampires, demons, and whatever else went bump in the night. Because people knew, demon types hadn’t restricted their playtime to just the night anymore. There had been a war… a worldwide war. The demons had come out on top.
Now, there were sections where humans hid in the shadows and formed raiding parties to kill the vampires and demons. Most of them were ending up dead also. The human race was teetering on the edge of extinction and that was what he fought to save for some reason. He’d thought it had been the soul… but that had been taken out a few years ago when he’d been captured by some of the humans. Now it was habit. He was back to living both sides of the street, killing where it was needed and helping where it was needed too. He’d had no one for years and when he’d found this slayer, he’d latched on like a leach because it was something familiar.
He looked around the old art gallery they were in now. A few years back, most of these paintings would have been priceless. Now they were just things hanging on the wall, splotched with blood, slime, and dust. “I said, got anymore bright ideas?” He called back to the slayer.
“Run?”
When the sounds of a scuffle start behind him, Spike turned to find that the girl has done just that. “Oh bloody brilliant…” He rolled his eyes as a group of demons piled on top of her then others started for him. The music began in his head as he swung the sword around in a sweeping motion, catching two of the demons. He’d always heard music when he fought, as if he were dancing. It had changed over the years, from Beethoven, to heavy metal… sometimes still, Beethoven would work his way back in.
He thrust the sword into the gut of one demon and purple goo spattered about the area. Pulling it out, he swung around with the sword to get another but was hit from the side, he and the sword went to the marble floor with a loud clank. “Guess it’s time for some hand to hand…” He quipped as he pushed the demon off of him so hard that he went to the opposite wall, knocking over several other demons along the way. He stood up and grabbed one demon by the neck. The cracking sound filled the main hall of the old art gallery and he quickly snapped another neck.
His head jerked back as he felt a large fist make contact with his face. His true face came to the front with a growl over sharp fangs. He returned the favor; his own fist slamming into bumps and horns on his attackers face. Grabbing the demon by the shoulders, he flipped him over his shoulder until he was on the ground. Reaching for his sword, he raised it high in the air and stabbed it down into the demon’s chest.
He whirled around, sword ready and found that most of the room had cleared out. When his gaze fell to the slayer on the floor he sighed and shook his head. No heartbeat, body almost shredded. The girl was dead. “Told you not to come here.” He whispered into the room as if the girl could hear him. Her lifeless body brought back memories that he tried to rid himself of everyday. Angel, Illyria, Gunn, all of the slayer potentials and one blonde slayer, dead. How he had survived he wasn’t sure. He knew that once again he was alone. He hated that feeling.
He reached in his jacket and pulled out a cloth that held poorly rolled cigarettes. You couldn’t buy them on the market anymore. There weren’t enough humans to make them. He struck a match and lit the cigarette, taking in a long drag as he looked around the place. It had been a long, long time since he’d been in this gallery.
He walked towards the marble staircase that was covered with blood and decaying bodies also. This must have been a large demon sanctuary at one point in the war, he decided that was the only excuse for such a large amount of dead humans in one place. The demons must have brought them here to feed. The smell of rotting human flesh was everywhere.
The paintings that lined the walls were historic, and now worth nothing. As he approached the second floor a familiar scent washed over him. He couldn’t quite place it but it hypnotically pulled him farther up the stairs. On the landing he turned to study the once pristine white walls of the second floor lobby.
He saw her. “Drusilla…” He whispered into the room. Her back was turned to him and one of her hands was covered in blood. She dipped it into the wounds of a body beside her and continued to smear the blood over the walls. He started across the large expanse of the lobby towards her, inhaling another long drag of his cigarette.
Drusilla turned slowly, her wide, child-like eyes looking to Spike. “My William…” She said quietly. “I could feel you. I was being a painter. There are painters everywhere in here.” She looked back to her crimson drawing on the wall and moved her blood-coated fingers along it. “You’re not a painter though. My William is a poet.”
Spike couldn’t help the grin that curved on his lips at the mention of his writing. Dru had been the one member of his family who had liked to hear his scribblings. His gaze flitted around the empty room and back to Drusilla. “We’re the only ones in here pet.” Part of him couldn’t fathom how Dru had survived the wars by herself. Another part, deep inside of him was overjoyed at seeing her. He knew how to be around her. She was familiar territory. He was comfortable here.
“No… no, Spike.” Drusilla shook her head and giggled. She dipped her fingertips into the gash at the dead body’s throat and then tapped her fingers lightly along the wall, adding to her ‘artwork’. “They’re all over; in the walls, in the ceilings and floors. They’re whispering to me. Pretty painting. Capture the thoughts. Thoughts all in my head, bristling like a prickly pear.”
Spike smirked lightly, surprised that all of that actually made sense to him. “Spirits in the place, eh? Was the Louvre… Guess I can see that. Artists hanging about their works.”
Drusilla nodded and stood, turning in slow pirouettes to eye the bloody, dust covered walls. “Passion… hard to leave your passion. Gets buried in dust and blood until you can’t find it anymore. But they won’t quit. They like playing hide and seek.”
Spike watched as the skirt of Drusilla’s dress floated out as she twirled around the room. Her dress was her normal kind, empire waistline, long, flimsy material that made her look more like a fragile doll than anything. He liked her that way, fragile. It made him feel like she needed him. “Your painting seems like a waste of a good meal, Dru.”
“He wanted me to eat him.” Drusilla stopped spinning and made her way to Spike with slow, graceful steps. “He asked for it. That’s why I didn’t.”
“He asked you to eat him? So you killed him and used his blood to paint?” Spike asked, confused and intrigued at the same time. He dropped his cigarette to the floor and reached out to fist the low neckline of Drusilla’s dress and pull her to him. “What did he say to you?” He asked, a hand coming up to run his fingers through silky strands he was already well acquainted with.
Drusilla placed her palm flat against Spike’s chest. “They killed my family. You’re going to kill me too. Have your meal.” She paused in her remembrance of the man’s ramblings and tilted her head to the side a bit and her gaze lifting to Spike and then to the ceiling. “The darkness comes.”
Spike looked up to the ceiling, knowing he’d just see the ceiling and nothing more there. He always wondered what things looked like through Dru’s eyes. “The sun is setting.” He returned to studying Drusilla, trying to look for anything different about her. She was still beautiful, full of the same mystery he’d fallen in love with so many years ago.
“Would you like to have dinner with me?” Drusilla asked, pulling Spike along with her to the staircase. “Dinner with your Dru, like old times?”
“Dinner?” Spike asked, following Drusilla. He knew that her version of dinner was to drink from humans. “Drusilla…” He reached out and stopped her, his hand grabbing her bloody one. “Don’t really drink human blood anymore.”
Drusilla laughed and shook her head, looking up at Spike from the tops of her eyes. She brought a bloody hand up to Spike’s lips.
Spike started to move back from Dru at the overpowering feeling of the human blood being offered to him. It was so close; he just had to take it. She’d done the killing. He just had to take it. “Dru…” He breathed out her name.
Drusilla ran the tips of her fingers over Spike’s lips, spreading the crimson blood over them. Immediately, Spike licked it off and she grinned and spread a bit of the blood on her own lips. She leaned up on the tips of her toes and held her lips just a breath away from his.
A low growl escaped Spike before he closed the small gap and took Drusilla’s lips in his, sucking all of the blood off of them. He grabbed her hand and pulled away, bringing the hand to his lips and lapping at the blood on her palm there. It tasted too good, and on Dru’s skin it tasted even better. He sucked at each finger, licking it off until her hand was clean. When it was all gone, he leaned down to kiss her again. This was familiar. He knew how to be this, to do this, to be with Dru. It had been so long since he’d felt like he knew what he was doing. He wanted to cling to Drusilla like she was a lifeline.
“Now will you have dinner with your Dru?” Drusilla asked, bringing Spike’s hand to her lips and cleaning the blood off of his hand as well.
“Yes.” Spike answered her, knowing that he was agreeing to live and old life he’d given up years ago. Need to feel anything but alone won out. He grabbed her shoulders to shove her hard against the wall along the staircase. “But first… first we play. Get to know each other again.” He was already lifting the skirt of Drusilla’s dress as a delicious, wicked smile curved along her lips.
Author: caffeinified
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters/Pairing: Spike / Drusilla
Rating: PG - 13
Disclaimer: I don't own them. It's just for fun.
Summary: Post NFA Spike was the only one who survived. Except wait… there’s Dru.
Spike pushed away one demon, then another and drew the broadsword he’d brought. His stance was tense, ready for battle. He was very much outnumbered. He looked to the slayer behind him as they were surrounded. “Got anymore bright ideas?” He called back, mockingly.
He knew he’d followed the girl blindly into this mess. She was the new slayer and had gone off half-cocked when she’d heard about the demon nest. While he liked the slayers a little cocky, this one was brimming with the ‘I’m just waiting to get killed’ juice. In this world? You couldn’t make it with that attitude, super power or not. The girl had wanted action? She’d gotten it.
The rules in this world had changed quite a bit since the last apocalypse… since the battle where everyone he’d known had died. People knew about vampires, demons, and whatever else went bump in the night. Because people knew, demon types hadn’t restricted their playtime to just the night anymore. There had been a war… a worldwide war. The demons had come out on top.
Now, there were sections where humans hid in the shadows and formed raiding parties to kill the vampires and demons. Most of them were ending up dead also. The human race was teetering on the edge of extinction and that was what he fought to save for some reason. He’d thought it had been the soul… but that had been taken out a few years ago when he’d been captured by some of the humans. Now it was habit. He was back to living both sides of the street, killing where it was needed and helping where it was needed too. He’d had no one for years and when he’d found this slayer, he’d latched on like a leach because it was something familiar.
He looked around the old art gallery they were in now. A few years back, most of these paintings would have been priceless. Now they were just things hanging on the wall, splotched with blood, slime, and dust. “I said, got anymore bright ideas?” He called back to the slayer.
“Run?”
When the sounds of a scuffle start behind him, Spike turned to find that the girl has done just that. “Oh bloody brilliant…” He rolled his eyes as a group of demons piled on top of her then others started for him. The music began in his head as he swung the sword around in a sweeping motion, catching two of the demons. He’d always heard music when he fought, as if he were dancing. It had changed over the years, from Beethoven, to heavy metal… sometimes still, Beethoven would work his way back in.
He thrust the sword into the gut of one demon and purple goo spattered about the area. Pulling it out, he swung around with the sword to get another but was hit from the side, he and the sword went to the marble floor with a loud clank. “Guess it’s time for some hand to hand…” He quipped as he pushed the demon off of him so hard that he went to the opposite wall, knocking over several other demons along the way. He stood up and grabbed one demon by the neck. The cracking sound filled the main hall of the old art gallery and he quickly snapped another neck.
His head jerked back as he felt a large fist make contact with his face. His true face came to the front with a growl over sharp fangs. He returned the favor; his own fist slamming into bumps and horns on his attackers face. Grabbing the demon by the shoulders, he flipped him over his shoulder until he was on the ground. Reaching for his sword, he raised it high in the air and stabbed it down into the demon’s chest.
He whirled around, sword ready and found that most of the room had cleared out. When his gaze fell to the slayer on the floor he sighed and shook his head. No heartbeat, body almost shredded. The girl was dead. “Told you not to come here.” He whispered into the room as if the girl could hear him. Her lifeless body brought back memories that he tried to rid himself of everyday. Angel, Illyria, Gunn, all of the slayer potentials and one blonde slayer, dead. How he had survived he wasn’t sure. He knew that once again he was alone. He hated that feeling.
He reached in his jacket and pulled out a cloth that held poorly rolled cigarettes. You couldn’t buy them on the market anymore. There weren’t enough humans to make them. He struck a match and lit the cigarette, taking in a long drag as he looked around the place. It had been a long, long time since he’d been in this gallery.
He walked towards the marble staircase that was covered with blood and decaying bodies also. This must have been a large demon sanctuary at one point in the war, he decided that was the only excuse for such a large amount of dead humans in one place. The demons must have brought them here to feed. The smell of rotting human flesh was everywhere.
The paintings that lined the walls were historic, and now worth nothing. As he approached the second floor a familiar scent washed over him. He couldn’t quite place it but it hypnotically pulled him farther up the stairs. On the landing he turned to study the once pristine white walls of the second floor lobby.
He saw her. “Drusilla…” He whispered into the room. Her back was turned to him and one of her hands was covered in blood. She dipped it into the wounds of a body beside her and continued to smear the blood over the walls. He started across the large expanse of the lobby towards her, inhaling another long drag of his cigarette.
Drusilla turned slowly, her wide, child-like eyes looking to Spike. “My William…” She said quietly. “I could feel you. I was being a painter. There are painters everywhere in here.” She looked back to her crimson drawing on the wall and moved her blood-coated fingers along it. “You’re not a painter though. My William is a poet.”
Spike couldn’t help the grin that curved on his lips at the mention of his writing. Dru had been the one member of his family who had liked to hear his scribblings. His gaze flitted around the empty room and back to Drusilla. “We’re the only ones in here pet.” Part of him couldn’t fathom how Dru had survived the wars by herself. Another part, deep inside of him was overjoyed at seeing her. He knew how to be around her. She was familiar territory. He was comfortable here.
“No… no, Spike.” Drusilla shook her head and giggled. She dipped her fingertips into the gash at the dead body’s throat and then tapped her fingers lightly along the wall, adding to her ‘artwork’. “They’re all over; in the walls, in the ceilings and floors. They’re whispering to me. Pretty painting. Capture the thoughts. Thoughts all in my head, bristling like a prickly pear.”
Spike smirked lightly, surprised that all of that actually made sense to him. “Spirits in the place, eh? Was the Louvre… Guess I can see that. Artists hanging about their works.”
Drusilla nodded and stood, turning in slow pirouettes to eye the bloody, dust covered walls. “Passion… hard to leave your passion. Gets buried in dust and blood until you can’t find it anymore. But they won’t quit. They like playing hide and seek.”
Spike watched as the skirt of Drusilla’s dress floated out as she twirled around the room. Her dress was her normal kind, empire waistline, long, flimsy material that made her look more like a fragile doll than anything. He liked her that way, fragile. It made him feel like she needed him. “Your painting seems like a waste of a good meal, Dru.”
“He wanted me to eat him.” Drusilla stopped spinning and made her way to Spike with slow, graceful steps. “He asked for it. That’s why I didn’t.”
“He asked you to eat him? So you killed him and used his blood to paint?” Spike asked, confused and intrigued at the same time. He dropped his cigarette to the floor and reached out to fist the low neckline of Drusilla’s dress and pull her to him. “What did he say to you?” He asked, a hand coming up to run his fingers through silky strands he was already well acquainted with.
Drusilla placed her palm flat against Spike’s chest. “They killed my family. You’re going to kill me too. Have your meal.” She paused in her remembrance of the man’s ramblings and tilted her head to the side a bit and her gaze lifting to Spike and then to the ceiling. “The darkness comes.”
Spike looked up to the ceiling, knowing he’d just see the ceiling and nothing more there. He always wondered what things looked like through Dru’s eyes. “The sun is setting.” He returned to studying Drusilla, trying to look for anything different about her. She was still beautiful, full of the same mystery he’d fallen in love with so many years ago.
“Would you like to have dinner with me?” Drusilla asked, pulling Spike along with her to the staircase. “Dinner with your Dru, like old times?”
“Dinner?” Spike asked, following Drusilla. He knew that her version of dinner was to drink from humans. “Drusilla…” He reached out and stopped her, his hand grabbing her bloody one. “Don’t really drink human blood anymore.”
Drusilla laughed and shook her head, looking up at Spike from the tops of her eyes. She brought a bloody hand up to Spike’s lips.
Spike started to move back from Dru at the overpowering feeling of the human blood being offered to him. It was so close; he just had to take it. She’d done the killing. He just had to take it. “Dru…” He breathed out her name.
Drusilla ran the tips of her fingers over Spike’s lips, spreading the crimson blood over them. Immediately, Spike licked it off and she grinned and spread a bit of the blood on her own lips. She leaned up on the tips of her toes and held her lips just a breath away from his.
A low growl escaped Spike before he closed the small gap and took Drusilla’s lips in his, sucking all of the blood off of them. He grabbed her hand and pulled away, bringing the hand to his lips and lapping at the blood on her palm there. It tasted too good, and on Dru’s skin it tasted even better. He sucked at each finger, licking it off until her hand was clean. When it was all gone, he leaned down to kiss her again. This was familiar. He knew how to be this, to do this, to be with Dru. It had been so long since he’d felt like he knew what he was doing. He wanted to cling to Drusilla like she was a lifeline.
“Now will you have dinner with your Dru?” Drusilla asked, bringing Spike’s hand to her lips and cleaning the blood off of his hand as well.
“Yes.” Spike answered her, knowing that he was agreeing to live and old life he’d given up years ago. Need to feel anything but alone won out. He grabbed her shoulders to shove her hard against the wall along the staircase. “But first… first we play. Get to know each other again.” He was already lifting the skirt of Drusilla’s dress as a delicious, wicked smile curved along her lips.