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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.
Of course, I'd thought that a lot of times before and would think it many times after. That the end had finally come, that I'd been a smart ass one too many times, that this time they'd taken too much blood, that this time he really would fuck me to death. What a little drama queen I was. A regular Pauline, as in The Perils of. Funny that the hero and the villain were the same guy.
So, no snuff scene enacted there in the diner bathroom, although, how deliciously sordid that would have been, but then, you'd be sitting here drinking coffee all by yourself, not staring at me in open-mouthed shock wondering if I'm sincerely crazy or if I'm just having you on in a very long-winded way. But you're still here, still listening; I haven't frightened you away quite yet. Don't worry, I will. Oh, there's the waitress. Bring me another cup of coffee, this one's cold.
Where was I? Oh yeah, so picture this, Spike was strangling me as he fucked me from behind in the diner bathroom. It was only years later that I heard about gaspers, erotic asphyxiation, breath play. At that time all I knew was that I was having one hell of an orgasm and that being strangled almost to the point of unconsciousness only made it that much more intense. Seriously, what a way to go. Or come, as it were.
So anyway, Spike pulled out and zipped up. I collapsed on the dirty bathroom floor, come running down my leg, sucking in air like an industrial strength vacuum cleaner and nursing a wicked headache. I watched as he went to the roller towel thingy and ripped the length of cloth toweling out of it. He tossed an end of the towel through the security bars on the window high up on the wall (it actually took him several tosses to get the towel through the bars, swearing a blue streak the whole time) and yanked the whole thing off the wall, catching it before it could crash to the floor.
I dragged myself to my feet and shut off the taps. The sudden silence was eerie. I grabbed some toilet paper and mopped myself up. "Why'd you do that," I asked.
"I'm skint," he said. "We're goin' out the window."
"Skint?"
"Broke, no dosh, quid-free," he said, impatiently.
"Oh, you mean you don't have any money. Why didn't you just say so?"
"I did." He gave me a disgusted look and went over to the toilet. Shutting the lid, he bent over, grabbed it around the bowl and pulled. I could see the muscles of his legs straining through his tight jeans as he slowly pulled the entire thing out of the wall. As it suddenly came free, he nearly fell over backwards, but caught himself with his usual feline grace. Water from the torn pipes gushed all over the red and white linoleum squares of the bathroom floor. I backed up, trying to keep my feet out of it but the room was quickly flooded.
He dragged the toilet underneath the window, hopped onto it and jumped. He caught the edge of the window and dragged himself up, holding himself there with one hand while with the other he broke the window and knocked out the jagged glass with his leather covered arm. He pulled himself through and somehow turned around to reach back through the window towards me, one arm braced to hold himself in place. I was just kind of gaping at him; this was the most blatant display of his inhuman strength that I'd seen so far. All grace and ease and fluidity and oh god, I was thinking about sex again.
"Come on, girl, someone's gonna wonder about all the water soon."
I lifted my skirt and climbed on the lid of the toilet and then stepped up onto the porcelain cover on the back of the tank. I reached up, his hand just barely reached mine, but he grabbed it and pulled me up and through the window, jumping down and taking me with him, but catching me against his chest before I could crash to the cement of the alley that ran behind the diner.
The sky was getting lighter in the east; he grabbed my hand and began running, towing me along behind him as I tried frantically not to trip on my skirts. He ran me through a maze of alleys and back gardens, over walls and under clotheslines. It was an area of the city I was unfamiliar with, but that he seemed to know well. In one dark alley, he abruptly stopped. I crashed into his back and began to say something indignant, but he clapped his hand over my mouth. I bit back whatever it was I was going to say and contemplated biting him.
"Stay shtum," he hissed in my ear. I gave him a puzzled look. He rolled his eyes, "Be quiet."
Someone was walking up the street that the alley let out onto. As the footsteps drew nearer Spike tensed. He released me, but held a finger to his lips and frowned at me. Yeah, yeah, I thought, I get it. I shrank back against the alley wall and watched as Spike grabbed a length of pipe from the ground and leapt out of the alley. I heard a sickening crunch and a few seconds later Spike dragged an unconscious man into the alley, past me and to one of those metal double doors set into the concrete that commonly lead to the storage area of whatever business is at street level. He dug a key out of his pocket and used it to open the heavy padlock holding the two sides of the door closed. Opening the doors, he threw the man down some stairs then closed and relocked the doors behind him.
I followed Spike back out of the alley and around to the front of the building. It was a very nondescript, dirty and neglected looking building, abandoned, with the windows boarded up. I wasn't even sure if we were still in Manhattan or if all this time I'd been kept hostage out in one of the boroughs. The JAP (that's Jewish American Princess for you ignorant gentiles) in me would be disappointed if this were the case. Somehow the Bowery, the East Village, hell, even Harlem, seemed more fitting a venue for this adventure than BBQ. More dangerous, less squalid. What's BBQ? Brooklyn, the Bronx and Queens. Think before you ask such stupid questions.
He pulled aside one of the boards covering a doorway with a screech of nails. "Used to have a guy guarding this door, would nail it up again whenever anyone came in or out. Guess he's dust now," he remarked.
He lit his lighter and held it up so I could see a little better to negotiate the steep narrow stairs leading down to the basement. At the lowest level there were several halls that branched out. He took off down the one going to the left and I followed him to where he had thrown the guy from the alley. Dragging him by his coat sleeves, Spike and I returned to the main room of his and Dru's "lair."
The man was showing signs of waking up, so Spike quickly chained him to the wall and gave him another crack over the head. He slumped, hanging by his wrists. It was a position I remembered well. I looked at him. He was youngish, even kind of cute. A stupid kid staggering out of an after hours club at just the wrong time. Might even have been someone I had gone to high school with. I knew I should be feeling something, I mean, I knew what was going to happen to him. He was nothing more than food to Spike and Drusilla but to me he should be another human being. Someone in trouble, someone about to be killed, someone that I should feel something for - pity, fear, anger? Something. All I felt was glad that he was here to be eaten so that I wouldn't be. To me he wasn't even as important as the good meal he represented to Spike.
I was still thinking about this when Spike caught hold of my arm. "Dru's awake. I can hear her. She might want to see you. C'mon." I couldn't hear anything, but I'd had plenty of opportunities to observe that vampire hearing was better than mine. I followed him down the hall to my cell. Or the cell that had been mine. Was he going to lock me in there with her or put me someplace else? Maybe Dru had gotten over the ant thing already and wouldn't need to be kept there anymore. I wished I knew better what to expect.
When Spike opened the door, I could tell right away that Drusilla hadn't gotten over anything. I could hear her moaning and sobbing, hear her thrashing. As I followed Spike into the room, in the dim early morning light filtering through the one small window, my dark-adapted eyes could see her and the bed. She was tied to it, hands and ankles spread to the four corners. He had used padded cuffs so she couldn't hurt herself too badly, but she did look pitiful writhing against them, her moans and sobs diminished to kittenish mewls, her hair, always so beautifully done, in wild snarls and tangles, her lips drawn back from her teeth in the obscene rictus of a skull
He closed and relocked the door then went straight to her side and began murmuring to her. I hung back; it looked like a private moment. The scene was almost too sad to watch. He was kneeling by the bed, stroking her hair, kissing her face, whispering a string of soothing endearments, but she continued to thrash and moan and whimper. I just couldn't watch it any longer. I went into the bathroom to escape.
The face that looked back at me from the mirror was pale and expressionless. I had a ring of blue bruises around my neck and a nasty looking scab on my right eyebrow where Dru had thrown me into the wall. Before Spike and I went to the diner, I had managed to wipe most of the blood off my face with a fold of the black dress since the blood wouldn't show on it, but my hair was streaked with dark rust-colored stains. I peeked out the bathroom door. The tableau of crazed woman and anguished lover had not changed. I shut the door again quietly, took off the tattered and bloody black dress and stepped into the shower.
When I came out, clean and wrapped in a towel, Dru was quiet. As I crept closer, it looked like she was asleep. Spike was sitting on the floor next to the bed, resting his head on the edge of it. His posture fairly screamed his weariness and despair. I placed a hand on his shoulder and he looked up at me. He looked like he had been crying. Or maybe was just very, very tired.
"Is there anything I can do?" I whispered.
He looked back at Dru and just shook his head. Stiffly, he pushed himself up off the floor and stood. He drew me back a little ways from the bed and said, "She'll sleep for the rest of the day now. See how it goes tonight. Maybe she'll eat something."
He unlocked the cell door and we left Dru lying shackled to the bed, tucked away in the corner, safe from the meager daylight.
"You look exhausted," I said. He was slumped against the hallway wall.
"Been a kinda intense couple of days. Not quite the homecoming I was lookin' forward to. Should've known, though."
"How could you have?" I asked
"She always gets like this when I leave. Just thought that this time I'd prepared her well enough. Taken care of things for her. Given her a new toy to distract her."
"Sorry I didn't do a good enough job." I'm proud to say that I managed to keep most of the affront out of my voice.
"Hell," he snorted a laugh. "You survived. Better'n any of her other toys have done. Like the bleedin' songbirds she always forgets to feed."
"She really wasn't too bad until last night."
"Yeah, well. Just gotta wait it out now. C'mon, guess we could both use some kip."
We went into Drusilla's girlish bedroom. He looked pretty incongruous in there, what with his leather coat and all, but I guess that's where he was used to sleeping. I went to the rug on the floor at the end of the bed and got ready to curl up on it, unfolding the blanket that I'd been allowed by Dru. He took the coat off, dropped it on the floor and flopped on the bed then half sat up. "What the bleedin' hell you doin' down there?" he asked.
"This is where Drusilla told me to sleep."
"Well, get into the fucking bed like a normal fucking person." He sat the rest of the way up and pulled his shirt off over his head. The necklace with the padlock and a longer chain with dog tags on it jingled. I nervously stood, walked around to the other side of the bed and perched on the edge, holding the towel tight around me.
Spike got completely undressed and slid under the covers. He flipped back a corner of them and said, "Get rid of that wet towel and get into bed." I peeled the towel off and slipped under the covers with him. Funnily, I was expecting to feel body heat from him, but of course I didn't. His skin was cool and smooth against mine. He rolled so he was facing me and draped an arm across my stomach. "Just so you don't go anywhere," he muttered, he already sounded half asleep.
Then he was dead. I don't mean sleeping like the dead. I mean he was dead. Not breathing, not stirring, cold. His chest was pressed against my arm and I should have been able to feel a heartbeat but I didn't feel anything. It was like being clutched by a corpse. It was seriously creepy and I was just too tired to care.
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