AUTHOR: 1stRab-id, Rabid, Raeann(I go by many names…none of
them MINE in RL).
FEEDBACK: Rabid1st@yahoo.com
or RabidRaeann@hotmail.com
BETAS: Ah, where do
I begin…Jen, Sabrina, Carrie, Mary, Nauti, AIGT et al.
SUBJECT: B/S(primarily) but also B/A, B/R, S/D, S/H
RATED: Demonic R…at least I think so…though you may find it
more of an NC-17.
WARNING: This story
contains a number of perverse scenes of sex and/or violence, they are written
NOT to stimulate but to horrify and to illuminate Spike's demonic nature.
SPOILERS: The
entire show as it airs is fair game…but mostly this is Season Two through
Five…see next entry for explanation…
SUMMARY: This was a challenge from a co-worker…basically, that
I write the back-story for Buffy and Spike love. Backing up what we saw on screen with Spike's thoughts. This story is a retrospective of Spike's
falling in love. We begin our story
just after Crush and then again…we begin in Prague.
DISCLAIMER: Please
forgive me for I know not what I do…legally anyway…but I do know that these
characters and situations are not mine and belong rightfully to Joss Whedon,
Mutant Enemy, Fox TV, WB and UPN. I
would be honored to have any of the above write me a note to cease and desist
my creative blundering because I really only do this for attention.
Prague, just after the
Velvet Revolution, was an elegant lady dressed in funeral finery. It wasn’t quite a year since the Iron
Curtain was pulled back and Prague had returned to the world as unchanged as
one of my kind. The centuries ticked by
and left hardly a mark on the beauty of the city. Each generation added something but nothing was lost, not to
communism or fascism or religious uprising.
Majestic, gilt-edged and reeking of history, Prague was eternal.
Drusilla and I arrived in
late August 1990 and set up our camp in the Mala Strana at the Hotel St.
George, a grand old palace dating back to the 1700’s. We had stayed there the year of the Great Flood and had the most
wonderful time pulling people from the rising river. The St. George hadn't changed much. They'd added a few baths, an elevator and new carpets since our
last visit but other than that it was exactly the same. They didn't take credit cards and they
didn't have cable and they still wrote the bill out by hand.
This return to a simpler way
of life was one of the many things that made Prague the ideal vampire vacation
spot. No matter what century you were
turned, you could feel right at home.
And then there's the Bohemian nightlife. And the fact, as they say, ‘You
can walk the full measure of Prague and never see the light of day.’ Dead right, that saying…I’ve done it more
than a few times, myself.
It was the night of our
Deca-Bacchanal. Dru sired me in early
September, 1880, and every ten years, to the day, we celebrated the occasion
with a grand party. All of our kin were
invited. Most of our children
attended. I was Dru's first born but
nowhere near her last and, by that time, we had well over a hundred offspring,
most of them wankers or lay abouts.
There were years when it seemed I couldn't bring a hot meal home without
Dru falling in love with the creature and 'saving it from the grave.'
Finally, took to chatting
them up first, so I could weed out the Muppets before they got their shot at
eternal half-life. Anyway, point is,
everyone was in Prague and everything was ready. We'd killed off the staff of the Hotel St. George and replaced
them with our own three days before the event.
All of the hotel's paying guests were invited to attend, most eagerly
accepted and those who declined were butchered for the table. Dru had turned the two-story, old world
ballroom into a paradise of cut crystal, black roses and glittering gold place
settings.
The festivities were well
underway when she deigned to join us. I
was standing near the bar talking to Rolando and Gracie, two of my less
repulsive siblings, when the general stir of the crowd drew my eye to the sweeping
double staircase at the far end of the room.
Drusilla made her entrance on schedule, just as the clock struck
eleven. She paused on the landing to
survey her subjects, allowing us to admire her.
We did. She was exquisite, lean and graceful;
dressed in the Spanish style with long tight sleeves, fitted bodice and flaring
skirt. Her gown was old gold silk
traced with royal purple, caught up to reveal the deeper purple flounce of her
lace petticoat. She wore amethysts, at
her wrists, in her hair, dangling from her ears and snug against her neck. The gems were set in gold.
"Gold is the color,
this year, my Pet," she'd declared the day before, as I entered our suite
just after sunrise. "I chose it especially for you."
I had smiled and nodded, not
really listening. My mind had been
occupied with practical things, the catering, the butchering and the seating of
a hundred and eighty-seven guests with a minimum of fuss. Now, seeing her, my heart came into my
throat and I swallowed it down with effort.
Everyone she'd sired felt
exactly the same as I did but I was the one she had chosen as her mate. Only I
would end the evening in her bed. She'd
dressed to please only me. I started
toward the stairway, pushing at first against others with the same notion. Slowly, the rest gave ground, reluctantly
acknowledging my status. The crowd
parted to create a corridor, allowing me to go to my dark salvation. I caught her eye and held it as I stalked up
the steps to her side. Reaching her, I
offered my arm. She took it and we
descended to the ground floor.
We mingled, drifting from
one group to the next, graciously accepting well wishes, exchanging
pleasantries and moving on. Our
children vied for the honor of presenting us with the finest specimens of
humanity, each of them introducing their guests proudly in the hope that we
would join them when the feasting began.
I was the happiest I could ever remember being, surrounded by my kind
and filled with the certainty of my own power with the most dazzling woman imaginable
on my arm.
We were near the center of
the ballroom, when Gracie stopped us to introduce her offering, a statuesque
redhead named Suzette. She was French,
full-figured and nearly six-feet tall.
A doctor, Gracie bragged and I smiled eyeing the Amazonian beauty with
approval. Intrigued, I barely noticed
when Dru disengaged herself and stepped away from my side. I leaned in to whisper a salacious
suggestion in my sibling's ear. Gracie
laughed lightly and nodded her ready agreement. The redhead shifted as if put out by our show of intimacy. She sniffed, looking down at me.
"There's something
wrong with your friend," she informed me, with an air of arrogant
detachment.
I blinked at her not
comprehending and then understanding dawned.
I turned to look for Dru. She
was only a few feet away, staring fixedly toward the long mahogany bar, her
eyes wide and dark. I felt a stir of
apprehension and moved swiftly to her side, reaching out my hand to take her
elbow.
"All of these
mirrors," she moaned, her voice shaking, "I hate them! HATE
THEM!"
She shrieked the last two
words and snatched up a magnum of champagne from the closest table. She hurled the bottle toward the
mirror-backed bar. Looking glass and
bottle shattered with a tremendous crash.
I froze as the room fell silent, several of the humans shifted uneasily,
looking terrified. I glanced toward the
clock. It was early, half past
midnight, but I nodded toward the doormen, signaling the time had come to lock
us down.
The bolts on the exits were
thrown and Rolando clapped his hands loudly, calling for everyone's
attention. He swept the black plastic
sheet off the buffet table to reveal the dressed and filleted bodies
underneath. Screams and guttural growls
surrounded me as I moved to placate the still trembling Drusilla.
"Now, Dru,
Darling," I soothed, in the sing-song tone she found most comforting,
"remember you told me you wanted this room especially for the
mirrors? To 'see all the corpses and
candles spinning around' you when we danced, you said?"
"But they've filled up
with smoke," she protested. "Ashes and smoke. They've gone all dark and I can't see my
gown."
"You can't see your
reflection in any case, Luv," I reminded her, gently, "not
anymore. But your dress is still beautiful,"
I assured, turning her to face me. "You are beautiful. Luminous and regal, like a Princess."
"Am I all golden?"
she asked, plaintively. "Not bald
and burned?"
She was looking past my
shoulder at an unbroken mirror. I
glanced behind me, reflexively, but there was nothing in the glass but
furnishings and the spasming bodies of human victims. I sighed, turning back to her.
"You aren't bald, my
sweet," I said, tugging one of her dark curls as proof.
"But you would love me
still if I was?"
"I would love you if
you were," I agreed, nodding absently.
Momentarily distracted by the decrease in noise around us, I had looked
away from her. I was wondering if there
would be a warm body left to feed on as I added, "I will always love
you."
Dru twisted free of my grip,
capturing my full attention again. She
bared her teeth, glaring at me with hard onyx eyes.
"You lie," she
accused, harsh as a fishwife. I shook my head and she slapped me, the sharp
sound ringing across the room.
"You think I don't see
her?" she snarled, backing away and pointing at the mirrors in turn.
"There and there and there…all golden and bright…warm as a summer's
day…standing beside you…the pair of you…laughing…dancing together…"
I grabbed her by both
shoulders and shook her violently. She
resisted for a moment and then slumped against me like a rag doll, whimpering
to herself, "…you let him take me…let them break me into pieces…and then
you went to her…like I knew you would when I saw her in your dreams."
I held her tight, stroking
her hair and murmuring soft nonsense, "There now, my little one, my sweet
love, you're all I ever dream of…hush, hush, darling girl, hush now…"
Several of my siblings had
paused in their feeding to stare at us, painfully reminded of our Sire's
madness. I was used to Dru's mercurial
tempers but I knew the others found her outbursts unsettling. And with good reason. She had been known to maim or kill her own
while lost in her black mood. Any hope
I had of enjoying the rest of the party fled when she struck me. Dru would need quiet and solitude to recover
her fragile wits. Step by slow step, I
guided her toward the stairs.
Sanity poured into her,
suddenly, just as we reached the landing.
She stood up straight, stepping away from me and smoothing down her
skirt.
"Where are we going,
you naughty boy?" she asked. "You can't steal me away. We have
guests."
"They're well
entertained," I said, waving a negligent hand behind me. "I doubt
they'll miss us if we cop off for an hour or two."
"But the party is just
getting started," she pouted, "and I want to dance." Her expression was coy, telling me she
wanted only to be coaxed into leaving.
"We can have our own
party if you like, Pet. Just the two of
us, with music and…" I paused to favor her with an openly suggestive look
as I clawed into the cap of her shoulder, drawing blood and eliciting a hiss of
pleasure, "…treats."
"Wicked, wanton
Spike," she murmured, taking my hand and pulling me toward the exit.
We shagged in the elevator,
upright and fully clothed, Dru pressed into the corner, skirt and petticoat
pushed up to her waist. I straddled
sticky puddles of recently spilled blood, as I saw to her. The elevator doors pinged open and closed on
our floor several times before we finished. The hotel was silent around us as I carried her out into the
corridor, her legs still encircling my waist.
As we reached the room, I
kissed my way down her neck, over the choker of amethysts and onto the white
plains of her bosom. Without breaking
contact, I blindly keyed open the door.
We tumbled inside, still locked together. My hands tugged at her dress, urgently peeling it from her
shoulders. I was impatient, not caring
if I ripped the material in my rush to hold her naked body against me.
"Beastly child,"
she chided, dropping her feet to the floor and pushing me playfully away.
"You'll ruin my lovely gown."
"I'll steal you
another," I promised, reaching for her, again. "Just as lovely. I'll steal you a dozen." Dru wasn't listening; her attention was
focused beyond me. I cursed, inwardly,
as I turned to follow her gaze, certain the vanity mirror had captivated
her. I, immediately, saw my error.
There was a girl trussed up
at the foot of our bed. Her wrists were
tied above her head, to a cross bar of the canopy, stretching her body
taut. She was still alive, gagged and
struggling. Her pleading eyes stared
glassily into mine as I turned toward her.
She was a pale thing, a champagne blond with hazel eyes and a generous
mouth. A light dusting of freckles
graced her cheeks. I judged her to be
about 16 years old, though her figure was almost childlike, with the barest
swell of breast and hip. She was
wearing a wine colored slip dress but the sophisticated garment did little to
tarnish her innocence. She was as sweet
and fresh as a spring lamb; definitely Drusilla's type -- not mine.
"Oh, pretty," Dru
said, fluttering across to examine the captive. "Have you gotten us a
present?"
"You know I don't favor
blondes, Plum," I replied, trying to hide my irritation at this unexpected
hitch in my plans for a pas de deux.
I'd wanted Dru to myself for an hour.
I was hungry, however, and
if it made my girl happy, I wasn't about to complain.
"Is there a card, then?
What's that on the string 'round her neck?" I prompted, nodding at a twist
of twine that decorated the teenager's throat.
A bit of paper was dangling like a pendant from the improvised
choker. Dru turned her head to read the
typewritten lines and then snatched at the paper. Her nails cut the girl's skin, tearing the tag free of its
mooring.
"She's from Darla, in
America," she said, clapping her hands in delight as she bounced back to
my side and handed me the note.
"'Sorry, I can't be
there in person'," I read off, "'Here's a sip of something to fortify
you both against the cold night, love Darla.'" I snorted, not believing my eyes, "Hardly like her Worship
to come over sentimental all of a sudden.
Still, can't turn up our nose at a free meal."
"Shhhh," Dru
admonished me, shaking a finger as she backed away, "Bad manners will get
you flogged before supper. Always
thinking of your stomach when I want to play."
She hiked up her skirts and
knelt on the bed, then walked forward on her knees to face the captive. She prodded the girl savagely making her
twitch and moan.
"Look at me,
Lovely," Drusilla cooed, swaying hypnotically. "My aren't you fresh
and juicy. I was like you once…before I
was visited by angels. Pale and pure. Bet you're sweet as ripe cherries down
below."
"She's just a bit of a
thing, ain't she?" I said, tilting my head, not really fancying the
prospect of deflowering insipid virgins.
Dru ignored me. She was staring into the teen's terrified
eyes making the little bit's pulse quicken.
I sighed, resigning myself to the role of spectator. I stretched out on the bed, slipped one hand
into my open fly and settled back to watch.
"You have a china doll
face," she told the girl sometime later. "Just like our Miss Alice
used to have…but not as dirty. Miss
Alice got thrown in the kitchen fire.
Only because she liked to watch Spike when he's sleeping…and she would
go on and on…telling me all of his dreams. It was Miss Alice first told me of
HER!"
"So, you want me to
throw this one on the fire, too?" I asked, heading off the tirade.
I knew the answer to my
question already by the arch of Dru's nude body. She wanted the girl in our bed.
She was caressing herself as she studied the now naked child, licking
her lips in anticipation of the fun we might all have together. She turned her luminous gaze on me and
smiled wickedly. My heart sank.
"Do her for me
Spike," she purred. "Be her Cherubim. Force her open. Make her
bleed. Make her scream."
"And what do I get if I
do?" I asked, lazily, bored beyond the telling of it by the idea of raping
the dinner.
"You'll get caged and
no food for a week if you don't," Drusilla replied, kicking my hip hard
with one bare foot.
I barely flinched,
continuing to smoke as I considered my options. None of them looked good.
I studied Drusilla through the blue veil of my exhalations, searching
for any sign of charity. Her chin was
set in a stubborn line. Not one thing
would please her but a trip to the Nunnery.
I took a last leisurely drag
on my cigarette before pinching it out between two fingers. Feeling put upon, I
swung my feet to the floor. There was
nothing for it but to play out my part, re-enacting the past for the umpteenth
time. I consoled myself that at least
we hadn't the costumes for this go around.
I hated the burning with crosses and holy water. Dru scooted up the bed away from the girl as
I circled into position.
"I shall be Mother
Superior," my Love declared, arranging herself primly against the
headboard, hands covering her privates, "forced to look on in shame and
horror."
It was a good hour before I
was allowed to feed. And another one
ticked by before Dru had enough blood and screaming to mollify her, but
finally, I got my tumble. It was sublime,
as usual. I came, shuddering and, as
custom directed, gasped in polite unison with my partner. After I was spent, I levered back, lowering
my head to lick along the milky curves of Drusilla's perfect body, like the
loyal dog I was. I didn't mind if she
made me obey, as long as she gave me my treat in the end.
I was happy again, well
pleased with the fiery reaction I'd managed to engender. If my Sire had a fault, it was her tendency
to have orgasmically induced visions at the most inopportune times. She would drift off topic into fanciful
parables. It was rare day when she
focused on the proceedings all the way through.
I rolled to one side,
reaching for my pack and lighter. The
room swam around me. Disoriented, I
slid off the bed, sprawling unceremoniously across the floor. I tried to rise, shaking my head to clear it
and found I was tangled up with the mortal remains of the teenager. We had cast her drained carcass aside when
we'd gotten down to business.
"Oh, my head's gone all
funny," Dru giggled, from above, as I struggled to disengage from the corpse.
There was something odd
about the body. I squinted through the
fog in my brain, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Cuneiform symbols were rising like wheals
under the girl's skin. My blood ran
colder as I recognized the language and finally made out the words.
"Drusilla, get
dressed," I ordered, lurching urgently to my feet. "Hurry now. Get
your clothes on, Pet. We need to be
moving."
I pulled on my pants,
leaning into the wall for stability.
Giving up on the pointless fumbling with my button fly, I tried for my
boots, dropping them repeatedly before I managed to get them on my feet. I didn't bother with a shirt. Spotting my duster at the end of the bed, I
bent over to retrieve it, nearly crashing to the floor in the process. Dru hadn't shifted in the slightest. She was wafting a hand in front of her face,
no doubt enchanted by the pretty colors.
I saw them, too, but had no time to make a rainbow connection at
present.
"Dru-SIL-LA," I
bellowed, separating the syllables for emphasis as I staggered around the bed
and took hold of her. “They’re coming
for us.”
Already, I could smell the
smoke of the torches and hear the blood cries of the human mob mixed with the
muted screams of our dying children.
Desperately, I hauled my Sire to her feet. She fought me, clawing into the sheets bringing them up with
her. Impatient with her struggles, I
struck Dru hard to the temple, wrapping her in the bed linen as she
sagged. Then, fighting my own sense of
self-preservation, which was clamoring for me to cut and run, I half-carried,
half-dragged her toward the door.
It was slow going. My vision
was blurred by streaks of color and light.
My drugged muscles were slow to respond and my knees kept buckling. As I struggled up from the floor for the
third time, there was a sharp exchange of shouted voices in the corridor and
someone burst into the room. I felt my
human façade fall away as I shifted into a defensive crouch.
It was Gracie and two
others, wankers but family.
“Come on,” Gracie yelled,
from what seemed like a great distance even though she was practically on top
of me. “What the Hell is wrong with
you? They’re right behind us. We have to get her out of here.”
“Drugged,” I managed, by way
of explanation.
“FUCK,” Gracie snarled,
kicking me to one side as she hefted Dru into her arms. I rolled with the strike, and as soon as the
room steadied around me, I scrambled to my feet, again. Gracie, Dru and the two wankers were almost
to the fire escape by the time I made the hallway. They showed no inclination to wait for the handicapped.
There was a great roaring
noise from behind me, I didn’t need to look back to know the mob had arrived on
our floor. I redoubled my pitiful
efforts and made it to the stairwell just as the door flew open and Gracie
stumbled back out.
“They’ve cut us off below,”
she yelped, thrusting the dead weight of Drusilla into my arms. She’d added three more to the
entourage. “Magical barriers,” she
continued as we turned to face the on-coming rush of irate humanity, “They’re
saying it’s Tung.”
“It is,” I confirmed. “I got his calling card.”
Guan-yin Tung was the only
human I knew with the mojo and wrinklies needed to orchestrate something this
grand. Tung was a fifth generation
wizard, the grandson of Guan-yin Yuet nee Ling. Yuet, a magical adept and a powerful woman in her own right, was
cast in the shade by her younger sister, Ling Lihwa. Lihwa had been chosen, marked as the Slayer. Ninety years ago, I'd put her in her grave
and her assorted relatives had plagued me ever since. I would have guessed it was Tung behind this attack even if he
hadn't signed his name in the dead girl's flesh.