TITLE: Tamed
AUTHOR: zero (zero@zeroimpact.com)
DISTRIBUTION: Please ask before archiving. But if you already have
permission for my other fics, then go for it.
SUMMARY: Spike chases Drusilla down to get her back again.
RATING: PG-13 for violence
CLASSIFICATION: Spike/Drusilla
DISCLAIMER: "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and all of its characters belong to
persons greater than myself. This story belongs to me, though. That's a
small consolation.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to Chelle for supreme coolness, even if I am an
impatient twit.
TAMED
by zero (zero@zeroimpact.com)
The fire-blackened bones cracked and crumbled underneath his boot, and
Spike twisted his heel a little, just to savor the sound.
The acrid smell of burned flesh hung in the air, along with a rapidly
dissipating haze of smoke. He inhaled it deeply, tasting it on his tongue,
and his lips curled back over his white, even teeth in a feral grin. He
drew a matte black Zippo from his deep coat pocket, and a cigarette from
the other. The thin stream of tobacco smoke danced and mingled intimately
with that rising from the body.
His name had been Morgan, or Mortigan, or some other ridiculous thing
along those lines. His name didn't really matter, anyway, not now. He'd
been a Kailiff demon. Tall, strong, dark skinned, with thick little horns
and knobs jutting proudly from his face. Thick lips, irises so dark brown
that they appeared black. Better than the last one. Harder to kill, and
he'd put up a valiant struggle. But the Kailiff demon hadn't really stood
a chance, because he'd taken something that belonged to Spike.
The vampire cocked his head slightly, listening intently to the sounds in
the woods surrounding the Kailiff's home. Somewhere to the south -- no,
southwest -- a twig snapped, and something rustled through the trees.
Spike's eyes, well-adjusted to the black nights of the remote wilderness,
caught a flash of white, nude skin, and then it was gone again, the pale
face vanishing back into the cover of the forest.
"You can't run forever, Drusilla," Spike called out, directing his voice
toward the trees. It echoed, and came back to him as a whispered promise
of destruction.
To the southwest, there was more sound, like a deer sprinting away from
the frightening sound of his voice.
Spike smiled, tossing his barely-smoked cigarette to the ground; it
clattered into the charred remains of the Kailiff's rib cage, slipping
through and coming to rest against the a spine half-buried in ash. He
slipped off his coat, pulled his t-shirt over his head, kicked off his
boots and flung his socks after them. He bounced once, lightly, on the
bare balls of his feet, curled and quickly unfurled his fists, and then
sprinted toward the treeline where he'd seen her face.
The darkness was deep, and it seemed there were infinite hours still
remaining in the night. Somewhere in the cover of the trees, a pale, naked
deer fled from the smell of burned flesh, and not far behind her, the wolf
pursued.
+++
His breathing was deep and rhythmic, his torso swelling with breath --
inhale, detecting her scent, his mouth open so he could catch it on his
tongue, and exhale again -- in perfect synchronization with the swing of
his arms and the steady pattern of his feet hitting the forest floor. He
moved so swiftly that he barely seemed to touch the ground; his foot would
touch down lightly with a rustle of leaves, and he would feel lush, green
grass underfoot, or a sharp twig would slice at his skin, but by then he'd
be taking another flying step. He vaulted over the roots, plants and
boulders that nature placed in his path, dodging the grasping branches of
trees and the snaring claws outstretched by the bushes.
The night air was still, but his motion sent it whipping by him, a million
cool hands stealing caresses along his bare torso as he passed. He
concentrated on the sounds that the night offered up: to the left, the
subdued trickle of a stream echoed up the embankment to his ears, and he
could hear her splashing through the water, unknowingly headed toward him.
He slowed, then stopped; the air's caresses stilled to a cold embrace, and
offered a slow, stroking touch when he moved again, stepping carefully up
the small rise to the top of the embankment.
He could see his prey below him, and she had stilled, too; she'd come face
to face with a deer on the near side of the stream. Both were startled
into stillness, their eyes locked on one another, trembling but not daring
to flee. Both of them knew what it was to be hunted, but only one
possessed the capacity to feel sympathy for the other.
Drusilla lunged forward and caught the deer around the neck, wrenching its
head upward, not bothering to kill the animal before sinking her fangs
into its vulnerable throat. Her arms wrapped around the creature, crushing
its windpipe, preventing it from letting out a cry of alarm that might
draw the attention of her pursuer. Her hunger made her messy, and her
teeth heedlessly ripped open the tender skin, spilling warm red blood over
her chin. It slipped down her neck, ran between her breasts, and continued
on downward, dipping into her navel, breaking into separate rivulets to
journey over the swell of her belly, staining the hair between her legs,
running down her thighs and marking her feet.
The deer jerked three times in her arms, and then was still. A breeze
rustled the trees, gently drowning out the sound of the vampire's frantic
feeding.
Spike leapt down from the top of the rise, and the soft noise of his
landing was masked by the sound of the deer's body tumbling to the ground,
released from Drusilla's arms. She stood still for a moment, licking her
lips, then spun nimbly on her feet to continue her flight through the
woods.
Spike's chest, solid and smooth, blocked her escape. She stepped right
into his arms, and gasped in alarm, trying to pull back but already
ensnared in his embrace. Her blood-slicked hands pushed at his chest,
scratched at his biceps, and dug sharp fingernails into his neck until he
trapped her arms, too, pinning them to her sides.
The first time he'd intruded on her new life and killed her lover, they'd
argued. The second time had brought a physical fight, and the third, she'd
tried to kill him. By the time fate found them, hunter and prey, locked in
a deadly embrace in the wilderness, Drusilla had lost many lovers. The
time for words had long sinced passed; none were exchanged, then, and
arguments were unnecessary.
Their eyes met and locked, just as Drusilla's had done with the deer, and
she shivered, frozen by his gaze. He cocked his head, contemplating her,
then leaned closer, the tip of his tongue delicately tracing the lines of
her lips, licking the blood clean, before he claimed her mouth in a kiss,
consuming her.
Then he pulled away, his embrace loosening, setting her free again; he
stepped back a pace, his arms releasing their hold on hers. His hands slid
around to the front of her body, caressing her blood-stained breasts, then
gaining more distance again, one hand trailing three fingers down her
chest to just above the dip of her navel, leaving crimson streaks in their
wake, then finally pulling away completely. She shivered violently when
his touch vanished from her skin, wrapping her arms tightly around
herself, her head tipping forward, her eyes staring blankly at the ground.
They stood for long moments that way: Drusilla shuddering and staring at
nothing, and Spike only a short distance away, his hands hanging at his
sides, watching her downcast head, willing to wait forever.
When Dru raised her head again, a few thick strands of dark hair stuck in
the blood on her cheek, and her hands slowly unfurled themselves from her
sides, reaching for Spike.
She sank into his embrace as she had done a million times before, her thin
arms wrapping around his waist, her face buried in his neck. Her tongue
bathed his throat, lapping up the blood that smeared his skin, and he
tilted his head up to accept her attentions.
"Welcome home, baby," he whispered, and his voice rumbled through her
lips. Drusilla smiled against his jaw, her hands sliding up cradle his
cheeks in her palms. Their eyes met again, and he frowned, glancing away,
looking over her shoulder at the deer she'd killed. Its eyes were open,
staring sightlessly at him.
They were wide, dark, and wild, like Drusilla's, and just as empty.
The End
----------------------
Feedback is my friend.
zero@zeroimpact.com
----------------------
AUTHOR: zero (zero@zeroimpact.com)
DISTRIBUTION: Please ask before archiving. But if you already have
permission for my other fics, then go for it.
SUMMARY: Spike chases Drusilla down to get her back again.
RATING: PG-13 for violence
CLASSIFICATION: Spike/Drusilla
DISCLAIMER: "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and all of its characters belong to
persons greater than myself. This story belongs to me, though. That's a
small consolation.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to Chelle for supreme coolness, even if I am an
impatient twit.
TAMED
by zero (zero@zeroimpact.com)
The fire-blackened bones cracked and crumbled underneath his boot, and
Spike twisted his heel a little, just to savor the sound.
The acrid smell of burned flesh hung in the air, along with a rapidly
dissipating haze of smoke. He inhaled it deeply, tasting it on his tongue,
and his lips curled back over his white, even teeth in a feral grin. He
drew a matte black Zippo from his deep coat pocket, and a cigarette from
the other. The thin stream of tobacco smoke danced and mingled intimately
with that rising from the body.
His name had been Morgan, or Mortigan, or some other ridiculous thing
along those lines. His name didn't really matter, anyway, not now. He'd
been a Kailiff demon. Tall, strong, dark skinned, with thick little horns
and knobs jutting proudly from his face. Thick lips, irises so dark brown
that they appeared black. Better than the last one. Harder to kill, and
he'd put up a valiant struggle. But the Kailiff demon hadn't really stood
a chance, because he'd taken something that belonged to Spike.
The vampire cocked his head slightly, listening intently to the sounds in
the woods surrounding the Kailiff's home. Somewhere to the south -- no,
southwest -- a twig snapped, and something rustled through the trees.
Spike's eyes, well-adjusted to the black nights of the remote wilderness,
caught a flash of white, nude skin, and then it was gone again, the pale
face vanishing back into the cover of the forest.
"You can't run forever, Drusilla," Spike called out, directing his voice
toward the trees. It echoed, and came back to him as a whispered promise
of destruction.
To the southwest, there was more sound, like a deer sprinting away from
the frightening sound of his voice.
Spike smiled, tossing his barely-smoked cigarette to the ground; it
clattered into the charred remains of the Kailiff's rib cage, slipping
through and coming to rest against the a spine half-buried in ash. He
slipped off his coat, pulled his t-shirt over his head, kicked off his
boots and flung his socks after them. He bounced once, lightly, on the
bare balls of his feet, curled and quickly unfurled his fists, and then
sprinted toward the treeline where he'd seen her face.
The darkness was deep, and it seemed there were infinite hours still
remaining in the night. Somewhere in the cover of the trees, a pale, naked
deer fled from the smell of burned flesh, and not far behind her, the wolf
pursued.
+++
His breathing was deep and rhythmic, his torso swelling with breath --
inhale, detecting her scent, his mouth open so he could catch it on his
tongue, and exhale again -- in perfect synchronization with the swing of
his arms and the steady pattern of his feet hitting the forest floor. He
moved so swiftly that he barely seemed to touch the ground; his foot would
touch down lightly with a rustle of leaves, and he would feel lush, green
grass underfoot, or a sharp twig would slice at his skin, but by then he'd
be taking another flying step. He vaulted over the roots, plants and
boulders that nature placed in his path, dodging the grasping branches of
trees and the snaring claws outstretched by the bushes.
The night air was still, but his motion sent it whipping by him, a million
cool hands stealing caresses along his bare torso as he passed. He
concentrated on the sounds that the night offered up: to the left, the
subdued trickle of a stream echoed up the embankment to his ears, and he
could hear her splashing through the water, unknowingly headed toward him.
He slowed, then stopped; the air's caresses stilled to a cold embrace, and
offered a slow, stroking touch when he moved again, stepping carefully up
the small rise to the top of the embankment.
He could see his prey below him, and she had stilled, too; she'd come face
to face with a deer on the near side of the stream. Both were startled
into stillness, their eyes locked on one another, trembling but not daring
to flee. Both of them knew what it was to be hunted, but only one
possessed the capacity to feel sympathy for the other.
Drusilla lunged forward and caught the deer around the neck, wrenching its
head upward, not bothering to kill the animal before sinking her fangs
into its vulnerable throat. Her arms wrapped around the creature, crushing
its windpipe, preventing it from letting out a cry of alarm that might
draw the attention of her pursuer. Her hunger made her messy, and her
teeth heedlessly ripped open the tender skin, spilling warm red blood over
her chin. It slipped down her neck, ran between her breasts, and continued
on downward, dipping into her navel, breaking into separate rivulets to
journey over the swell of her belly, staining the hair between her legs,
running down her thighs and marking her feet.
The deer jerked three times in her arms, and then was still. A breeze
rustled the trees, gently drowning out the sound of the vampire's frantic
feeding.
Spike leapt down from the top of the rise, and the soft noise of his
landing was masked by the sound of the deer's body tumbling to the ground,
released from Drusilla's arms. She stood still for a moment, licking her
lips, then spun nimbly on her feet to continue her flight through the
woods.
Spike's chest, solid and smooth, blocked her escape. She stepped right
into his arms, and gasped in alarm, trying to pull back but already
ensnared in his embrace. Her blood-slicked hands pushed at his chest,
scratched at his biceps, and dug sharp fingernails into his neck until he
trapped her arms, too, pinning them to her sides.
The first time he'd intruded on her new life and killed her lover, they'd
argued. The second time had brought a physical fight, and the third, she'd
tried to kill him. By the time fate found them, hunter and prey, locked in
a deadly embrace in the wilderness, Drusilla had lost many lovers. The
time for words had long sinced passed; none were exchanged, then, and
arguments were unnecessary.
Their eyes met and locked, just as Drusilla's had done with the deer, and
she shivered, frozen by his gaze. He cocked his head, contemplating her,
then leaned closer, the tip of his tongue delicately tracing the lines of
her lips, licking the blood clean, before he claimed her mouth in a kiss,
consuming her.
Then he pulled away, his embrace loosening, setting her free again; he
stepped back a pace, his arms releasing their hold on hers. His hands slid
around to the front of her body, caressing her blood-stained breasts, then
gaining more distance again, one hand trailing three fingers down her
chest to just above the dip of her navel, leaving crimson streaks in their
wake, then finally pulling away completely. She shivered violently when
his touch vanished from her skin, wrapping her arms tightly around
herself, her head tipping forward, her eyes staring blankly at the ground.
They stood for long moments that way: Drusilla shuddering and staring at
nothing, and Spike only a short distance away, his hands hanging at his
sides, watching her downcast head, willing to wait forever.
When Dru raised her head again, a few thick strands of dark hair stuck in
the blood on her cheek, and her hands slowly unfurled themselves from her
sides, reaching for Spike.
She sank into his embrace as she had done a million times before, her thin
arms wrapping around his waist, her face buried in his neck. Her tongue
bathed his throat, lapping up the blood that smeared his skin, and he
tilted his head up to accept her attentions.
"Welcome home, baby," he whispered, and his voice rumbled through her
lips. Drusilla smiled against his jaw, her hands sliding up cradle his
cheeks in her palms. Their eyes met again, and he frowned, glancing away,
looking over her shoulder at the deer she'd killed. Its eyes were open,
staring sightlessly at him.
They were wide, dark, and wild, like Drusilla's, and just as empty.
The End
----------------------
Feedback is my friend.
zero@zeroimpact.com
----------------------