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Dead Soul
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Angst/horror
Pairings: Spike/Drusilla, Spike/Sunday, Drusilla/Sunday, Spike/Drusilla/Sunday
Warnings: BDSM, non-consensual sex, violence, bloodplay, language, f/f slash,
inappropriate humor - all the good stuff
Disclaimers: Story and chapter titles are titles of Blondie songs. (I thought
about being careful with song dates and such but, like Spike, I got bored. Any
anachronisms are either intentional or so the hell what.) The usual disclaimers
for both characters and song titles. The only things I own are the things I
steal from dorm rooms. No, that sweater doesn't make you look fat. It just makes
you look purple
Distribution: Want? Take, have. But please let me know where
Feedback: Keeps the bloodlust in check, mailto:deadsoul820@aol.com
or drop me a comment on my LiveJournal, Dead Soul
Summary: Spike, Drusilla and Sunday in New York City, 1977. Ever wonder where Sunday (BtVS, Season 4, "The Freshman") came from? Why her fashion sense seems familiar, not to mention her attitude? She tells her story.
Drunk on freedom, high on giving up and giving in, I floated next to Spike along the dark city streets looking for an elusive all-night diner. Stars blinked like Christmas lights in the ceiling of the sky; the walls of the buildings we passed were comfortingly close and confining along the narrow streets and alleys. Horizons and vistas were unknown and unknowable words to me. This was the real world to me now, even if it was a dream, and I would live in it because there was nothing else to be done.
Next thing I remember, I was sitting across from Spike in a booth in a small brightly lit diner in the Bowery, shoveling eggs and hash browns into my mouth, chugging orange juice and coffee and talking a mile a minute. The relief of not having to consider, reconsider and consider again each and every word had opened the floodgates and words poured out of me like a vow-of-silence monk who'd just lost his faith and didn't regret it one little bit.
"A fucking Valkyrie! Can you believe it? Metal tits, horns and all. All the outfit was missing was one of those eight-legged flying horse thingies. I'm surprised she didn't want an aria. Or the entire Ring Cycle."
Spike smiled at me distractedly but looked tired as he watched me eat and listened to me ramble on. If the sight of the half-chewed food in my ever-open mouth put him off at all, he didn't let on. He just chain smoked and listened, picking at his plate of onion rings. I'd been surprised when he ordered and even ate some of them, but shrugged off the paradox, added the question to my growing list, not letting it interrupt my wordgasm. Not even the two cops who came in briefly to pick up a couple of cups of coffee to go could distract me.
When I got to the part about Dru staking the minions and the giant ants, he began to nod, like he'd heard it all before, frowning a little. "Is this a thing with her?" I asked.
"Means it's time to move on," he said. "Be heading off to Rome soon as she's up to it."
"Did you find the Slayer?"
"Told you about that, did she?"
"She told me about the one you fought in China. Is that really where you got that scar in your eyebrow?" I reached across the table to touch it, completely forgetting I was still holding a biscuit dripping with butter and honey. He jerked back as a drop of honey fell from the biscuit, just missing his coat.
"Hey, watch the leather! Got sentimental meaning, this has."
"Must be pretty new sentiments. You didn't have it when you left."
He smiled, a slow bone-chilling smile. The kind of smile you'd expect to see feathers hanging from. "Yeah, sentiments of the new and excitin' variety. I'm a sentimental bloke." His eyes glazed over a bit like he was remembering something with great fondness. After a long moment he gave himself a mental shake, glanced back at me and said, "Look, you about done stuffin' your face? Sun'll be up soon an' I gotta get back, see if Dru's awake."
I stopped eating to consider the question. Um, yes, I was full enough to pop. The message just hadn't had a chance to get from my stomach to my brain yet. I set my fork down, wiped my hands on the napkin and said, "Are you talking me back with you?"
"Seems she's taken a shine to you. Was all Sunday this and Sunday that when she wasn't natterin' on about the ants. 'Fraid she might have another turn if she wakes up and you're not there. 'Sides, might need you if I can't get away to find someone for her to eat."
Odd as it might seem, once I had some food in me and could feel my strength returning, my first impulse was not to try to escape again; it was to go back and see if I could help Drusilla recover her wits - such as they were. Probably a whole mish-mash of psychological syndromes and whatnot happening - needing to feel needed, the pleasure of the bite, the excitement of never knowing what was going to happen next, throw in a dash of the feeling of immortality all the young have and you might have something approximating my condition. Spike and Dru could give lessons in conditioned responses to the KGB, but hey, they were never boring. And I still wasn't completely convinced that this wasn't all a dream.
He gestured to the waitress who came over with the check. I started to slide out of the booth. "Gotta go to the bathroom," I said. I was just starting to stand when his hand whipped out, grabbing the wrist of the hand I was pushing up from the table with. I yelped and fell back onto the bench.
"Not by yourself, you're not. Hold it till we get back." he hissed, shooting a sideways look across the diner at the waitress back behind her counter and a couple of solitary night owls propping it up at each end.
"Let go of me!" I snapped, jerking my wrist, but he didn't let go. Neither the waitress nor the other customers even so much as glanced at us. "These losers don't give a shit. If I were going to scream or something, I'd have done it ages ago when those cops came in." I put a little wheedle into my voice, "Come on, I really gotta go."
"Then I'm coming in, too."
"Fine, whatever!" His grip loosened enough that I was finally able to snatch my hand away. I slid out of the booth and headed for the bathroom, not even looking behind me to see if he was following.
Damn, I thought as soon as I opened the bathroom door. It was a good-sized room, but there weren't any stalls, just a toilet and sink and a rolling towel thing. The diner was in one of those old pre-war buildings with high, high ceilings and there was a small window right at the top of the wall. Doubtless to keep people from skipping out on their bills, as much as to prevent burglars from entering, there were security bars on the window. Spike came up right behind me and gave me a shove. As I stumbled a few more steps into the bathroom, he followed and shut the door, locking it behind him.
"See," I said. "There's no way for me to escape, so just wait outside until I'm done."
"You're bossy when you're not hungry anymore, ain'tcha?" Instead of leaving, Spike was stalking towards me, a wicked smile just beginning to curve his mouth. I backed away, I knew what that smile meant and while otherwise, yippee, right now there would be no ingressing of any kind, only egress and that as soon as possible. Put plainly, I had to piss too badly to want to fuck.
'Nuh uh, oh no you don't," I said. "Not before I pee."
"Well then, have your
slash already. I'll just watch." He leaned back against the sink that was
directly across from the toilet and waggled his eyebrows at me.
Sighing exasperatedly to cover my giggles, I threw in the metaphorical towel
and carefully looking anywhere but at him, hiked up my dress (panties were never
part of the costumes Dru gave me) and sat. My face had to have been as red as
the blood still streaking my newly blond hair. After I had wiped and flushed,
I automatically went to wash my hands, shoving him away from the sink with a
sharp hip check.
The water was running so I didn't hear him behind me, I just felt him raising the lacy long black skirt of my Dru-style dress. I glanced up at the mirror above the sink, seeing nothing but my own startled face. Oh right, I'd forgotten about the whole unreflection thing. I looked back over my shoulder. Sure enough, there he was, looking down as he raised my skirt high enough to uncover my bare ass.
He held the fabric up with one hand while he placed the other between my shoulder blades and pushed so I was bent over the sink at nearly a right angle, my hair trailing, getting wet from the still running water. I grabbed the sides of the sink for balance and pushed my ass out towards him. With my back nearly flat like this, my skirt stayed up over my waist, freeing both of his hands to slide over my ass and between my legs.
He kicked my legs farther apart then stepped closer to stand between them, rubbing his groin against me, the rough fabric scraping my skin. He leaned over to grab my tits, tearing the bodice of the dress, the sides of his open leather coat tenting us. He snuffled at the back of my neck, rooting his face around in the hair covering it. I reached up and moved it out of the way, bending my head down to present it to him. He fastened his mouth on the nape, biting it, sending the familiar liquidity through my muscles. My knees weakened.
He released one of my breasts to grab me around the waist and keep me from falling. He moved his hand lower, tucking it between my legs, dipping a finger into my wetness then rubbing my clit with it in time with his other hand twisting my nipple. I closed my eyes, leaning back to grind my ass against his body, waves of pleasure rushing through me like the water rushing out of the faucet next to my head. I giggled to myself as one of those stray thoughts you have at even the most passionate moments entered my head. It's a good thing, I thought, what with the sound of all this water that I don't still have to pee.
"Somethin' funny?" he growled in my ear.
"It's nothing," I shook my head a little then gasped as he gave my clit a particularly vicious twist. "It's just, oh, um, oh, it's just… oh, god, yeah, do that, yeah, that, harder." Anything I might have had to say was swallowed by my incoherent mumbling as his fingers worked on my clit and nipple and he sucked, licked and bit the back of my neck.
I whimpered with disappointment when he released me and stood upright. With a firm hand on the back of my neck he kept me in position as he shoved his jeans down. He rubbed his hard cock between the cheeks of my ass for a minute before driving it into my cunt. He wrapped his hands around my neck and leaned over to whisper in my ear while he fucked me.
"Had the Slayer's neck in my hands, just like this, when I killed her," he rasped, his hands tightening around my throat as he fucked me slow and deep. "She was looking up at me with those big black eyes, defying me, hating me and I squeezed just a little bit harder," he fucked me faster, harder, punctuating his words, "and I saw it. Saw the moment she gave up, when she gave in, when she wanted it and wanted me to give it her." His hands tightened even more, little sparkles of light were dancing across my eyes, his fast desperate thrusts smacking my head against the mirror.
"This coat was hers. Mine now. Like her death is mine, like you're mine. Do you want it? Want me to do what I did to her? Are you seeing what she did when I had my hands around her neck, choking her, strangling her? What? Can't talk? Tell me. Tell me what you want. You want this?" He fucked me even harder. The only answer I could give him was to fuck him back just as hard. Yes, I wanted it, I wanted it all, the sex and the blood and the death; the lunacy, the fierceness, the desperation, fear and wild manic joy and the teeth and the cocks and the cunts and all and everything and let there be more, please god let there be more.
"She gave it up to me and I gave it to her, what she wanted. I twisted her head just so," an impossible pain shot from my neck all along the length of my spine and up into my head as he demonstrated the 'just so.' "And as I twisted it…just a little further…I could feel the crack of her neck breaking before I heard it." Cold semen flooded me as he came, as I came, and I truly thought it would be the last thing I would ever feel.
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