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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.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, I said furiously to myself. Why'd you have to go and use the "L" word? Quick! Change the subject so he doesn't notice.
But Spike didn't appear to have noticed, anyway. Or at least he was pretending not to have caught on that I was being anything other than sarcastic. He swung me into his arms and stood up, setting me on my feet. He gave my sore butt a swat and said, "Off to bed with you. For real, this time. Be there in a minute, myself."
I trotted off to the bedroom, got undressed and climbed into bed. The "L" word, I thought. When had I started associating him with the "L" word? I thought I had just been in it for the sex and excitement and danger. When had I fallen in lo - gah (even mentally I choked on the word), in love with him? This was a complication I sure as shit couldn't afford - like I had a chance in hell with Dru in the picture and besides, him - immortal vampire, me - weak, fragile and very mortal human. And if you thought about it, him falling in love with me would be like me falling in love with a cow. Me and the cow, we're both somebody's dinner. Of course, my dinners had never spoken back to me, but then I had never had the urge to screw them, either. Except for the odd carrot or cucumber, of course. I giggled at this thought then couldn't stop. I was really too sleepy to think about this now, I decided, turned over onto my side and snuggled more comfortably into the pillows. I was still chuckling sleepily when he came into the room and started to undress.
"Whatcha laughing about now, ya daft bird?"
"I'm a carrot," I said, as if that explained everything. "Or maybe a cucumber."
"Well, which one is it? Swear I don't know who is crazier, you or Dru."
"No, I'm a cow. A talking cow. Isn't that what you're always calling me?"
"Yes, you're the cow that never shuts up. La vache qui rit." Naked, he slid into bed behind to me.
"So sorry. Quiet as a cucumber now. Quiet as cheese." He chuckled and I reached backwards to take hold of his arm, pulling it over and around me, cuddling his hand up against my breast. He rolled closer and shaped his body against my back.
"Mm, warm," he muttered into my ear before falling into his deathlike sleep.
"Moo," I whispered experimentally a few moments later.
He pinched me, "Shh! Cucumber, remember?"
***
When I woke up, even before I had opened my eyes, I was vividly reminded of cucumbers. Only this time I wasn't the cucumber, he was. Or rather, he had the cucumber and it was pressed tight against my backside. I wriggled against it to see if he was awake.
He was. He wriggled back, curving his hand, which I still held against me, around my left breast, cupping it and brushing his thumb over my nipple. It promptly woke up, too, and stood to attention. One of his knees insinuated itself between my legs, parting them, wedging his thigh firmly against my crotch. I rubbed myself against it, sighing in contentment and rising excitement. He pinched my nipple lightly then resumed gently brushing it. As I slid back and forth on his leg, whenever my ass touched his cock, I would give a little sideways wiggle, just to remind it I knew it was there.
Spike began nibbling my neck. His hand left my breast and stroked over my belly then lower. He gently rubbed my clit and I raised my leg higher, reaching behind me to guide his cock into me once he'd moved his leg out of the way. He fucked me slowly while continuing to stimulate me with his hand. I twisted and pinched my nipple in time with his slow thrusts.
Deep shudders and spasms, waves of subdued yet thorough pleasure washed over me as I sighed my contentment. He continued to fuck me for a few more minutes then came himself. We lay still for a little while, still locked together.
"Not too late for you, then," he said against the back of my neck.
I had been drifting a little. "Hm?" I said.
"You don't need the pain, like Dru does. Can't get off without it."
"Has she always been like that?"
"Long as I've known her. Angelus did it to her. Never fucked her without beating her bloody first. Made her insane, too."
"Why would he do that?"
"Just to see if he could, I reckon. Said it was more iniquitous to make her crazy forever than to make her crazy and just kill her. He and Darla let her make me when they got tired of taking care of her. Darla always did resent anything that took Angelus' attention away from her."
I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything. After a few minutes, he pulled out of me, rolled over and stretched. "I'm going to sleep a little while longer. Be a love and go check on Dru, would you? Key's in my trouser pocket."
"'Kay," I said and did a little stretching myself before getting out of bed and going into the bathroom. When I came out, his eyes were closed and he wasn't moving, so, as quietly as I could, I got dressed and fished the cell door key out his jeans' pocket.
"Take her a clean dress, too, would you?" he said without opening his eyes. "Ta, love."
I opened the wardrobe door and pulled out one of the many white lacy dresses that were hanging inside.
My apprehension grew as I approached the cell. I hoped that she was calm and lucid. I didn't know what I'd do if she were having hysterics again. Run back and get Spike, I guessed. Nervously, I knocked on the door.
"Spike?" she said through the door.
I cleared my throat, "No, it's Sunday. May I come in?"
"Let me ask," she said. I heard mumbling but couldn't understand what she was saying. After a moment she said louder, "They say it's all right. You may come in."
Great, I thought, now she's hearing voices.
Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the door and stepped into the cell. So far so good - she was sitting up in bed, playing with her dolls. "Miss Edith likes you," she said. "And whomever Miss Edith likes, all the others do, too. Except for Miss Mary. She's quite contrary, you know, and always has to disagree. Bad Miss Mary." She picked up one of the dolls and began poking at its glass eyes with her long nails.
"I've brought you a clean dress," I said nervously. "Is there anything else you'd like?"
"Come sit by me, dearie." She moved several of the dolls to the side, making room for me to sit. I carefully draped the dress over the back of a chair and sat on the edge of the bed, facing her, but looking down at my hands in my lap. She reached out and stroked a finger along my jaw line to my chin, lifting it. "Look into my eyes, my darling," she said softly. I raised my eyes. I don't think I could have avoided doing so if I'd wanted to.
Her eyes were so deep, so dark. I looked into them, past my own reflection and into her need. She's hungry, I thought. I moved my hair away from my neck, tilted my head to the side and leaned forwards.
I barely felt her teeth as they slid smoothly into my throat. I closed my eyes and fell into a dream - into her dreams. Dreams of sacred places and quiet hymns. Latin psalms and heady incense. Rustling skirts and white wimples. Peace and serenity fractured by blood and death, screams and frightened prayers. Running feet and shouts of anger, fear and disbelief. Red flames reflected in the squares of the stained glass windows, red blood staining the naked bodies across my lap, thrusting and biting and the only place to escape was deep inside myself, to my childhood and my dolls and family teas and forgive me father, I've the devil in me, just like you said, danger in the mine, there will be a cave-in and no one will listen, save them, save them, save me….
I came back to myself with a jolt and a gasp and slithered bonelessly off the slippery satin coverlet to the floor. I stared stupidly at Spike's bare feet, right in front of my eyes. Even his feet are beautiful, I thought. I could hear him whispering urgently, could hear Dru thrashing, fighting him, calling my name. Could hear the jingle of the cuffs' buckles as he strapped her arms down and saw his feet walk around me to the end of the bed where he cuffed her ankles. He stooped and picked me up, the sudden movement making my head swim. Drusilla's anguished voice calling my name, fading, as my vision was fading as he carried me away.
***
I was pretty out of it for the next few days. I vaguely remember occasionally being shaken awake to drink tea, broth or juice. When I did finally wake up with a little awareness, I noticed I had a needle in the crook of my arm. It was attached to a tube that led up to a hospital-type IV bag filled with blood and hanging from a pole. I began to laugh feebly. My vampires had better not let it get around that they were putting blood into a human, rather than taking it out.
"Never thought I'd be glad to hear you sniggering again," Spike said from the doorway. "Guess you're gonna make it. Dru'll be relieved."
"Gotta pee," I said. "Can you take the needle out?"
'No need, pole's got wheels." Spike lifted me carefully out of the bed. I was alert enough to grab onto the pole to pull it along since he had his hands full.
While in the bathroom and since Spike was there to make sure I didn't fall down, I washed my face, brushed my teeth and began to feel much better. When I was in a clean nightgown, which getting into turned into quite an exercise in spatial relations that necessitated taking the IV bag off the pole and threading it through the sleeve of the gown before my arm went through, and settled back into bed, I asked "How?" and waved my hand weakly up at the IV bag he was re-hanging on the pole.
"Old trick of Angelus'," he said. "Although he used it to keep his victims alive so he could torture them longer. Made a science of it. Good thing the blood bank'd been stocking up on O neg, universal donor type, didn't need to fuck around searching for the rare stuff last night. You up to a visit from Dru? She's been worried."
I nodded and asked, "How is she? Is she still talking about the ants?"
"No, that seems to have passed. Now all she talks about is you and when you'll be all better and can come out an' play. Never seen her this attached to one of her pets before."
"Better to be Miss Edith than Miss Mary," I said. He just gave me a quizzical look and went to fetch Dru.
She hurried in with a silken rustle, "Silly Sunday!" she exclaimed. "I told Miss Edith you were ill, but she wants to have a party and it's no good without you. She wants you to be the guest of honor." She sat on the side of the bed and took my hand in hers, squeezing it tightly; too tightly. "Really, it's most aggravating of you."
"I'm sorry," I said, wincing. "I don't mean to be sick."
"Sunday will be ready for a party sooner than you can plan it, my dark chatelaine, so you'd better hurry away and start work," Spike said gently, disengaging her hand from mine and leading her from the room.
I could hear him talking softly to her and her replies floated down the hall to me, "May I have a poet at my party? And streamers?" I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep, reassured by the low rumble of his voice as he answered her.
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