Daisies (Spike, Drusilla, Damon)
Title: Daisies
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries / Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 350
Prompt: Spike meets Damon or Katherine, for December Meme of Doom (I went with Damon)
For: eilowyn
Spoilers: very general spoilers to flashbacks
Summary: Pre-series. Paris is full of drunk Americans.
A/N: Happy December! :D
Daisies
Paris is full of drunk Americans.
Drusilla loves to watch them, that's why she wanted to come to France in the first place. Now she spends hours upon hours in various bars, tilting her head curiously as she listens to their idiotic ramblings full of sound and fury. It's all war and blood and trenches for them.
“I can smell bullets,” whispers Drusilla right in Spike's ear one night. “They smell like daisies.”
There's one man she doesn't like, too soft and smooth and rosy for a soldier. She talks about him a lot, points and laughs at him when he doesn't look, too busy drinking himself into oblivion.
“Keep him away, Spike,” whimpers Drusilla every time she catches the stranger's eye. “Miss Edith won't like this, she'll scold us if we play with him.”
There's something familiar about him, something Spike can't quite grasp, something misplaced and not quite right. He's American to the bone, arrogant, self-centred and dramatic, he drinks and talks like all of them, but he drinks too much and speaks just a little too loud.
“What about him, love?” asks Spike as he leans over Drusilla, his lips brushing her cheek.
Suddenly she bursts out laughing, catches his hands and drags him to the dance floor. When she starts spinning like a princess, her eyes shining so bright Spike draws an unnecessary breath, he forgets all Americans in the world. All he can do is step in and dance to please her; it's been months since he heard her laugh like this.
“He had a canary,” says Drusilla with amusement as she wraps her arms around Spike's neck. “He doesn't want me to know, but I do. He had a canary and it died, it was very sad. Now he can't smell the daisies.”
Spike isn't sure if she's still talking about the stranger, or maybe about someone else entirely, and, frankly, he doesn't care, not when Drusilla presses her body against his and gently bites his earlobe.
“Don't tell Miss Edith,” she pleads, serious again. “She would be very cross.”
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries / Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 350
Prompt: Spike meets Damon or Katherine, for December Meme of Doom (I went with Damon)
For: eilowyn
Spoilers: very general spoilers to flashbacks
Summary: Pre-series. Paris is full of drunk Americans.
A/N: Happy December! :D
Daisies
Paris is full of drunk Americans.
Drusilla loves to watch them, that's why she wanted to come to France in the first place. Now she spends hours upon hours in various bars, tilting her head curiously as she listens to their idiotic ramblings full of sound and fury. It's all war and blood and trenches for them.
“I can smell bullets,” whispers Drusilla right in Spike's ear one night. “They smell like daisies.”
There's one man she doesn't like, too soft and smooth and rosy for a soldier. She talks about him a lot, points and laughs at him when he doesn't look, too busy drinking himself into oblivion.
“Keep him away, Spike,” whimpers Drusilla every time she catches the stranger's eye. “Miss Edith won't like this, she'll scold us if we play with him.”
There's something familiar about him, something Spike can't quite grasp, something misplaced and not quite right. He's American to the bone, arrogant, self-centred and dramatic, he drinks and talks like all of them, but he drinks too much and speaks just a little too loud.
“What about him, love?” asks Spike as he leans over Drusilla, his lips brushing her cheek.
Suddenly she bursts out laughing, catches his hands and drags him to the dance floor. When she starts spinning like a princess, her eyes shining so bright Spike draws an unnecessary breath, he forgets all Americans in the world. All he can do is step in and dance to please her; it's been months since he heard her laugh like this.
“He had a canary,” says Drusilla with amusement as she wraps her arms around Spike's neck. “He doesn't want me to know, but I do. He had a canary and it died, it was very sad. Now he can't smell the daisies.”
Spike isn't sure if she's still talking about the stranger, or maybe about someone else entirely, and, frankly, he doesn't care, not when Drusilla presses her body against his and gently bites his earlobe.
“Don't tell Miss Edith,” she pleads, serious again. “She would be very cross.”