Premature Burial
My first post to sb_ashtray, which breaks a whole month of writers' block (though I know it's not gone for good). Taken from sb_fag_ends' first punk month, way back in 2010. As usual, it's very imaginatively titled.
Setting: School Hard, BtVS season 2
Pairings: Spike/Drusilla, Buffy/Angel, hints of Spike/Buffy UST.
Rating: PG-13
For the prompt: Premature Burial, by Siouxsie and the Banshees.
460 words.
Warning for character death.
Premature Burial
Dust -all that was left of the Anointed One - drifted, lazy as smoke, near the skylight window.
"Spike?" Drusilla whimpered softly, like a kicked kitten, and tugged at his hand. "Spike! Mummy's talking."
Spike blinked her face back into focus - the softly pouting lower lip, the blank blue eyes that always saw too much, the frown corrugating her smooth forehead.
"You're different." There was a hint of a childish whine in her voice. "What's happened? Did you do something naughty? Why won't you tell me?"
Raising her hand to his lips, he forced himself to kiss it and smile at her.
He'd have to admit to what he'd done some time, he thought, but not now. Maybe tomorrow. Just now, he couldn't cope with the drama.
"It's nothing, love. Just that, what's happened today makes a man think a bit, is all - 'bout where I go from here - the meaning of life an' all that bollocks."
Drusilla's gaze was way too sane for his liking. "Poor little Spike. Broken all his toys and now he's no one left to play with."
"Somethin' like that, yeah." He drew her in for a lingering kiss, like things between them were the same as always. Like he hadn't just killed her sire. Like he hadn't just killed his third slayer.
But his mind was elsewhere -re-living those final moments - the adrenaline rush of fighting someone better, stronger, faster.
A goddess, she was, all tossing blonde hair and slender, deadly limbs.
She'd had the upper hand right up until he'd done that neat reverse-thrust and dusted Angel. See, Angelus? Can guard my perimeter just fine, you lying bastard
Her cry of horror mixed with anger had shown him which way that wind was blowing, and after that it'd been easy enough to make her angrier, make her sloppy, make her lose.
She hadn't begged, though, not even when the rush of blood into his mouth - the best, the only blood worth having - had begun to slow. Only gazed at him, hardly blinking, like she wanted to brand her face on his memory forever.
He almost stopped then - almost let her live. Almost. There was something.... He couldn't put a finger on it.
But then she died, and it was like the most beautiful song in the world had just...stopped. He'd crashed to his knees next to her corpse, a suppliant's pose. All he could think was, you fool, you stupid bloody idiot.
Snarling with the sheer frustration of it, he told himself he wouldn't - would not regret it.
"Come on, love," Grabbing Dru's hand hard enough to hurt, he dragged her out from under the rain of dust. "Let's see what's on TV."
Setting: School Hard, BtVS season 2
Pairings: Spike/Drusilla, Buffy/Angel, hints of Spike/Buffy UST.
Rating: PG-13
For the prompt: Premature Burial, by Siouxsie and the Banshees.
460 words.
Warning for character death.
Premature Burial
Dust -all that was left of the Anointed One - drifted, lazy as smoke, near the skylight window.
"Spike?" Drusilla whimpered softly, like a kicked kitten, and tugged at his hand. "Spike! Mummy's talking."
Spike blinked her face back into focus - the softly pouting lower lip, the blank blue eyes that always saw too much, the frown corrugating her smooth forehead.
"You're different." There was a hint of a childish whine in her voice. "What's happened? Did you do something naughty? Why won't you tell me?"
Raising her hand to his lips, he forced himself to kiss it and smile at her.
He'd have to admit to what he'd done some time, he thought, but not now. Maybe tomorrow. Just now, he couldn't cope with the drama.
"It's nothing, love. Just that, what's happened today makes a man think a bit, is all - 'bout where I go from here - the meaning of life an' all that bollocks."
Drusilla's gaze was way too sane for his liking. "Poor little Spike. Broken all his toys and now he's no one left to play with."
"Somethin' like that, yeah." He drew her in for a lingering kiss, like things between them were the same as always. Like he hadn't just killed her sire. Like he hadn't just killed his third slayer.
But his mind was elsewhere -re-living those final moments - the adrenaline rush of fighting someone better, stronger, faster.
A goddess, she was, all tossing blonde hair and slender, deadly limbs.
She'd had the upper hand right up until he'd done that neat reverse-thrust and dusted Angel. See, Angelus? Can guard my perimeter just fine, you lying bastard
Her cry of horror mixed with anger had shown him which way that wind was blowing, and after that it'd been easy enough to make her angrier, make her sloppy, make her lose.
She hadn't begged, though, not even when the rush of blood into his mouth - the best, the only blood worth having - had begun to slow. Only gazed at him, hardly blinking, like she wanted to brand her face on his memory forever.
He almost stopped then - almost let her live. Almost. There was something.... He couldn't put a finger on it.
But then she died, and it was like the most beautiful song in the world had just...stopped. He'd crashed to his knees next to her corpse, a suppliant's pose. All he could think was, you fool, you stupid bloody idiot.
Snarling with the sheer frustration of it, he told himself he wouldn't - would not regret it.
"Come on, love," Grabbing Dru's hand hard enough to hurt, he dragged her out from under the rain of dust. "Let's see what's on TV."