can I, please?
Character: Drusilla
prompt 014: the past
title: "The."
rating: PG-13, but it's mostly lunacy.
Can I touch him, mummy?
Prompt table: Drusilla
--
I pull out a book, blank. The pages are cream and the leather is soft and smells slightly of blood. Hm. I lick my lips, playing my tongue over the glossed skin, biting down softly on the plump lower lip. My eyes widen a fraction-- I stare at the pages. Books have ears and ears hear all but books don't have mouths to tell their secrets.
Good.
"The past is the past is the past is the.
"It's also the now. I wonder if Spike knows that. It doesn't matter, really, I can see the past in Angelus' eyes and Darla's hungry stare, in the knifey pinpricks of starlight. The stars are throwing fits again, I've changed their name once more and it's driving them mad. Terrible problem, that.
"Angelus gave me a terrible lovebite in the past. I gave my William a wicked keen scar and strength in the past, and now he kisses and touches me in all the right places. He has a better name than the stars, oops, must not mention that or they'll get all jealous and keep me awake."
I caress the book's spine, lick my lips again. Sway a little. Good effect. I hear Spike shift in his sleep, arm curled up under him. Sweet repose, sweet William.
"I haven't heard from my bad Daddy in awhile or dear, sweet Grandmum. Probably off killing everything, oh, how I miss them sometimes. I miss Daddy's nibbles and William's moaning. Oh, well."
"Dru?" I smile, lips wet with noise. My mouth tastes like static and the screaming when Angelus ate my family. Unfortunate. "Dru." Spike pads lightly into the library, face all pale and angles. "What are you doing?" I feel like naming his cheekbones, oh, I will and he'll never know their secret names outside of bed.
"Naming the ceiling panels."
"What?"
I smirk, grin, bearing teeth and the edge of fangs as I grab my skirts and spin around like a top unhinged. "The ceiling, love! They're all terribly confused." I pivot to a stop, looking to Spike pathetically. "They think they're you, but they don't love my insides or bite me so nicely."
Spike sighs, attempting to cover up a smile. Oh, he loves me so.
"I feel all hollow and ready to be filled up, my Spike, Spike." My right hand caresses my waist, head tipped back and spilling hair down my back. The stars applaud, but he can't hear them.
"Come to bed, Dru."
He can't hear them, but from his kisses and his bites and that rough hard growl, Spike sees them and gets them and knows that the past is the. That's it. It tastes like ceiling tile.
prompt 014: the past
title: "The."
rating: PG-13, but it's mostly lunacy.
Can I touch him, mummy?
Prompt table: Drusilla
--
I pull out a book, blank. The pages are cream and the leather is soft and smells slightly of blood. Hm. I lick my lips, playing my tongue over the glossed skin, biting down softly on the plump lower lip. My eyes widen a fraction-- I stare at the pages. Books have ears and ears hear all but books don't have mouths to tell their secrets.
Good.
"The past is the past is the past is the.
"It's also the now. I wonder if Spike knows that. It doesn't matter, really, I can see the past in Angelus' eyes and Darla's hungry stare, in the knifey pinpricks of starlight. The stars are throwing fits again, I've changed their name once more and it's driving them mad. Terrible problem, that.
"Angelus gave me a terrible lovebite in the past. I gave my William a wicked keen scar and strength in the past, and now he kisses and touches me in all the right places. He has a better name than the stars, oops, must not mention that or they'll get all jealous and keep me awake."
I caress the book's spine, lick my lips again. Sway a little. Good effect. I hear Spike shift in his sleep, arm curled up under him. Sweet repose, sweet William.
"I haven't heard from my bad Daddy in awhile or dear, sweet Grandmum. Probably off killing everything, oh, how I miss them sometimes. I miss Daddy's nibbles and William's moaning. Oh, well."
"Dru?" I smile, lips wet with noise. My mouth tastes like static and the screaming when Angelus ate my family. Unfortunate. "Dru." Spike pads lightly into the library, face all pale and angles. "What are you doing?" I feel like naming his cheekbones, oh, I will and he'll never know their secret names outside of bed.
"Naming the ceiling panels."
"What?"
I smirk, grin, bearing teeth and the edge of fangs as I grab my skirts and spin around like a top unhinged. "The ceiling, love! They're all terribly confused." I pivot to a stop, looking to Spike pathetically. "They think they're you, but they don't love my insides or bite me so nicely."
Spike sighs, attempting to cover up a smile. Oh, he loves me so.
"I feel all hollow and ready to be filled up, my Spike, Spike." My right hand caresses my waist, head tipped back and spilling hair down my back. The stars applaud, but he can't hear them.
"Come to bed, Dru."
He can't hear them, but from his kisses and his bites and that rough hard growl, Spike sees them and gets them and knows that the past is the. That's it. It tastes like ceiling tile.