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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.
I was having an absolutely terrific dream. I was Kate Nelligan playing Mina and Frank Langella was playing Dracula, like in that movie I'd seen a couple of years ago, when I was awakened by someone speaking very close to me.
"Did you bring me a present, my Spike?"
I came awake to see two dark eyes peering into mine from about an inch away. My head jerked back, cracking painfully against the hard brick wall. I blinked to clear my focus but the face was so close that the two eyes looking at me blurred into one big eye. I never was able to decide for sure what color Dru's eyes were - in different lights they could look blue, green, or gray or some unnamable mix of the three. Whatever color they were, they weren't eyes you could look away from.
Trilling a laugh, she backed far enough way that I could get a look at all of her and give a thought to where I was. I recognized immediately that she was the woman from the train platform who had been with, um, I never had gotten his name. Her long dark curls fell in ringlets from an elaborate hairstyle and she was impossibly thin. On other girls the thinness might have made her look scrawny but it made her look delicate and fragile. Her white dress also looked delicate and fragile and impossibly out of place in the dark dank basement we appeared to be in.
When she broke her eye contact with me, I became aware of a screaming pain in my shoulders. I tried to lower my arms and found I couldn't. My wrists were held over my head and I could hear a chain rattling when I tried to move them. I looked up - they were held in what looked like steel manacles and the sharp edges of the cuffs were biting into my skin, breaking it, thin lines of blood trickling down my bare arms.
My all of me was bare, I realized with a start. I struggled harder with the metal cuffs, drawing a breath to cry out, but my head went fuzzy, waves of darkness surged across my vision and my head was throbbing too hard to struggle any more.
Strong hands tilted my head back and something lovely, cool and wet was poured into my open mouth. Water. I swallowed greedily - suddenly I felt so dehydrated, and my head seemed to clear a bit. I opened my eyes and saw the man holding a glass of water, my jaw in his other hand. He gestured with the glass as if asking if I wanted more and I nodded. He released my face and gave me another drink. Gulping it down, I was still terrified and confused and in pain, but I no longer felt like I was about to pass out.
"Why are you bothering to water it, Spike?" She wound her arms around him from behind, running her hands across his chest and down towards his belt. "Let's just drain it, then you can put me in the chains and we can play." She was British, too, but her accent was different from his - more flower girl and less Sex Pistol.
"Dru, honey," He disengaged her hands and, after setting aside the glass, took them in both of his own. He drew her a little ways away but I could still hear him. "Do you remember that vamp we met in Boston, used to be a doctor?"
She nodded, "Told us all about the different kinds of blood."
"That's right, pet. He said that the reason that different people's blood tasted different was that there were different types of blood. And he said something about one of the types, the tastiest type, being the most rare."
"I remember," She put a finger in her mouth, sucking on it lightly. "He gave us a little taste - yummy. But we haven't had any since." She pouted and took the wet finger from her mouth and held it to the man's, Spike's, mouth. In the darkness I could see the red gleam where she'd bitten it. He licked it gently and sucked it deep into his own mouth.
"Now we have," he said around he finger. He removed it from his mouth and pointed it at me. "And if we keep her alive, we can have as much as we want."
Funnily enough, especially what with all the panic, I knew what he was talking about. Last year at the school Blood Drive, I'd found out that I had a very rare blood type, AB-, a type that only one half of one percent of the population has. The blood bank staff had fussed over me and were forever calling to ask me to donate again. It wasn't that I didn't want to; I just never seemed to get around to it. Looked like I was going to be donating now - whether I wanted to or not.
Funny what your mind can get used to when it has to. While I was unconscious, my brain seemed to have taken the available facts and brought itself around to believing that, yes, Virginia, vampires are real.
The two vampires, Spike and Dru, were looking at me, all but licking their chops. 'Oo Spike! Can I?" Dru asked.
"Just a taste, my precious, I got a little carried away before I brought her here and she doesn't have much left. If we're careful, we can have her blood for dessert every night."
Dru came to me. She ran a black-painted fingernail down the side of my face and on down my neck. With a strength that belied her seeming frailty, she twisted my face aside, tilting my head to bare the side of my neck that hadn't yet been bitten. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her face change in the instant before she drove her fangs into my neck.
Just like back in the alley, first I felt the stabbing pain, then the woozy limpness. As my knees buckled, I could feel, distantly, the pain in my wrists, but I was once again passing out. My last thought was at least I'd never have to wear that peach bridesmaid's dress.
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