Here's mah ficcy
Hey, I got me cuts all figured out (thanks again, my internet helper, Evi) and I can post my latest fanfiction, Mad Molasses. It's one of those that just came to me randomly and shut down all my other writings until I got it out, so here it is- turned loose from the nervous hospitol and acclaimed well. Uh, pardon the Slingblade reference. Anyway, here ya go, my lovely dearies- and don't you DARE read it and then not review!! Here it is- But first the information stuff.
By- Rebel Yell Spikette
Disclaimer- Charries aren't mine, though boy is they were... mmmm, chocolate covered spiky goodness!
Rating- R for razzle dazzle love.
Sumamry- Just a little peice of Spike/Dru love. 1934, somewhat dark. Has a bit of a drugged out feel in some points.
Spoilers- none, really
Distribution- Go on with you, as long as I am credited.
Mad Molasses
The Chicago moon was hung high, shining brightly above it's accompanying sea of twinkling diamonds. In a while it would disappear, and the first grey light of dawn would tinge the earth with it's nasty, biting rays. It was far away yet, but the morning would brings horror ands grief to many, but none for them. None for the bringers of all this sunrise sorrow- for they were young. Eternally young- and damn set on enjoying it. And if they hadn't enjoyed it tonight, then there was no existing concept of pleasure.
Spike and Dru had heard around that Chicago was going to be big in this decade- boy, had they heard right. And they had helped ring in the fourth year of the 1930's with bang, buck, and razzle dazzle. Of course, their arrival had not been so fortunate for the townspeople.
Now, they burst in through the doors of their flat, Dru lying in Spike's arms and gasping with delight. "Oh, Spike! The fireworks. it was beautiful. Like burning bits of the naughty sun. Pop, crack, sizzle." With each sound effect she made, her elegant, pale fingers caressed his hair, or tapped over his chest in a fluttering manner.
"Yeah, Dru. But nothing compared to our fireworks, eh pet?" He said in reply, carrying her through the door to their bedroom and twirling with hers in a graceful, lusting dance until they collapsed on the bed. Drusilla gave a low, anything-but-innocent giggle as she landed comfortably on top of him.
"Oh no, my love. Nothing could compare to our fire. Brightest light from my bravest knight. All the naughty daisies shall wither and crumble before you, my Spike." She said with a breathy tone, her long fingers going to their automatic work of undoing the buttons on his shirt and slacks. He toed off his shoes, and let them drop to the floor, but was careful not to scuff the expertly shined leather.
The quick, promising ritual of undressing between the two of them had become a practiced skill, done with the finest expertise. It never took longer than three minutes to have both of them completely stripped, though the anticipation made it something to appreciate in itself.
Once all their clothes were piled all around the bed on the floor- black slacks piled with lace stockings of the same hue, jacket and socks covered by a glitter-covered red dress, and cream colored shirt strewn with lacey, carelessly undone undergarments, red pumps lying beside black loafers- there wasn't a moments wait between them.
Spike immediately found his black-dyed hair being mussed into messy curls, the extreme care he'd taken in slicking it back totally in vain. He stopped worrying about that quickly, however, once he felt the sensations of Dru's fingers sliding sensually down his chest and stomach, nails leaving light red paths down his ivory-white skin.
There had never been a time when making love with Drusilla wasn't amazing- and this was no exception. He could already feel a tremble building in his thighs before she even touched him. Drusilla climbed onto his lap and wasted not a second before sinking down, both of them giving a mutual gasp at the sensation. Both paused, their eyes locking as she automatically set their tempo, watching his face intently.
Up- his eyes grew glossy and dark, matching her stare without focus. His lips pressed together in concentration, trying to match her movements.
Down- his eyes would flutter closed, long, thick lashes casting shadows on his finely sculpted cheeks from the dim glow of candle-light. His lips would part and let go of a blissful sigh as his limbs stretched out, straining to feel more.
Both of them always admired the other's sounds as they moved together- Spike's ragged, choppy gasps, long moans, or whispered curses. Dru's delighted, sharp intakes of breath, murmured nonsense or sweet, soft moans
The more time that passed, the more wildly Spike would buck and writhe beneath her, and the more he moved, the more Drusilla matched his movements and dug her crimson-painted nails into his flesh, making it match their color. This in particular seemed to drive him mad.
After the many years they're spent together, Dru had taught him how to spend hours with his back arched toward the heavens and his lips spilling kisses, curses and words of worship like an eternal fountain. She had her knight just the way she wanted- just the way he was meant to be. A wild beast that no one could ever tame but her, nothing to soothe him but her love and caresses. Mummy's love to make everything sing for him.
And Spike knew that he was completely hers. He knew that he would do anything for her, but only for her. He also knew that although she was his princess in (almost) every way, nearly totally his, he could not touch her mind. He could never understand her thoughts, her visions, her processes. Sometimes he prayed to whatever would listen to him that he could spend just one moment In her mind; understand; see through her eyes. But then when she would have visions, and go through all the agony she seemed to feel, he would think that he never wanted to know what it was like in that dark, secret plane.
But this was a way he felt he could be close to knowing her- feel the sort of things she was always talking about. Use his body to understand her mind.
When her hands slid over him, it was almost unearthly. Cool, ghostly touches caressing him with the grace and method of ages unknown. Like the stars melting into lemon drops and warm rose petals that rained down over his flesh, covering him.
The floating notes of her moans were musical- innocent, with a promise of something deliciously filthy underneath. They lingered in the air like glazed drops of caramel, left to harden into glass and shatter when the breaking tide hit. Spike's sounds as well- like honey and blood pouring heavily over a soft plane of layered white lace- something meant to represent such purity and goodness, twisted and tainted by the overwhelming darkness of their love.
Like a quiet shot of morphine among a sea of hot silk and maple- sickly sweet scents and tastes that made his muscles quiver with ecstasy. He tossed his head back, and closed his eyes, his tongue flicking out to slide over his lips, where shallow pants were escaping, but he couldn't taste the air. Only a thick, smoggy blanket of cinnamon, lemon, and cherry cream candies.
Drusilla had her nails dug deeply into the soft, sensitive flesh on his biceps- holding on to him as if her existence depended on it. She looked down into his eyes and saw glass sapphires- impossibly glossed over, but still shining with determination. He was her wonderful, jeweled stallion- his body hard as marble, but moving like melted gold; smooth and flowing, or sometimes wild and daring, but always burning with passion. All for her.
He was writhing, arching- doing anything he could to feel more of the sweet sensation of hot, sticky molasses coating his body. And he did, the poison-sweet syrup cascaded down, slicking over the winding tangle of stained satin and damp flesh. Slid down his chest, wound around his thighs like snakes of velvet. He could taste the sugary substances on his tongue, so it must have been real. Or was it that he was imagining this? Or tasting Dru's blood? He didn't remember biting her, yet when he opened his eyes again, here was her wrist up to his lips.
His tongue lapping at the wound was making her whimper as their rhythm sped up, heat rose. Suddenly, Spike couldn't see anymore- he didn't need to. His other senses were taking full control. He could feel his hips bucking harshly, heard his own cries as well as Drusilla's, tasted the sweetness like never before and smelled it- caramel, cinnamon, and honey mixed with sweat and blood.
The sticky, slick coating he thought- no, knew- he was feeling suddenly started to harden, forming binds of taffy all over their bodies- a topaz shell, that was only to be cracked and shattered by the burst of blinding light that both of them saw. A fountain of white flames with un-burning patchouli and rose petals swirling throughout, until the room was shaken into final blackness.
Slowly, Spike's eyes fluttered open as he touched down in the current reality. The firs thing he did was slide a hand slowly down his pectoral and abdominal muscles, testing. Nothing there but his own sweat and oil, Funny- he'd been so sure of. honey? Molasses? Some sweet syrup completely covering the both of them. Too bad- he'd looked forward to licking it clean.
He wrapped his arms around Dru as she lied on top of him, and ran his fingers through her hair. "Pet. you alright?" He asked in a rich tone, noticing that he was still panting. She looked up at him with distant, glazed eyes and smiled coyly. "Oh yes! My boy is a golden stallion- and tastes all of honey and lemon." Strangely enough, Spike had understood that. Every word, he understood- he had felt deep inside, shaking his body with bliss. But he only said- "Love, you really are mad," and finished with a toxic-sweet kiss. ~End
By- Rebel Yell Spikette
Disclaimer- Charries aren't mine, though boy is they were... mmmm, chocolate covered spiky goodness!
Rating- R for razzle dazzle love.
Sumamry- Just a little peice of Spike/Dru love. 1934, somewhat dark. Has a bit of a drugged out feel in some points.
Spoilers- none, really
Distribution- Go on with you, as long as I am credited.
Mad Molasses
The Chicago moon was hung high, shining brightly above it's accompanying sea of twinkling diamonds. In a while it would disappear, and the first grey light of dawn would tinge the earth with it's nasty, biting rays. It was far away yet, but the morning would brings horror ands grief to many, but none for them. None for the bringers of all this sunrise sorrow- for they were young. Eternally young- and damn set on enjoying it. And if they hadn't enjoyed it tonight, then there was no existing concept of pleasure.
Spike and Dru had heard around that Chicago was going to be big in this decade- boy, had they heard right. And they had helped ring in the fourth year of the 1930's with bang, buck, and razzle dazzle. Of course, their arrival had not been so fortunate for the townspeople.
Now, they burst in through the doors of their flat, Dru lying in Spike's arms and gasping with delight. "Oh, Spike! The fireworks. it was beautiful. Like burning bits of the naughty sun. Pop, crack, sizzle." With each sound effect she made, her elegant, pale fingers caressed his hair, or tapped over his chest in a fluttering manner.
"Yeah, Dru. But nothing compared to our fireworks, eh pet?" He said in reply, carrying her through the door to their bedroom and twirling with hers in a graceful, lusting dance until they collapsed on the bed. Drusilla gave a low, anything-but-innocent giggle as she landed comfortably on top of him.
"Oh no, my love. Nothing could compare to our fire. Brightest light from my bravest knight. All the naughty daisies shall wither and crumble before you, my Spike." She said with a breathy tone, her long fingers going to their automatic work of undoing the buttons on his shirt and slacks. He toed off his shoes, and let them drop to the floor, but was careful not to scuff the expertly shined leather.
The quick, promising ritual of undressing between the two of them had become a practiced skill, done with the finest expertise. It never took longer than three minutes to have both of them completely stripped, though the anticipation made it something to appreciate in itself.
Once all their clothes were piled all around the bed on the floor- black slacks piled with lace stockings of the same hue, jacket and socks covered by a glitter-covered red dress, and cream colored shirt strewn with lacey, carelessly undone undergarments, red pumps lying beside black loafers- there wasn't a moments wait between them.
Spike immediately found his black-dyed hair being mussed into messy curls, the extreme care he'd taken in slicking it back totally in vain. He stopped worrying about that quickly, however, once he felt the sensations of Dru's fingers sliding sensually down his chest and stomach, nails leaving light red paths down his ivory-white skin.
There had never been a time when making love with Drusilla wasn't amazing- and this was no exception. He could already feel a tremble building in his thighs before she even touched him. Drusilla climbed onto his lap and wasted not a second before sinking down, both of them giving a mutual gasp at the sensation. Both paused, their eyes locking as she automatically set their tempo, watching his face intently.
Up- his eyes grew glossy and dark, matching her stare without focus. His lips pressed together in concentration, trying to match her movements.
Down- his eyes would flutter closed, long, thick lashes casting shadows on his finely sculpted cheeks from the dim glow of candle-light. His lips would part and let go of a blissful sigh as his limbs stretched out, straining to feel more.
Both of them always admired the other's sounds as they moved together- Spike's ragged, choppy gasps, long moans, or whispered curses. Dru's delighted, sharp intakes of breath, murmured nonsense or sweet, soft moans
The more time that passed, the more wildly Spike would buck and writhe beneath her, and the more he moved, the more Drusilla matched his movements and dug her crimson-painted nails into his flesh, making it match their color. This in particular seemed to drive him mad.
After the many years they're spent together, Dru had taught him how to spend hours with his back arched toward the heavens and his lips spilling kisses, curses and words of worship like an eternal fountain. She had her knight just the way she wanted- just the way he was meant to be. A wild beast that no one could ever tame but her, nothing to soothe him but her love and caresses. Mummy's love to make everything sing for him.
And Spike knew that he was completely hers. He knew that he would do anything for her, but only for her. He also knew that although she was his princess in (almost) every way, nearly totally his, he could not touch her mind. He could never understand her thoughts, her visions, her processes. Sometimes he prayed to whatever would listen to him that he could spend just one moment In her mind; understand; see through her eyes. But then when she would have visions, and go through all the agony she seemed to feel, he would think that he never wanted to know what it was like in that dark, secret plane.
But this was a way he felt he could be close to knowing her- feel the sort of things she was always talking about. Use his body to understand her mind.
When her hands slid over him, it was almost unearthly. Cool, ghostly touches caressing him with the grace and method of ages unknown. Like the stars melting into lemon drops and warm rose petals that rained down over his flesh, covering him.
The floating notes of her moans were musical- innocent, with a promise of something deliciously filthy underneath. They lingered in the air like glazed drops of caramel, left to harden into glass and shatter when the breaking tide hit. Spike's sounds as well- like honey and blood pouring heavily over a soft plane of layered white lace- something meant to represent such purity and goodness, twisted and tainted by the overwhelming darkness of their love.
Like a quiet shot of morphine among a sea of hot silk and maple- sickly sweet scents and tastes that made his muscles quiver with ecstasy. He tossed his head back, and closed his eyes, his tongue flicking out to slide over his lips, where shallow pants were escaping, but he couldn't taste the air. Only a thick, smoggy blanket of cinnamon, lemon, and cherry cream candies.
Drusilla had her nails dug deeply into the soft, sensitive flesh on his biceps- holding on to him as if her existence depended on it. She looked down into his eyes and saw glass sapphires- impossibly glossed over, but still shining with determination. He was her wonderful, jeweled stallion- his body hard as marble, but moving like melted gold; smooth and flowing, or sometimes wild and daring, but always burning with passion. All for her.
He was writhing, arching- doing anything he could to feel more of the sweet sensation of hot, sticky molasses coating his body. And he did, the poison-sweet syrup cascaded down, slicking over the winding tangle of stained satin and damp flesh. Slid down his chest, wound around his thighs like snakes of velvet. He could taste the sugary substances on his tongue, so it must have been real. Or was it that he was imagining this? Or tasting Dru's blood? He didn't remember biting her, yet when he opened his eyes again, here was her wrist up to his lips.
His tongue lapping at the wound was making her whimper as their rhythm sped up, heat rose. Suddenly, Spike couldn't see anymore- he didn't need to. His other senses were taking full control. He could feel his hips bucking harshly, heard his own cries as well as Drusilla's, tasted the sweetness like never before and smelled it- caramel, cinnamon, and honey mixed with sweat and blood.
The sticky, slick coating he thought- no, knew- he was feeling suddenly started to harden, forming binds of taffy all over their bodies- a topaz shell, that was only to be cracked and shattered by the burst of blinding light that both of them saw. A fountain of white flames with un-burning patchouli and rose petals swirling throughout, until the room was shaken into final blackness.
Slowly, Spike's eyes fluttered open as he touched down in the current reality. The firs thing he did was slide a hand slowly down his pectoral and abdominal muscles, testing. Nothing there but his own sweat and oil, Funny- he'd been so sure of. honey? Molasses? Some sweet syrup completely covering the both of them. Too bad- he'd looked forward to licking it clean.
He wrapped his arms around Dru as she lied on top of him, and ran his fingers through her hair. "Pet. you alright?" He asked in a rich tone, noticing that he was still panting. She looked up at him with distant, glazed eyes and smiled coyly. "Oh yes! My boy is a golden stallion- and tastes all of honey and lemon." Strangely enough, Spike had understood that. Every word, he understood- he had felt deep inside, shaking his body with bliss. But he only said- "Love, you really are mad," and finished with a toxic-sweet kiss. ~End