181 Fic: Shadow Play
Title Shadow Play
Author Brutti ma buoni
Rating R
Word Count 500
Prompt 181 Five movements based on Rolling Stones titles: Mother’s Little Helper/Sympathy for the Devil/Have You Seen Your Mother Lately (Standing in the Shadows) /You Can’t Always Get What You Want /Let It Bleed
Characters/Pairing (if any) Spike/Drusilla, Darla, Angelus
A/N: The fifth section contains some horror and references to torture. It also contains language from ‘Never Leave Me’, written by Drew Goddard
William (who was giving serious thought to improving his name) was baffled by women. There was his beauty, his goddess, the magnificent Drusilla. And there was Darla, this blonde harpy who seemed to assume she could order them all around. Like she was his mum or something.
(Which she wasn’t. William was very clear about what happened with his mother. He’d never make a mistake like that again.)
But Drusilla bought into it. Hung on “grandmother’s” words. (It gave William some cheer to see Darla flinch at that epithet.) Drusilla sought praise, did bidding... Lost magic. He loved her still.
*
Angelus, now. Angelus he could respect. The man put the evil into vampire life.
Perhaps a little too much evil, to be honest. William thought sometimes that the time spent arranging corpses into tableaux of horror, the stalking, the mad cackling laughter... it wasn’t actually that much fun.
William liked to fight. To see fear. To feel flesh crunching under his fists. To hear the screams of the victims and experience their agonies.
Standing outside, watching the bereaved discover their loss, gloating... sure, it was demonic. But the more William watched, the less he understood how Angelus’s diabolical mind worked.
*
So he didn’t take the Angelus route. Planned alternatives. After two months, he was ready.
Went after the sneerers, the petty woman who’d spurned him, everyone who’d laughed at a sensitive young man and his dreams.
Spike, who wasn’t William, wasn’t that man anymore either. But he took revenge for him anyway.
He stood, laughing, over three bloody corpses, men he’d barely known but for their own laughter, now stilled.
Her voice came from the darkness behind him, “You’re my William, but you’re their Spike. You’re all grown up now. Mummy’s very proud.”
Spike hadn’t even known she was there.
*
Drusilla never did fall for him the way he did for her. Loved being loved. Loved to be his goddess, his muse. Would have dropped him in seconds if Daddy had come home.
So Spike became the great lover, compensating for everything Drusilla wasn’t able to be. He became the leader of their band, though he’d never wanted to be the boss: too much hassle. He suppressed the poetry, the music, the softer self that survived Drusilla’s bite. Because that wasn’t Spike.
And Spike was all he could be now. So he’d bloody well play that part to the hilt.
*
Do you know how much blood you can drink from a girl before she dies?
Spike does. He’s measured carefully over the decades. Too much, and they lose consciousness: white, floppy and unsatisfying. Where’s the pleasure in that? Where’s the challenge?
Not enough, and it’s... not enough. Got to take her to the edge. Got to feel the blood flooding, warm and life-giving, into your mouth, down your throat, knowing you could drink just a little bit more and send her to oblivion, but holding back.
So’s you can do this again, and again. And she’ll know it and scream.
***
Author Brutti ma buoni
Rating R
Word Count 500
Prompt 181 Five movements based on Rolling Stones titles: Mother’s Little Helper/Sympathy for the Devil/Have You Seen Your Mother Lately (Standing in the Shadows) /You Can’t Always Get What You Want /Let It Bleed
Characters/Pairing (if any) Spike/Drusilla, Darla, Angelus
A/N: The fifth section contains some horror and references to torture. It also contains language from ‘Never Leave Me’, written by Drew Goddard
William (who was giving serious thought to improving his name) was baffled by women. There was his beauty, his goddess, the magnificent Drusilla. And there was Darla, this blonde harpy who seemed to assume she could order them all around. Like she was his mum or something.
(Which she wasn’t. William was very clear about what happened with his mother. He’d never make a mistake like that again.)
But Drusilla bought into it. Hung on “grandmother’s” words. (It gave William some cheer to see Darla flinch at that epithet.) Drusilla sought praise, did bidding... Lost magic. He loved her still.
*
Angelus, now. Angelus he could respect. The man put the evil into vampire life.
Perhaps a little too much evil, to be honest. William thought sometimes that the time spent arranging corpses into tableaux of horror, the stalking, the mad cackling laughter... it wasn’t actually that much fun.
William liked to fight. To see fear. To feel flesh crunching under his fists. To hear the screams of the victims and experience their agonies.
Standing outside, watching the bereaved discover their loss, gloating... sure, it was demonic. But the more William watched, the less he understood how Angelus’s diabolical mind worked.
*
So he didn’t take the Angelus route. Planned alternatives. After two months, he was ready.
Went after the sneerers, the petty woman who’d spurned him, everyone who’d laughed at a sensitive young man and his dreams.
Spike, who wasn’t William, wasn’t that man anymore either. But he took revenge for him anyway.
He stood, laughing, over three bloody corpses, men he’d barely known but for their own laughter, now stilled.
Her voice came from the darkness behind him, “You’re my William, but you’re their Spike. You’re all grown up now. Mummy’s very proud.”
Spike hadn’t even known she was there.
*
Drusilla never did fall for him the way he did for her. Loved being loved. Loved to be his goddess, his muse. Would have dropped him in seconds if Daddy had come home.
So Spike became the great lover, compensating for everything Drusilla wasn’t able to be. He became the leader of their band, though he’d never wanted to be the boss: too much hassle. He suppressed the poetry, the music, the softer self that survived Drusilla’s bite. Because that wasn’t Spike.
And Spike was all he could be now. So he’d bloody well play that part to the hilt.
*
Do you know how much blood you can drink from a girl before she dies?
Spike does. He’s measured carefully over the decades. Too much, and they lose consciousness: white, floppy and unsatisfying. Where’s the pleasure in that? Where’s the challenge?
Not enough, and it’s... not enough. Got to take her to the edge. Got to feel the blood flooding, warm and life-giving, into your mouth, down your throat, knowing you could drink just a little bit more and send her to oblivion, but holding back.
So’s you can do this again, and again. And she’ll know it and scream.
***