TITLE: "Starsong" (1/1)
AUTHOR: eseia
EMAIL: niephyte@hotmail.com
DISTRIBUTION: If you want it, ask.
RATING: PG
PAIRING: Dru/Spike - set shortly after the battle with the Slayer in the Boxer Rebellion
SPOILERS: Slightly for "Fool For Love"
SUMMARY: Dru watches Spike sleep, and ponders her Childe.
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He cannot hear them - cannot hear the moon whisper its secrets and shames in his ear, cannot listen to the clouds' sullen hiss and the wind's sweet low croon beneath the crowning hum of the sky. The sky is empty and soundless to him, and I bridge the path between our earth and their stars, picking a way past the grayish heavens and into the skies to listen to the comets sing and watch the suns far, far away dance in discord.

He stirs against me, tousled curls impossibly soft on my arm, pale skin settling and sinking into the contours and hollows of his face. So young he looks - the same young, pure soldier waxing poetic that wandered upon his effulgence in London. In repose, almost mortal, almost with blood singing in his veins churning little words through the journey of a body, almost warm. But even the stars tell that he isn't - he is mine, my sweet boy.

(( the wisest and bravest knight in all the land ))

I run my fingers the length of his face and back up, coming to rest on his eyebrow. Poor hurt sweet, touched by the Slayer's mark, the Slayer's passion, and - as I see that is to come - even, someday, the Slayer's love.

(( all i see is the slayer ))

I trace a nail along the scarring flesh, gently at first, then harder to split the skin again and leave a tiny line of blood behind. It grows, and grows, and grows when I close my eyes, but when I open them, it is the same, barely a drop's worth arced above his eye. Even there, I can sense my Spike - rage and lust and danger and darkness so potent I can almost taste it. I lower my lips to the cut, lapping and laving it away, the smoky essence of the Slayer's stolen blood. Like Daddy, like Granymummy, like me, he is fatality, death with an angel's kiss and a demon's mind. His song is soft, and dark, and it jumps at my thoughts, like the hiss and rattle of a snake.

(( my darling deadly boy ))

I close my eyes. The stars chose well to guide him to his true death and life - and me - in London.