Woodstock, 1969
Hey Jude! That was a bleeding long song. Day one of Woodstock and they're already making sad songs better. There was abso-bloody-lutly nothing wrong with a nice depressing song. They were fun backdrops for drinking and draining people. Smoke hung strongly in the air, and everyone rejoiced freedom of expression and all that crock.
Spike did his own part ruining the atmosphere by chain-smoking. He blended in with the hippies and the beatniks with his tight stonewashed jeans and open leather vest. A group of three teenage girls spouting about flower-power eyed his bare chest appreciatively as he wandered through the crowds of people with no hope of seeing the stage. Somewhere among the hordes was Dru, not even having to try to blend in with the doped up psychos and loonies.
Spike flicked his cigarette onto someone's exposed back and ground his heel into it despite the screams of protestation and pain. Immediately he lit another one with his stolen Zippo. It felt good to be so bad. His cigarette glowed red in the dark sky, echoed by various similar smoldering red dots throughout the field. He blew out a puff of smoke and was dragged into a nearby tent by a pair of strong hands.
He fell to the grassy floor, tangled among limbs and bodies of the unconscious. A few girls sat in a semi-circle giggling and smoking pot. Spike took the offered joint and pretended to take a puff. The tiny hand of a redhead felt him up as he passed the marijuana on. Without having to breathe Spike was able to outlast all the doped up hippies. He smirked as the last one fell muttering onto his crotch.
Grabbing a handful of red hair, he ripped into the delicate neck flesh and slurped down the life's essence of the woman. Her borrowed blood coursed strongly through his veins, elevating his senses. The concoction of female plasma and drugs was bloody exhilarating! He drained hippie after hippie, chortling happily to himself. He wasn't quite sure why he hadn't done this before.
Bright swirls hummed in his eyes. Everything multiplied into threes and fours. Fascinated, he was still staring at his six hands as his eyes rolled back and he collapsed.
Filtered light peeked through the thin material of the make-shift tent. Spike experimentally stared at his still hand which was covered in drying blood. He wiped the mess on his jeans, leaving a trail of fingers in its wake. Someone stepped in the tent, causing the vamp to flinch backwards from the sun.
Blonde hair. Tiny figure. Cute and short. Lunch! He hadn't fed in… ok, so he had just fed; it was time for a snack.
"Someone has been very naughty." She gestured to the bodies around him, beneath him, on top of him. Spike shrugged. She looked vaguely familiar, like a memory in the distant past.
"I could be naughty with you, luv. I could be very naughty." He ran his tongue over his teeth and tried to shift into game-face. He couldn't. The bint laughed and crouched beside him when he realized he wasn't going vamp.
"Spike." She placed a hand on his lower abdomen and ran it lightly upwards until it curved around his shoulder. "If you could kill me, you know what I'd have to do."
"Slay me." Thoughts of such a tiny thing slaying him should have been amusing. But he knew slayers. They exhilarated him, challenged him, and almost killed him… he could sense the slayerdom in her blood. He'd be stupid to never fear them. She scared the hell out of him, not as a slayer, but as a woman.
She nodded briefly and brushed her lips lightly over his. She smiled so tenderly he thought he was going to gag. Deciding two could play this game, he forced her backwards onto the jumble of the recently drained. This stupid little chit didn't know who she was dealing with. He'd bloody well killed a slayer! His hands reached for her neck, intent on strangling the life out of her.
Instead, out of no violation of his own, he felt his finger sifting through her silky blonde hair a second before his mouth violently met hers. She surged up against him, her hot little mouth and tongue washing away all repulsion he was feeling.
"I love you Sp..."
"Spike?" A finger poked his shoulder. Fabric shifted around him. He moaned and felt his teeth firmly attached to the cold muscle of his last victim. Gathering up his strength, he peered up at Drusilla. "Miss Edith says you were in a very bad place. So full of light. Of love. The buff woman is not the one you need."
His teeth finally listened to his mind and retracted from the rotting jugular. Spike scraped them across his tongue, trying to rid the horrid taste in his mouth. He didn't know if he was trying to dispel the tepid blood, or the still lingering taste of slayer salvia exciting his bland taste buds. Disgusted, he realized there was only one thing to do for redemption. William the Bloody stumbled to his feet and left Dru.
"Where are you going, my murky elf?"
He paused for a second to light a cigarette, and savored the dangerous burning taste. "To bag myself slayer number two." He held out his hand, waiting for her to rise from the mass of bodies where she belonged.
"But that's the wrong way to go." She paused, humming, and looked at him smugly. "You'll scare her into the arms of daddy."
"Daddy's dead, and so is she."
The slayer he found was neither blonde nor lovely. He was relieved to discern he didn't fancy to snog or shag her senseless. Her blood was still the sweetest ambrosia and he looked forward to his next match.
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I originally intended this to be a trilogy, but intentionally left it open incase inspiration struck. I hope you all enjoyed Spike! I know I'd enjoy Spike.
©RelenaFanel2004
