{buffyverse} acceptance
Title: Acceptance
Author: Aaronlisa
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing/Characters: Drusilla/Darla
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon and company.
Prompts: Written for Round 83 at femslash_minis for brutti_ma_buoni who wanted to see the pairing along with a pre-series setting, something about Dru being turned, peacock feathers without fluff or Angel(us).
Notes: Set pre-series.
Summary: Darla comes to accept Drusilla in her life.
Word Count: 1131
It is just the two of them again and she is bored by the fact that they are imprisoned in the lavish townhouse by daylight. It had been her decision to come to Paris after the whole incident with Drusilla. She hadn't realized that Angelus would take it as license to paint the town red with the blood of pretty little ballerinas. Darla sighs as she moves about the house, her silk dress whispering in the silence with each step that she takes.
She finds Drusilla in the library, gazing sightlessly at the books upon the shelf. Books that the previous owner of the townhouse had only for the prestige. Darla decides to leave Drusilla to whatever vision is upon her when the younger vampire speaks.
"The stars speak of how disenchanted you are," Drusilla softly says.
Darla is grateful for the fact that she didn't end her sentence with the word grandmother. Ever since her turning, Drusilla has called Darla grandmother and Angelus father. There's something wrong and it makes Darla queasy whenever she hears the terms falling from the younger vampire's lips. Perhaps there is still some of the woman she used to be inside of her, not yet purged by the multitude of sins she has committed since the Master first turned her.
"It is nothing," Darla finally says.
And it is, nothing more than simple ennui for being cooped up due to the Parisian spring time. In a day or two, they will leave and she will be better.
"No it is more than that," Drusilla says. "You are jealous of me."
Darla laughs. There is no way that she's jealous of a slip of a girl who was insane in life and equally insane in death.
"The stars never lie," Drusilla says.
"Well they're wrong this time Drusilla," Darla tells her before leaving the room, her skirts rustling loudly as she turns.
* * *
It's not jealousy because Drusilla is nothing special. Darla looks at the younger vampire but she can't help but wonder if she were to present the vampire to the Master who the elder vampire would prefer. The insane one who somehow has insights to things she shouldn't know or the older vampire who can use guile and charm to trick any mortal or vampire she chooses to. In the end, Darla concludes not to present the younger vampire to the Master unless forced to and then perhaps Drusilla may meet an unfortunate end.
There are certain chances that she wishes not to take.
"I am hungry," Drusilla whines.
Darla hates traveling by train at the best of tines. She hates it more with a companion who behaves mostly like a child. Drusilla has no control, if she is hungry she would drink the train dry if left to her own devices.
"You must wait until we arrive in Moscow dearest," Darla tells her.
Drusilla pouts as she slumps against the seat. If she was a child, Darla would take great delight in draining her once the train arrived in Moscow.
* * *
Moscow is equally disenchanting for her as Paris was. Almost all of the blood that she drinks has the bitter tang of vodka in it's taste. She is bored and cold and Drusilla makes for poor companionship. Once again she is in a townhouse imprisoned by the sun and Darla wonders why she agreed to leave Paris for Moscow.
As she wanders through the house, she finds Drusilla in a ballroom dancing in wide circles, her fancy gown spinning out with each circle. Darla rolls her eyes just as Drusilla stops. Somehow the younger vampire manages to make her way over to Darla gracefully, there's no evidence that she had been spinning like a small child moments before.
When Drusilla stands in front of Darla, the older vampire is suddenly nervous. She takes a needless breath as she waits for Drusilla to do something.
"We should go away tomorrow, we should leave for Berlin or Prague or London, anywhere but here. The blood tastes oh so sour."
"Very well," Darla says all business like. "As soon as the sun sets, we shall leave for Venice."
Drusilla claps her hands together before rushing out of the room to pack.
* * *
Dusk has painted the Venetian sky in shades of purple and gold. For the first time in a while, Darla feels at peace. She is standing looking out one of the windows waiting for Drusilla to awaken so that the pair of them can take advantage of all that Venice has to offer.
She shivers when something touches her spine. She turns and finds Drusilla holding a peacock feather in one hand. The other hand is used to hold up silken sheets. Drusilla smiles at her before touching her skin with the feather again. Darla can't help but shiver at the sensation.
"The stars have whispered such a lovely secret to me tonight," Drusilla says.
"And what is that?" Darla asks.
Drusilla merely laughs as she drops the sheet, standing before Darla in her nudity unashamed. For a moment Darla is sure her skin flushes in embarrassment. But when Drusilla steps forward and presses her naked body against Darla's clothed one, she decides to throw away her prudish and false modesty. She allows for the younger vampire to remove her dress, she doesn't even protest when Drusilla's clumsy hands tear the fragile silk. Instead she helps Drusilla remove the layers of fabric that hide her nakedness from prying eyes until they are standing in the pale light of the moon naked.
Drusilla laughs, a rich sound that bubbles out of her lips, as she pulls Darla into a wild dance where they spin in circles so many times before they collapse to the marble floor in a tangle of limbs. Darla's not sure who moves first, who presses their lips against the other's lips first. All she knows is that once it starts, she can't stop.
She can't stop kissing or touching or licking. All that matters is answering this wild call inside of her until they reach a crescendo together.
When it is finished and they lay entangled on the marble floor, Drusilla sighs against Darla's pale skin.
"The stars told me the secret to unlocking you," Drusilla whispers. "You're not mad are you?"
"No," Darla replies.
"Can we do this always?" Drusilla asks.
Darla sees no reason why they can't and she tells Drusilla that. She delights in the feel of Drusilla's sharp smile against her skin. In a few moments, they will rise and dress and paint Venice a lovely shade of red. But for now, Darla wants to linger in this moment just a while longer. They have all of eternity after all.
((END))
Author: Aaronlisa
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing/Characters: Drusilla/Darla
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon and company.
Prompts: Written for Round 83 at femslash_minis for brutti_ma_buoni who wanted to see the pairing along with a pre-series setting, something about Dru being turned, peacock feathers without fluff or Angel(us).
Notes: Set pre-series.
Summary: Darla comes to accept Drusilla in her life.
Word Count: 1131
It is just the two of them again and she is bored by the fact that they are imprisoned in the lavish townhouse by daylight. It had been her decision to come to Paris after the whole incident with Drusilla. She hadn't realized that Angelus would take it as license to paint the town red with the blood of pretty little ballerinas. Darla sighs as she moves about the house, her silk dress whispering in the silence with each step that she takes.
She finds Drusilla in the library, gazing sightlessly at the books upon the shelf. Books that the previous owner of the townhouse had only for the prestige. Darla decides to leave Drusilla to whatever vision is upon her when the younger vampire speaks.
"The stars speak of how disenchanted you are," Drusilla softly says.
Darla is grateful for the fact that she didn't end her sentence with the word grandmother. Ever since her turning, Drusilla has called Darla grandmother and Angelus father. There's something wrong and it makes Darla queasy whenever she hears the terms falling from the younger vampire's lips. Perhaps there is still some of the woman she used to be inside of her, not yet purged by the multitude of sins she has committed since the Master first turned her.
"It is nothing," Darla finally says.
And it is, nothing more than simple ennui for being cooped up due to the Parisian spring time. In a day or two, they will leave and she will be better.
"No it is more than that," Drusilla says. "You are jealous of me."
Darla laughs. There is no way that she's jealous of a slip of a girl who was insane in life and equally insane in death.
"The stars never lie," Drusilla says.
"Well they're wrong this time Drusilla," Darla tells her before leaving the room, her skirts rustling loudly as she turns.
* * *
It's not jealousy because Drusilla is nothing special. Darla looks at the younger vampire but she can't help but wonder if she were to present the vampire to the Master who the elder vampire would prefer. The insane one who somehow has insights to things she shouldn't know or the older vampire who can use guile and charm to trick any mortal or vampire she chooses to. In the end, Darla concludes not to present the younger vampire to the Master unless forced to and then perhaps Drusilla may meet an unfortunate end.
There are certain chances that she wishes not to take.
"I am hungry," Drusilla whines.
Darla hates traveling by train at the best of tines. She hates it more with a companion who behaves mostly like a child. Drusilla has no control, if she is hungry she would drink the train dry if left to her own devices.
"You must wait until we arrive in Moscow dearest," Darla tells her.
Drusilla pouts as she slumps against the seat. If she was a child, Darla would take great delight in draining her once the train arrived in Moscow.
* * *
Moscow is equally disenchanting for her as Paris was. Almost all of the blood that she drinks has the bitter tang of vodka in it's taste. She is bored and cold and Drusilla makes for poor companionship. Once again she is in a townhouse imprisoned by the sun and Darla wonders why she agreed to leave Paris for Moscow.
As she wanders through the house, she finds Drusilla in a ballroom dancing in wide circles, her fancy gown spinning out with each circle. Darla rolls her eyes just as Drusilla stops. Somehow the younger vampire manages to make her way over to Darla gracefully, there's no evidence that she had been spinning like a small child moments before.
When Drusilla stands in front of Darla, the older vampire is suddenly nervous. She takes a needless breath as she waits for Drusilla to do something.
"We should go away tomorrow, we should leave for Berlin or Prague or London, anywhere but here. The blood tastes oh so sour."
"Very well," Darla says all business like. "As soon as the sun sets, we shall leave for Venice."
Drusilla claps her hands together before rushing out of the room to pack.
* * *
Dusk has painted the Venetian sky in shades of purple and gold. For the first time in a while, Darla feels at peace. She is standing looking out one of the windows waiting for Drusilla to awaken so that the pair of them can take advantage of all that Venice has to offer.
She shivers when something touches her spine. She turns and finds Drusilla holding a peacock feather in one hand. The other hand is used to hold up silken sheets. Drusilla smiles at her before touching her skin with the feather again. Darla can't help but shiver at the sensation.
"The stars have whispered such a lovely secret to me tonight," Drusilla says.
"And what is that?" Darla asks.
Drusilla merely laughs as she drops the sheet, standing before Darla in her nudity unashamed. For a moment Darla is sure her skin flushes in embarrassment. But when Drusilla steps forward and presses her naked body against Darla's clothed one, she decides to throw away her prudish and false modesty. She allows for the younger vampire to remove her dress, she doesn't even protest when Drusilla's clumsy hands tear the fragile silk. Instead she helps Drusilla remove the layers of fabric that hide her nakedness from prying eyes until they are standing in the pale light of the moon naked.
Drusilla laughs, a rich sound that bubbles out of her lips, as she pulls Darla into a wild dance where they spin in circles so many times before they collapse to the marble floor in a tangle of limbs. Darla's not sure who moves first, who presses their lips against the other's lips first. All she knows is that once it starts, she can't stop.
She can't stop kissing or touching or licking. All that matters is answering this wild call inside of her until they reach a crescendo together.
When it is finished and they lay entangled on the marble floor, Drusilla sighs against Darla's pale skin.
"The stars told me the secret to unlocking you," Drusilla whispers. "You're not mad are you?"
"No," Darla replies.
"Can we do this always?" Drusilla asks.
Darla sees no reason why they can't and she tells Drusilla that. She delights in the feel of Drusilla's sharp smile against her skin. In a few moments, they will rise and dress and paint Venice a lovely shade of red. But for now, Darla wants to linger in this moment just a while longer. They have all of eternity after all.
((END))