(no subject)
TITLE: Til The Moon Is Abed
RATING: 18 (let's go with British ratings for utter kinks mm-kay?)
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Tanz der Vampire
PAIRINGS: Von Krolock/Drusilla & Herbert/Spike
NOTES: So, bwinter is my new unofficial scapegoat. Yep, she is. She forced Tanz der Vampire on me. Really! I suffer daily torment! Honest!
But, that aside, she has also prompted me to continue with the crackbunnies I get when my brain lapses into crossover-mode and one of them was this fic. It was meant to be short. Turns out the vampires wanted a bit more than that. So yes. Vampires. Enjoy!
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She was like a butterfly. Deceptively fragile, she floated across the empty floor in swirls of crimson and black. Above her head, her hands wove intricate patterns in the air, and by the shivering moonlight, she danced to a music only she could hear.
Upon the spiral staircase, her host watched with quiet indulgence. She was a rare guest, unique and dazzling in a time overrun with vampires all of the same mould and, above all things, intriguing.
Descending the staircase, he traced his fingertips upon the elegant rail as he watched her move. She was aware of him, of that he had no doubt, but he would rather kiss a thousand crucifixes than intrude upon a lady’s dance.
It was rare to see her within these halls, even moreso in recent years, when she and her little family seemed bent on tasting the flavours of every nation they could, but always - when she came - she would arrive the day before the grand ball, and he would find her dancing.
It seemed strange that the trio that made up her family were not present, though Graf von Krolock was certainly grateful for small favours. While Darla could, on occasion, be charming, her creation and the Sire of the fragile bloom before him was a drunken, lecherous boor to whom manners were merely a word he chose to ignore.
Admittedly, Angelus did have a gift for his craft, the evidence of which had spun to a halt in the middle of the ballroom and was gazing through one of the windows at the shining face of the moon.
The beauty he had found, with the gifts she possessed, he had honed and shaped into a radiant angel of death and magic. Swift, ethereal and yet still wickedly innocent, her allure was unmistakeable, though many others seeing her as naught more than mad.
She was the true work of a Master’s hand.
It had, however, become a craft that Angelus neglected out of idleness in favour of petty violence, killing with an animal’s savagery and all the control of a rabid dog.
“Do you hear them sing?” Though she whispered, her voice echoed from every wall.
Moving from the shadow of the stairs, the murmur of his cloak upon the floor almost deafening in the stillness, he followed her watchful eyes. “Do the heavens call you, child?” He approached her, unfurling one hand towards her.
As she closed her eyes, her head rolled on her alabaster neck, her slender hand pressing to the pale skin. Lips reddened to delicious scarlet curled upwards.
“They whisper of such terrible things...” Her other arm swept out behind her, trailing lace and velvet, the tips of her fingers drifting against his. Tilting her head slightly, she glanced at him demurely through dark lashes. “All watchful eyes and teeth.” Her fingers curled, catching against his nails. “Mm.”
Drawing a steady breath, von Krolock watched the scarlet droplets beading on her snow-white flesh, then with the slowness of the ages, dropping. The impact upon his skin was like a dart of lightning.
Without thought, his hand caught hers, but even as he tugged her towards him, she twirled, graceful as a reed in the wind, drawing his arm about her.
Pressing back against his chest, she raised her other hand to caress his cheek. “The lion pretends to sleep,” she murmured. “But he roars when he wants.” Her fingers clasped his and he could feel the cool smear of her blood, could smell it.
Capturing her roaming hand, he lifted her palm to his lips, kissing the soft, pale skin, and felt her shiver. “It has been too many years without the pleasure of your company, dear child,” he murmured.
Her head tilting to lightly nuzzle his jaw, he felt the soft whisper of her sigh against his skin. “We went to catch the little drops of rain in the east,” she breathed, starting to sway before him. “Drank up a whole river, but it kept on running.”
With a gentle tug, he drew her around to face him, her long, pale hands cradled in his. “It is a river that never ends,” he murmured, lifting her bloodied hand to kiss her scored fingertips.
“You’ve been swimming in it by moonlight,” she agreed, her ethereal eyes gazing far beyond him as she drifted closer. Her hands rose from his, framing, yet not quite touching his face. “Dust and ashes and tears.”
Ah, there was further reason to adore the quite lovely creature; she too knew the double-edged blade of foresight. It was what had lured Angelus to her, if whispers were correct, and it was that very gift that he had twisted into madness.
Lost in the cryptic pathways of her unstable mind, she seemed inextricably bound to the future, touching it without hesitation or question, so uncertain in her reality that she grasped at any threads of time which drifted across her mind.
“Listen,” she said suddenly, her eyes drifting closed, head swaying from side to side, her lips parted. Over the whistle of the wind, von Krolock could hear the distant cries of the wolf pack. “Puppies at play.” Rubbing her fingertips together, she made a whispering sound. “Catching the little ones under the holly bush. All red berries and meat and bones.”
“If you wish for them to play silently,” the Graf murmured. “You need only say the word. I would not have them distressing my guests.”
Drusilla’s delicately-boned face broke into a slow smile, her eyes half-closed. “They still sing louder,” She groaned. Running her hands over her belly, she swayed her hips towards her splayed fingers. “All the spots of starlight, rushing in, all wet and bright and fiery.”
Gazing at her, von Krolock wondered how anyone could be insensible to the lovely creature before him. Even in her most cryptic and illusive moments, she was by far the most sensual of creatures he had ever seen.
“What do they sing, child?”
“Of touches and secret places and things a lady doesn’t know.” She opened her eyes and smiled demurely with fragile beauty of crystal. “Two into one,” she said, offering her hands to him once more. “Silk and shadow and the taste of blackness.”
Arching a brow, von Krolock inclined his head politely, taking her hands and drawing her to him. “Such things a lady knows naught of?” he asked, his lips curving in the suggestion of a smile.
“Mm,” Drusilla’s gaze was anything but innocent as he lead her onto the floor in a waltz to music that she alone could hear. Her graceful spine shifted against his hand, pressing her even closer to him, her upturned face barely inches from his. “Wicked, naughty things...”
The strands of her hair trailed sensually over the hand at the base of her back as she arched her pale neck, baring her throat to him for a tantalising moment as they moved across the floor.
“I dare not think what things they may be.” Von Krolock’s hand swept up to tangle in her hair, drawing her head back that he might kiss her throat. Despite himself, he let his fangs graze her skin, felt her quiver.
Drusilla’s eyes fluttered shut and she pressed against him. “I do,” she all but purred, brushing her cheek against his jaw. Her lips close to his ear, she murmured, “The moon tells me they shall come to me tonight, a secret dance.”
“The moon may be lying,” he observed, kissing her throat tenderly.
“If it is,” There was a growl about her words, “Then I shall be most cross.” Her hips rolled sensually against his and he knew without question that the moon was certainly not wrong. “No unhappy guests, not a little one.”
Bringing their joined hands up, he kissed her knuckles respectfully. “I shall see to it,” he murmured, his dark eyes meeting gleeful grey-blue ones, as their dance carried them, once more, to the middle of the floor. “What of your young William?”
“My William is all bark and all bite,” she confided, sliding her tongue along her teeth. “Fight and bite and growl.” She tilted her head slightly, as if hearing something just beyond her. “They bark and bark and play all over again, hiding and finding and chasing their own tails.”
Tilting his head back, von Krolock closed his eyes briefly, his smile darting across his lips. “As long as they do not make too much noise, I am sure we shall have a pleasant night,” he murmured. His breath caught when the vampire in his arms nipped his throat.
“The moon has said so,” she reminded him, her smile cryptic. “For everyone.” What sounded like a curse rang down from the gallery and Drusilla laughed. “My William isn’t very good at hiding.”
A distant crash of one of the candle-stands being knocked over echoed faintly in the long corridors.
“All bark and all bite, hmm? Should I fear for my son?” von Krolock murmured, drawing his hand from hers to lift her chin with one fingertip. Her softly-smiling lips ghosted against his. “Or for myself?”
“Wait and see,” she whispered against his lips. Her hand moved before his face, as if she was pulling away a veil, drawing a smile to his severe countenance as he twirled her once more across the floor.
8.8.8.8.8.8
On the balcony overlooking the ballroom, Spike had been watching his lover weave her way across the floor, admiring the way that dress clung to her body. It was reason enough to agree to trek all the way back from China, that. She was never happier than when she got to visit this old castle and the vampires inhabiting it.
Nice for some, he had to admit; Nobbing it up in a building a dozen times the size of the house he used to live in, with as much food as you liked and no one saying a word against you. All right, there were a few local troubles, but nothing that ten foot high walls couldn’t keep out.
He didn’t even mind seeing the Lord of the castle dancing with her either and not just because he knew he would never been seen dead on the dance floor. A vampire with two left feet was an embarrassing sight. Better that she have a partner who knew what he was doing.
It wasn’t often you ran into a gentleman these days, and the Count was definitely one of those. He had manners to spare and was only ever polite. Spike respected that. He also respected the fact that - with a gesture - von Krolock could probably have him stripped of his flesh and pinned to the ceiling.
Watching them waltz, he could see the smile lighting up Drusilla’s face and here, just for a little while, she really was a Princess.
“Exquisite.”
Glancing sidelong, a dozen paces along the balcony, Spike saw the familiar, pale-haired young man gazing down at the couple. His lips twisted sardonically. “Oh, it’s the shirtlifter,” he drawled, palms pressing against the railing before him. “Looking at a girl, Herbie? You must have had a knock on the head.”
Herbert smiled serenely at him, toying with his elaborately-ruffled cravat, pale eyes roaming briefly over Spike’s body. “What makes you think I referred to them?” he murmured. “It has been some time, William.”
“Not long enough for my tastes,” Spike replied amiably, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his oversized coat and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Still buggering choirboys?”
“As long as they’re pretty,” Herbert replied innocently. “Your accent has improved.”
Arching a brow, Spike smirked. “Yours hasn’t,” he replied.
Visiting this castle was one of the few occasions he bothered to use the languages he had learned years earlier and since the silly sod in front of him couldn’t be bothered learning the Queen’s English, he favoured French instead.
“I find I prefer a more civilised tongue,” Herbert lapsed into Latin and Spike rolled his eyes expressively.
“Anything you can do, I can do,” he retorted in the same language, then cursed aloud when a body was suddenly pressing against his back. Herbert’s hand deftly slipped down the front of his trousers and caught him by the prick.
“Too slow,” Herbert purred, tongue curling against his earlobe. “Always too slow, William.”
“Arrogant bugger!” Spike jerked and tugged against him. “Geroff!”
The sensual chuckle against his throat sent a lancing bolt of heat through him to the squeezing hand and he swore again, hips bucking. “Convince me,” Herbert’s voice was like silk, lips teasing along the rim of his ear.
Ramming his foot against the stone balustrade before him, Spike forced them both backwards, staggering. Breaking free of Herbert’s grip, he wheeled around, only to be thrown backwards. Colliding with a standing candelabra, which splattered him with scorching wax and flame, Herbert’s mouth crashed down on his in a burst of blood, pain and lust.
His heavy overcoat was torn off him, his shirt following, and his legs caught on the fallen candle-stand, making them both tumble to the floor in a tangle of shabby linen and finest velvets, jerking against one another for dominance.
Even when his hands sank into the gold hair of the older vampire, grappled to the colourfully tiled floor, Spike wrenched back from the vicious kiss, scarlet smeared over his chin. “You,” he panted. “Are a bloody arse.”
Laughing, Herbert grabbed his prick and kissed him again.
8.8.8.8.8.8
Pale smears of cloud roamed across the gleaming face of the moon, but little more than soft wisps. In the midnight sky, stars shone like diamonds over the bleak, snow-covered landscape.
“Oh...” Wide-eyed, Drusilla stretched out a hand over the balustrade of the balcony as if reaching up to grasp the starlight itself. She seemed oblivious to the sheer drop below. “It’s beautiful.”
Behind her, his right arm gently about her waist lest she lean too far out in her giddy delight, von Krolock smiled indulgently. “I thought you may be able hear them better from here,” he murmured.
Her head rolling back against his shoulder, she moaned a happy assent. “Oh, yeah...” she whispered, sounding mesmerised. “Oh, my head is full of it, bright and light and all the voices all singing.”
From the rooftop balcony of the castle, all of his lands were laid out before them in their wintry splendour, yet he found himself more captivated by Drusilla’s response to the deep, velvet blue of the sky and the distant fires of a thousand stars.
For the first time since he had first encountered the young vampire forty years earlier, he could utterly immerse himself in her presence without her Sire snarling at him like a hound growling over a piece of meat.
Part of him, admittedly, was curious about the whereabouts of the elder half of the quartet that had been known as the Scourge of Europe. It was rare for them to travel apart and it had been since Drusilla’s creation four and a half decades earlier.
And yet the greater part did not want to risk causing Drusilla unnecessary distress with such questions. A shadow had been placed upon Angelus, he knew, had seen it rising from a pool of blood in his mind’s eye, but whether she knew what it was, he was loathe to inquire.
If she wished to speak on it, if it came to her as necessary, she would, but until then, he had given her the stars and she could listen to them sing.
Her hand raised towards the moon, she gave a pleasurable shudder against him, her eyes closed and her body swaying as smoothly as it had when she had danced only an hour earlier.
Trailing his fingertips down her other arm, he watched their fingers tangle together by her side and he could not be sure if it was his will or hers that lifted her palm to press to his cheek.
“The moon is getting ready for bed,” she whispered, her brow resting against his cheek. Swirling her fingers in a vague gesture, she shivered. “Packing them all up in boxes like hats and shoes and dollies and bad kittens.”
Tilting his head to kiss the heel of her palm, von Krolock smiled. “You know you do not have to fear our tradition, dear one,” he said softly. “Your room, as always, awaits you below.”
When first they had visited, he had made the mistake of offering them coffins for the night, only to find this was a tradition they ignored. He had been thoroughly sickened, however, when Angelus had taken great pleasure in forcing Drusilla into one, revelling in her screams from within.
When her Sire had released her, hands bloodied and nails torn from striking at the lid above her, he had thrashed her for making such a fuss and left her cowering in the corner of the room, refusing her permission to leave the chamber for days.
It had been another black mark against a character that von Krolock had begun to despise after less than a dozen hours in Angelus’ company.
“No jack-in-the-box this time?”
“Not at all,” he assured her, brushing a kiss against her temple.
“And the sun won’t peek in?” Large eyes gazed up at him. “Rude light peeking on me is not at all nice.” She nodded gravely. “Like a moth in my pocket.”
Smiling fondly, he drew her back from the balustrade. “We can make sure, if you would prefer,” he murmured. “Come.”
“And I shall see that my sweet Spike is behaving as he should,” Granting him a rare, dazzling smile, she pressed against him with a contented sigh. “What wonderful games they play.”
Draping his arm about her slim waist, he chuckled. “I am quite sure Herbert will be enjoying himself.”
“Mmm,” Her arms crossed over her torso, her fingers depressing against his, she rolled her shoulders back against his broader arm. “Bite and snap and taste and eat all the way up.”
His eyes darkening, von Krolock gazed at her. “Temptress,” he murmured.
With a knowing smile, Drusilla glanced up at him. “Naughty, wicked boy,” she chastised, dragging her nails against his knuckles.
8.8.8.8.8.8
It was quite a puzzle.
As far as he could recall, Herbert had lost his trousers halfway down the hall, so why they were dangling and smouldering from the chandelier made no sense at all. He really should mention them, he knew, since they were starting to smoke quite a bit.
Herbert’s teeth scraped over his hip, a delightful shudder running through him, casting aside all thoughts of flaming trousers.
“Oh fuck...”
“Again?” He could imagine the smirk and looked down to meet laughing grey eyes.
While he had managed to sprawl onto the bed, legs dangling, Herbert was idly lazing along the foot, over the tangled blankets. His hair had come loose, sweeping against Spike’s belly and thighs as Herbert lowered his head and delicately lapped the sharp jut of Spike’s hip.
“You are a bastard,” Pressing his head back against the pillow, Spike fisted a hand in the sheet beside him.
He could feel the smile a moment before a playful nip. “Not at all,” the young Lord laughed. “And you are quite adorable, William.”
“My name is Spike.” Laughing kisses threaded up his belly and Spike’s hand leapt to tangle in fair hair, wrenching that wandering mouth away. “You’re soft, you know. Kisses? All this touching and cuddling?” He pulled Herbert's face closer to his, lip curling mockingly. “Soft.”
Grey eyes darkened in reprimand and as fast as his hand had moved, the younger vampire’s mouth was claimed, hard and fierce, his body pinned by an older stronger form. Easily, Herbert slipped between his splayed thighs, one hand delving between their bodies, the other pinning Spike's wrists above his head.
“Oh, you are delicious, little William,” Herbert breathed, shifting his hips against Spike’s, drawing a stuttering groan from him. “So rebellious, so much defiance, such a rude mouth.”
The kiss was harder and Spike bit down on Herbert’s lower lip, drawing blood. He wrenched against the other vampire, who only chuckled, arching his back like a cat and tossing his hair back from his face.
“Oh, come live with me, and be my love,” Herbert murmured, gazing hungrily down at the younger vampire, slowly rocking his hips. “We could have such times, you and I, William.”
“Doubt you could come up with some new pleasures,” Spike retorted in a growl, which became a moan as Herbert’s fangs raked against his throat, barely breaking the skin, thin threads of red visible on the pale skin.
Lapping at the scratches with mock-tenderness, Herbert nuzzled the curve of Spike’s jaw. “You recognise Wilde?” he murmured between laps and nibbles, sounding both impressed and amused.
“Well, you bloody don’t,” Spike’s voice was thick, barely comprehensible, his hips shifting erratically. “That was Donne.”
Abruptly, Herbert was gazing down at him thoughtfully, the hand that had been so distracted between Spike’s thighs emerging and slipping up his body, tracing hip, ribs, chest and caressing its way up one arm.
“Donne?”
Unwilling to demand the return of Herbert’s attention to elsewhere, Spike pressed his head back against the pillow, glaring moodily at the canopy above him, trying to restrain his hips from moving. “What of it?”
He felt the cold metal on his skin and heard the rattle a breath before something caught him by the wrists. Swearing, he was yanked up into the air, dangling inches above the bed, wondering briefly where the silly bugger had hidden the shackles that were now firmly locked around his wrists.
Leaning against one of the posts of the bed, his hand wrapped around a narrow chain that had been concealed among the drapes, Herbert smiled sweetly at him. “You know I dislike being corrected,” he said.
Swinging from side to side, wondering if he might be able to get enough momentum to kick Herbert for ignoring his throbbing prick, Spike gave him a look. “Can’t help it if you’re as stupid as you look,” he grumbled.
Moving forward on his knees, Herbert caught Spike around his thighs, nuzzling his hip again. “Don’t go anywhere, darling,” he purred, then tilted his head and firmly bit the indignant vampire’s buttock.
“Don’t you dare go running off, you sick bastard!” Spike exclaimed, outraged, as Herbert slipped from the bed. Herbert beamed up at him, looking far too cherubic with his golden hair all mussed and eyes dancing, then trotted out of the room.
Struggling against the chains, doing little but jingle, Spike swore under his breath as his wriggling set him slowly spinning. Three rotations one way, a shuddering pause, then he twirled back the other way.
“I’m gonna bloody kill the noncing prat,” he growled, lapsing back onto English in his frustration. “Gonna find the biggest, sharpest bloody sword you ever saw and stick it right where it hurts and them give him a good kicking and then chain him up and see how he bloody likes it and then...”
From the open doorway, a shadow stretched in towards the bed, and he halted his rambling at the sight of his Princess.
“Have you been naughty, my Spike?” she cooed, though he noticed she didn’t step across the threshold of the room. “Angels will weep and wail, if you have.” He saw the flash of her eyes and her fangs. “Pretty little broken wings.”
“Me? Naughty? Didn’t have a choice, y’know.” He twisted to keep his eyes on her, as he continued to slowly rotate. “Love, you know what that little pervert’s like.” He gave her a hopeful smile. “You want to help me down?”
Drusilla’s mouth curled in a smile. “We must all take our punishments like good boys and girls,” she said, tracing her fingertips along her lower lip. “I should whip you soundly for asking to be excused from games, my Spike.”
“Princess!”
A slim finger was waved in reprimand. “You know you are not allowed to run away from the game, my sweet,” she said, frowning as if he had committed a sin. “You know the rules.”
“Last time, there weren’t chains,” Spike grumbled.
Drusilla giggled giddily, her head rocking back. “See how you dance on air, wingless angel.” She traced erratic shapes in the air before her. “Prayers in vain and saintly kisses gone awry.” Her eyes snapped open and she laughed. “Little lords a-dancing! And you said you could not, my naughty little William!”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed a finger to her lips, vanishing from the doorway as quickly as a shadow by the light of day.
“Damn it,” he mumbled.
“What has you so disappointed, cheri?” Stepping back into the room, clad in nothing more than his oversized shirt, Herbert was apparently deeply engrossed in a heavily-bound book.
“Well, being left dangling from the ceiling in chains by a kinky bugger is a start,” Spike snapped, his neglected cock twitching wantonly as Herbert approached and knelt on the edge of the bed.
“Mm,” Herbert acknowledged, but clearly, he wasn’t nearly distracted enough by the book because his hand leapt out and caught Spike’s ankle, diverting the kick the younger vampire had launched at his head. “Now, darling, that was just rude.”
“Fuck off!” Spike snapped.
Herbert gazed up at him, the slow, deliberate smile curling his lips once more. “If I didn’t know that Drusilla would gut me, I would keep you, my darling,” he sighed. “Pretty and witty.”
Abruptly, the book was cast aside, landing with a heavy thump, and Herbert was on his knees before the chained vampire, his hands gripping Spike’s thighs, kneading them, his eyes fixed on Spike’s face.
Staring warily down at him, his sandy hair loose around his face, Spike was panting rapidly, his muscles tensing under Herbert’s touch, as the elder vampire leaned closer with agonising slowness.
Leisurely, Herbert traced the tight curve of Spike’s muscle from knee to hip with his tongue, nuzzling the smooth dip of flesh between hip and groin. His cool lips tracked a path over the tensed and quivering plain of Spike’s belly, never sinking lower.
“Bastard!” Spike growled out between gritted teeth, hips jerking.
Shaking his hair back from his face, Herbert laughed, a rich, wicked sound. “You do not want your reward?” he murmured, grey eyes dark, smirking at the befuddled look on Spike’s face. “For thou thyself art thine own bait.”
“Ha!” Despite the heat building in his belly and the delicious ache spreading down his arms, he still defiantly exclaimed, “You were wrong! Was sodding Donne!”
“Mmm.” Herbert brushed his cheek against the inside of Spike’s thigh, eyes half-closed, like a cat seeking a fond caress. Tilting his head just slightly, he stroked the tip of his nose lightly against Spike’s cock. “My clever darling.”
Letting his head loll back, Spike stifled a whine. “You’re a twisted bugger.”
Herbert laughed delightedly. “You are just as bad,” he noted, delicately kissing the tip of Spike’s cock.
“Says you!” Spike’s voice rose sharply in pitch and volume when Herbert’s hands slid to cradle his buttocks, giving them a squeeze for good measure, and Herbert’s mouth worked playfully about the young vampire’s prick.
Herbert rose much more smoothly than anyone standing on a mattress had a right to, his body sliding up every inch of Spike’s, until his knowing smirk slowly came level with the younger vampire’s.
“I do,” he agreed, pulling Spike’s hips hard against his, his loose shirt doing little to disguise the swell beneath. His lips touched Spike’s jugular, drawing a shudder from the younger vampire. “After all, you keep coming back for more, don’t you?”
“Not the point,” Spike groaned.
“You say that every time,” Herbert smiled, then sank his fangs into Spike’s throat, his grip bruising as Spike’s hips leapt against his hands, Spike thrashing as his climax struck him.
Panting, sagging down from the chains, Spike’s head lolled forward, strands of his hair stained by the blood pooling in the curve of his collarbone. “You bloody poof,” he mumbled vaguely.
Lapping innocently at the wounds he had opened, Herbert lifted his head and kissed Spike fondly on the cheek.
“I know,” he said happily. A flick of his wrist spun Spike and Herbert pressed to his back, continuing to lap at Spike’s bitten throat, his shirt somehow lost in the motion. “And you adore every minute of it.”
“Tell anyone that...”
Herbert laughed again, smoothing his palm over the younger vampire’s belly. “And you’ll kill bloody well me,” he said, mimicking Spike’s accent and playfully nipping his shoulder. “I still remember from the last... oh... five times.” A kiss soothed the pattern of bites. “And yes, I love you too, darling.”
8.8.8.8.8.8
She was fire and ice, bound in one.
Any thought he may have possessed of leaving young guest to her rest had been lost when she had glanced over her slim shoulder at him, silhouetted against the flames flickering in the grate.
Her lips had curled, her eyes had sparkled and he had been snared.
Approaching, his hands had loosed the stays of her gown, baring that glorious alabaster skin to him. It had slipped easily down her body, pooling at her feet.
Under his intent gaze, she had lifted one of those slim hands up and, with her nails, gashed her throat.
Like a shadowy torrent against the paleness of her flesh, tendrils of deep scarlet had snaked down over her shoulder, caressing a sensual path down her spine. Drawing her dark hair aside, she tilted her head in wordless invitation.
What words were spoken, he could not recall, or even if anything was said. With the reverence of a pilgrim approaching a shrine, he placed his lips to her throat, coming to his knees as he followed the heady trail with his kisses.
Her embrace - when it came - was eager, her lips capturing his hungrily, her hands touching him as one blind, seeking everything through light fingertips. His cloak was cast aside, flesh meeting flesh, her palm pressing to his breast.
“The silent drum still echoes,” she murmured, eyes misty and dreamy, a dash of her own blood smeared on her lips. “Never beaten, but still remembers.”
“For eternity,” he agreed with quiet sobriety, gathering her in his arms and carrying her to the bed that was hers alone.
Leaning over her, his long locks of silver slipped over his shoulders, mingling with the dark tresses spilled about her. Her arms draped about his shoulders, drawing him to her, her body as pale as the sheets on which she lay.
Even when the fire guttered and died, they lay, twined together.
Scarlet-tipped fingers circled upon his sternum until his hand was laid upon hers, pressing her palm once more to his still breast as he leaned over her and kissed her lips once more.
“Another echo?” she murmured, her expression calm and strangely lucid.
“Far more, dear one,” von Krolock replied, drawing his hand from hers and brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “But yours is a path that I cannot follow, nor is mine a path you can remain upon.”
“Lost in the woods,” Drusilla’s eyes fluttered closed, exhaling a trembling breath against his skin. “Waiting to find the gingerbread house. Huff, puff and it will all fall down when the big bad wolves come calling.”
“Perhaps,” The pad of his thumb ghosted along her cheekbone. “But you will be ever welcome.”
Lashes parting, she gazed at him. “Will you be Prince Charming under the moon, dancing with a Princess? No lost slippers or ringing bells.” Her fingertips touched his lips reverently. “Take away the pumpkin and the mice.”
“Of course,” Smiling against her fingertips, he smoothed her cheek tenderly. “But you should rest and I...”
“Little wooden boxes, all in a row, brass and tin and a little blanket,” she finished for him with a nod. “Can’t be sleepy when the music starts. When the music stops, you’ll all fall down.”
He touched his lips to hers once more, then von Krolock rose. He remained standing by the bed for a moment, gazing fondly at her. She was a even more beautiful upon the blood-spattered sheets, trails of scarlet visible on her alabaster skin, looking thoroughly spent.
“Would you have your William here?”
Arching, her fingers pressing to the sheet beneath her, Drusilla laughed at something unseen. “When the metal is no longer cold and nippy and he can skip and dance,” she said in a breathless whisper. “Soon, he will come running.”
Stooping to lift one of her hands and kissing her fingertips, von Krolock drew away reluctantly, though he could sense the coming dawn on the edge of his senses. “Then I bid you good night, dear child,” he murmured.
Already, the young vampire had curled into a kitten-like ball, limbs drawn up, her head pillowed on slender arms, beneath the silky blanket of her hair.
8.8.8.8.8.8
In the grand hall, music and laughter rang from wall to wall, the dancers weaving in complex patterns around one another, clad in a hundred colours, a thousand shades, some masked, others painted.
At the head of the hall, overseeing all that came to pass, von Krolock could see his favoured guest dancing once more. His lips rose in a faint smile at the focussed look on her partner’s face, her young William drawn into the whirl of colour and activity, apparently through no choice of his own.
“Do my eyes deceive me, Herbert?” he murmured to his son, who was lazily leaning against a pillar, eyes apparently on the same pair. “Or is one of our guests looking unusually impeccable tonight?”
“I have no idea what you mean, father.” Herbert examined his nails.
“I have no doubts that you do,” von Krolock glanced back at Herbert. “Tell me, how did you convince the dear boy to don such a fine suit?” His son’s smile told him all he needed to know. “And to dance too?”
Herbert laughed richly, tilting his head to admire the dark velvet he had most likely forced William into. “I can be very persuasive when I choose, father,” he said, grey eyes dancing. “And I suspect he wished to see Drusilla smile.”
“Who would not wish for such a thing?” von Krolock rhetorised, ignoring Herbert’s snort of amusement as he moved down the stairs and onto to the floor, the gathered guests parting before him.
Approaching the two young vampires, he was unsurprised when Drusilla halted their somewhat erratic movement and murmured something to her lover, then twirled smoothly away from Spike, straight into his arms.
“My Prince Charming?”
“As my lady requested,” he murmured, curling his hand about her waist, his other cradling her slim fingers.
“Until the moon goes to bed, then,” she purred, closing her eyes as the music began.
His own eyes slipped past her, von Krolock could see the relief on young William’s face, which lasted all of three heartbeats when - in a whirl of bright blue velvet and ruffles - Herbert swept him away in a minuet.
“Until the moon is abed,” he agreed with a smile.
RATING: 18 (let's go with British ratings for utter kinks mm-kay?)
FANDOMS: Buffy the Vampire Slayer & Tanz der Vampire
PAIRINGS: Von Krolock/Drusilla & Herbert/Spike
NOTES: So, bwinter is my new unofficial scapegoat. Yep, she is. She forced Tanz der Vampire on me. Really! I suffer daily torment! Honest!
But, that aside, she has also prompted me to continue with the crackbunnies I get when my brain lapses into crossover-mode and one of them was this fic. It was meant to be short. Turns out the vampires wanted a bit more than that. So yes. Vampires. Enjoy!
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She was like a butterfly. Deceptively fragile, she floated across the empty floor in swirls of crimson and black. Above her head, her hands wove intricate patterns in the air, and by the shivering moonlight, she danced to a music only she could hear.
Upon the spiral staircase, her host watched with quiet indulgence. She was a rare guest, unique and dazzling in a time overrun with vampires all of the same mould and, above all things, intriguing.
Descending the staircase, he traced his fingertips upon the elegant rail as he watched her move. She was aware of him, of that he had no doubt, but he would rather kiss a thousand crucifixes than intrude upon a lady’s dance.
It was rare to see her within these halls, even moreso in recent years, when she and her little family seemed bent on tasting the flavours of every nation they could, but always - when she came - she would arrive the day before the grand ball, and he would find her dancing.
It seemed strange that the trio that made up her family were not present, though Graf von Krolock was certainly grateful for small favours. While Darla could, on occasion, be charming, her creation and the Sire of the fragile bloom before him was a drunken, lecherous boor to whom manners were merely a word he chose to ignore.
Admittedly, Angelus did have a gift for his craft, the evidence of which had spun to a halt in the middle of the ballroom and was gazing through one of the windows at the shining face of the moon.
The beauty he had found, with the gifts she possessed, he had honed and shaped into a radiant angel of death and magic. Swift, ethereal and yet still wickedly innocent, her allure was unmistakeable, though many others seeing her as naught more than mad.
She was the true work of a Master’s hand.
It had, however, become a craft that Angelus neglected out of idleness in favour of petty violence, killing with an animal’s savagery and all the control of a rabid dog.
“Do you hear them sing?” Though she whispered, her voice echoed from every wall.
Moving from the shadow of the stairs, the murmur of his cloak upon the floor almost deafening in the stillness, he followed her watchful eyes. “Do the heavens call you, child?” He approached her, unfurling one hand towards her.
As she closed her eyes, her head rolled on her alabaster neck, her slender hand pressing to the pale skin. Lips reddened to delicious scarlet curled upwards.
“They whisper of such terrible things...” Her other arm swept out behind her, trailing lace and velvet, the tips of her fingers drifting against his. Tilting her head slightly, she glanced at him demurely through dark lashes. “All watchful eyes and teeth.” Her fingers curled, catching against his nails. “Mm.”
Drawing a steady breath, von Krolock watched the scarlet droplets beading on her snow-white flesh, then with the slowness of the ages, dropping. The impact upon his skin was like a dart of lightning.
Without thought, his hand caught hers, but even as he tugged her towards him, she twirled, graceful as a reed in the wind, drawing his arm about her.
Pressing back against his chest, she raised her other hand to caress his cheek. “The lion pretends to sleep,” she murmured. “But he roars when he wants.” Her fingers clasped his and he could feel the cool smear of her blood, could smell it.
Capturing her roaming hand, he lifted her palm to his lips, kissing the soft, pale skin, and felt her shiver. “It has been too many years without the pleasure of your company, dear child,” he murmured.
Her head tilting to lightly nuzzle his jaw, he felt the soft whisper of her sigh against his skin. “We went to catch the little drops of rain in the east,” she breathed, starting to sway before him. “Drank up a whole river, but it kept on running.”
With a gentle tug, he drew her around to face him, her long, pale hands cradled in his. “It is a river that never ends,” he murmured, lifting her bloodied hand to kiss her scored fingertips.
“You’ve been swimming in it by moonlight,” she agreed, her ethereal eyes gazing far beyond him as she drifted closer. Her hands rose from his, framing, yet not quite touching his face. “Dust and ashes and tears.”
Ah, there was further reason to adore the quite lovely creature; she too knew the double-edged blade of foresight. It was what had lured Angelus to her, if whispers were correct, and it was that very gift that he had twisted into madness.
Lost in the cryptic pathways of her unstable mind, she seemed inextricably bound to the future, touching it without hesitation or question, so uncertain in her reality that she grasped at any threads of time which drifted across her mind.
“Listen,” she said suddenly, her eyes drifting closed, head swaying from side to side, her lips parted. Over the whistle of the wind, von Krolock could hear the distant cries of the wolf pack. “Puppies at play.” Rubbing her fingertips together, she made a whispering sound. “Catching the little ones under the holly bush. All red berries and meat and bones.”
“If you wish for them to play silently,” the Graf murmured. “You need only say the word. I would not have them distressing my guests.”
Drusilla’s delicately-boned face broke into a slow smile, her eyes half-closed. “They still sing louder,” She groaned. Running her hands over her belly, she swayed her hips towards her splayed fingers. “All the spots of starlight, rushing in, all wet and bright and fiery.”
Gazing at her, von Krolock wondered how anyone could be insensible to the lovely creature before him. Even in her most cryptic and illusive moments, she was by far the most sensual of creatures he had ever seen.
“What do they sing, child?”
“Of touches and secret places and things a lady doesn’t know.” She opened her eyes and smiled demurely with fragile beauty of crystal. “Two into one,” she said, offering her hands to him once more. “Silk and shadow and the taste of blackness.”
Arching a brow, von Krolock inclined his head politely, taking her hands and drawing her to him. “Such things a lady knows naught of?” he asked, his lips curving in the suggestion of a smile.
“Mm,” Drusilla’s gaze was anything but innocent as he lead her onto the floor in a waltz to music that she alone could hear. Her graceful spine shifted against his hand, pressing her even closer to him, her upturned face barely inches from his. “Wicked, naughty things...”
The strands of her hair trailed sensually over the hand at the base of her back as she arched her pale neck, baring her throat to him for a tantalising moment as they moved across the floor.
“I dare not think what things they may be.” Von Krolock’s hand swept up to tangle in her hair, drawing her head back that he might kiss her throat. Despite himself, he let his fangs graze her skin, felt her quiver.
Drusilla’s eyes fluttered shut and she pressed against him. “I do,” she all but purred, brushing her cheek against his jaw. Her lips close to his ear, she murmured, “The moon tells me they shall come to me tonight, a secret dance.”
“The moon may be lying,” he observed, kissing her throat tenderly.
“If it is,” There was a growl about her words, “Then I shall be most cross.” Her hips rolled sensually against his and he knew without question that the moon was certainly not wrong. “No unhappy guests, not a little one.”
Bringing their joined hands up, he kissed her knuckles respectfully. “I shall see to it,” he murmured, his dark eyes meeting gleeful grey-blue ones, as their dance carried them, once more, to the middle of the floor. “What of your young William?”
“My William is all bark and all bite,” she confided, sliding her tongue along her teeth. “Fight and bite and growl.” She tilted her head slightly, as if hearing something just beyond her. “They bark and bark and play all over again, hiding and finding and chasing their own tails.”
Tilting his head back, von Krolock closed his eyes briefly, his smile darting across his lips. “As long as they do not make too much noise, I am sure we shall have a pleasant night,” he murmured. His breath caught when the vampire in his arms nipped his throat.
“The moon has said so,” she reminded him, her smile cryptic. “For everyone.” What sounded like a curse rang down from the gallery and Drusilla laughed. “My William isn’t very good at hiding.”
A distant crash of one of the candle-stands being knocked over echoed faintly in the long corridors.
“All bark and all bite, hmm? Should I fear for my son?” von Krolock murmured, drawing his hand from hers to lift her chin with one fingertip. Her softly-smiling lips ghosted against his. “Or for myself?”
“Wait and see,” she whispered against his lips. Her hand moved before his face, as if she was pulling away a veil, drawing a smile to his severe countenance as he twirled her once more across the floor.
8.8.8.8.8.8
On the balcony overlooking the ballroom, Spike had been watching his lover weave her way across the floor, admiring the way that dress clung to her body. It was reason enough to agree to trek all the way back from China, that. She was never happier than when she got to visit this old castle and the vampires inhabiting it.
Nice for some, he had to admit; Nobbing it up in a building a dozen times the size of the house he used to live in, with as much food as you liked and no one saying a word against you. All right, there were a few local troubles, but nothing that ten foot high walls couldn’t keep out.
He didn’t even mind seeing the Lord of the castle dancing with her either and not just because he knew he would never been seen dead on the dance floor. A vampire with two left feet was an embarrassing sight. Better that she have a partner who knew what he was doing.
It wasn’t often you ran into a gentleman these days, and the Count was definitely one of those. He had manners to spare and was only ever polite. Spike respected that. He also respected the fact that - with a gesture - von Krolock could probably have him stripped of his flesh and pinned to the ceiling.
Watching them waltz, he could see the smile lighting up Drusilla’s face and here, just for a little while, she really was a Princess.
“Exquisite.”
Glancing sidelong, a dozen paces along the balcony, Spike saw the familiar, pale-haired young man gazing down at the couple. His lips twisted sardonically. “Oh, it’s the shirtlifter,” he drawled, palms pressing against the railing before him. “Looking at a girl, Herbie? You must have had a knock on the head.”
Herbert smiled serenely at him, toying with his elaborately-ruffled cravat, pale eyes roaming briefly over Spike’s body. “What makes you think I referred to them?” he murmured. “It has been some time, William.”
“Not long enough for my tastes,” Spike replied amiably, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his oversized coat and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Still buggering choirboys?”
“As long as they’re pretty,” Herbert replied innocently. “Your accent has improved.”
Arching a brow, Spike smirked. “Yours hasn’t,” he replied.
Visiting this castle was one of the few occasions he bothered to use the languages he had learned years earlier and since the silly sod in front of him couldn’t be bothered learning the Queen’s English, he favoured French instead.
“I find I prefer a more civilised tongue,” Herbert lapsed into Latin and Spike rolled his eyes expressively.
“Anything you can do, I can do,” he retorted in the same language, then cursed aloud when a body was suddenly pressing against his back. Herbert’s hand deftly slipped down the front of his trousers and caught him by the prick.
“Too slow,” Herbert purred, tongue curling against his earlobe. “Always too slow, William.”
“Arrogant bugger!” Spike jerked and tugged against him. “Geroff!”
The sensual chuckle against his throat sent a lancing bolt of heat through him to the squeezing hand and he swore again, hips bucking. “Convince me,” Herbert’s voice was like silk, lips teasing along the rim of his ear.
Ramming his foot against the stone balustrade before him, Spike forced them both backwards, staggering. Breaking free of Herbert’s grip, he wheeled around, only to be thrown backwards. Colliding with a standing candelabra, which splattered him with scorching wax and flame, Herbert’s mouth crashed down on his in a burst of blood, pain and lust.
His heavy overcoat was torn off him, his shirt following, and his legs caught on the fallen candle-stand, making them both tumble to the floor in a tangle of shabby linen and finest velvets, jerking against one another for dominance.
Even when his hands sank into the gold hair of the older vampire, grappled to the colourfully tiled floor, Spike wrenched back from the vicious kiss, scarlet smeared over his chin. “You,” he panted. “Are a bloody arse.”
Laughing, Herbert grabbed his prick and kissed him again.
8.8.8.8.8.8
Pale smears of cloud roamed across the gleaming face of the moon, but little more than soft wisps. In the midnight sky, stars shone like diamonds over the bleak, snow-covered landscape.
“Oh...” Wide-eyed, Drusilla stretched out a hand over the balustrade of the balcony as if reaching up to grasp the starlight itself. She seemed oblivious to the sheer drop below. “It’s beautiful.”
Behind her, his right arm gently about her waist lest she lean too far out in her giddy delight, von Krolock smiled indulgently. “I thought you may be able hear them better from here,” he murmured.
Her head rolling back against his shoulder, she moaned a happy assent. “Oh, yeah...” she whispered, sounding mesmerised. “Oh, my head is full of it, bright and light and all the voices all singing.”
From the rooftop balcony of the castle, all of his lands were laid out before them in their wintry splendour, yet he found himself more captivated by Drusilla’s response to the deep, velvet blue of the sky and the distant fires of a thousand stars.
For the first time since he had first encountered the young vampire forty years earlier, he could utterly immerse himself in her presence without her Sire snarling at him like a hound growling over a piece of meat.
Part of him, admittedly, was curious about the whereabouts of the elder half of the quartet that had been known as the Scourge of Europe. It was rare for them to travel apart and it had been since Drusilla’s creation four and a half decades earlier.
And yet the greater part did not want to risk causing Drusilla unnecessary distress with such questions. A shadow had been placed upon Angelus, he knew, had seen it rising from a pool of blood in his mind’s eye, but whether she knew what it was, he was loathe to inquire.
If she wished to speak on it, if it came to her as necessary, she would, but until then, he had given her the stars and she could listen to them sing.
Her hand raised towards the moon, she gave a pleasurable shudder against him, her eyes closed and her body swaying as smoothly as it had when she had danced only an hour earlier.
Trailing his fingertips down her other arm, he watched their fingers tangle together by her side and he could not be sure if it was his will or hers that lifted her palm to press to his cheek.
“The moon is getting ready for bed,” she whispered, her brow resting against his cheek. Swirling her fingers in a vague gesture, she shivered. “Packing them all up in boxes like hats and shoes and dollies and bad kittens.”
Tilting his head to kiss the heel of her palm, von Krolock smiled. “You know you do not have to fear our tradition, dear one,” he said softly. “Your room, as always, awaits you below.”
When first they had visited, he had made the mistake of offering them coffins for the night, only to find this was a tradition they ignored. He had been thoroughly sickened, however, when Angelus had taken great pleasure in forcing Drusilla into one, revelling in her screams from within.
When her Sire had released her, hands bloodied and nails torn from striking at the lid above her, he had thrashed her for making such a fuss and left her cowering in the corner of the room, refusing her permission to leave the chamber for days.
It had been another black mark against a character that von Krolock had begun to despise after less than a dozen hours in Angelus’ company.
“No jack-in-the-box this time?”
“Not at all,” he assured her, brushing a kiss against her temple.
“And the sun won’t peek in?” Large eyes gazed up at him. “Rude light peeking on me is not at all nice.” She nodded gravely. “Like a moth in my pocket.”
Smiling fondly, he drew her back from the balustrade. “We can make sure, if you would prefer,” he murmured. “Come.”
“And I shall see that my sweet Spike is behaving as he should,” Granting him a rare, dazzling smile, she pressed against him with a contented sigh. “What wonderful games they play.”
Draping his arm about her slim waist, he chuckled. “I am quite sure Herbert will be enjoying himself.”
“Mmm,” Her arms crossed over her torso, her fingers depressing against his, she rolled her shoulders back against his broader arm. “Bite and snap and taste and eat all the way up.”
His eyes darkening, von Krolock gazed at her. “Temptress,” he murmured.
With a knowing smile, Drusilla glanced up at him. “Naughty, wicked boy,” she chastised, dragging her nails against his knuckles.
8.8.8.8.8.8
It was quite a puzzle.
As far as he could recall, Herbert had lost his trousers halfway down the hall, so why they were dangling and smouldering from the chandelier made no sense at all. He really should mention them, he knew, since they were starting to smoke quite a bit.
Herbert’s teeth scraped over his hip, a delightful shudder running through him, casting aside all thoughts of flaming trousers.
“Oh fuck...”
“Again?” He could imagine the smirk and looked down to meet laughing grey eyes.
While he had managed to sprawl onto the bed, legs dangling, Herbert was idly lazing along the foot, over the tangled blankets. His hair had come loose, sweeping against Spike’s belly and thighs as Herbert lowered his head and delicately lapped the sharp jut of Spike’s hip.
“You are a bastard,” Pressing his head back against the pillow, Spike fisted a hand in the sheet beside him.
He could feel the smile a moment before a playful nip. “Not at all,” the young Lord laughed. “And you are quite adorable, William.”
“My name is Spike.” Laughing kisses threaded up his belly and Spike’s hand leapt to tangle in fair hair, wrenching that wandering mouth away. “You’re soft, you know. Kisses? All this touching and cuddling?” He pulled Herbert's face closer to his, lip curling mockingly. “Soft.”
Grey eyes darkened in reprimand and as fast as his hand had moved, the younger vampire’s mouth was claimed, hard and fierce, his body pinned by an older stronger form. Easily, Herbert slipped between his splayed thighs, one hand delving between their bodies, the other pinning Spike's wrists above his head.
“Oh, you are delicious, little William,” Herbert breathed, shifting his hips against Spike’s, drawing a stuttering groan from him. “So rebellious, so much defiance, such a rude mouth.”
The kiss was harder and Spike bit down on Herbert’s lower lip, drawing blood. He wrenched against the other vampire, who only chuckled, arching his back like a cat and tossing his hair back from his face.
“Oh, come live with me, and be my love,” Herbert murmured, gazing hungrily down at the younger vampire, slowly rocking his hips. “We could have such times, you and I, William.”
“Doubt you could come up with some new pleasures,” Spike retorted in a growl, which became a moan as Herbert’s fangs raked against his throat, barely breaking the skin, thin threads of red visible on the pale skin.
Lapping at the scratches with mock-tenderness, Herbert nuzzled the curve of Spike’s jaw. “You recognise Wilde?” he murmured between laps and nibbles, sounding both impressed and amused.
“Well, you bloody don’t,” Spike’s voice was thick, barely comprehensible, his hips shifting erratically. “That was Donne.”
Abruptly, Herbert was gazing down at him thoughtfully, the hand that had been so distracted between Spike’s thighs emerging and slipping up his body, tracing hip, ribs, chest and caressing its way up one arm.
“Donne?”
Unwilling to demand the return of Herbert’s attention to elsewhere, Spike pressed his head back against the pillow, glaring moodily at the canopy above him, trying to restrain his hips from moving. “What of it?”
He felt the cold metal on his skin and heard the rattle a breath before something caught him by the wrists. Swearing, he was yanked up into the air, dangling inches above the bed, wondering briefly where the silly bugger had hidden the shackles that were now firmly locked around his wrists.
Leaning against one of the posts of the bed, his hand wrapped around a narrow chain that had been concealed among the drapes, Herbert smiled sweetly at him. “You know I dislike being corrected,” he said.
Swinging from side to side, wondering if he might be able to get enough momentum to kick Herbert for ignoring his throbbing prick, Spike gave him a look. “Can’t help it if you’re as stupid as you look,” he grumbled.
Moving forward on his knees, Herbert caught Spike around his thighs, nuzzling his hip again. “Don’t go anywhere, darling,” he purred, then tilted his head and firmly bit the indignant vampire’s buttock.
“Don’t you dare go running off, you sick bastard!” Spike exclaimed, outraged, as Herbert slipped from the bed. Herbert beamed up at him, looking far too cherubic with his golden hair all mussed and eyes dancing, then trotted out of the room.
Struggling against the chains, doing little but jingle, Spike swore under his breath as his wriggling set him slowly spinning. Three rotations one way, a shuddering pause, then he twirled back the other way.
“I’m gonna bloody kill the noncing prat,” he growled, lapsing back onto English in his frustration. “Gonna find the biggest, sharpest bloody sword you ever saw and stick it right where it hurts and them give him a good kicking and then chain him up and see how he bloody likes it and then...”
From the open doorway, a shadow stretched in towards the bed, and he halted his rambling at the sight of his Princess.
“Have you been naughty, my Spike?” she cooed, though he noticed she didn’t step across the threshold of the room. “Angels will weep and wail, if you have.” He saw the flash of her eyes and her fangs. “Pretty little broken wings.”
“Me? Naughty? Didn’t have a choice, y’know.” He twisted to keep his eyes on her, as he continued to slowly rotate. “Love, you know what that little pervert’s like.” He gave her a hopeful smile. “You want to help me down?”
Drusilla’s mouth curled in a smile. “We must all take our punishments like good boys and girls,” she said, tracing her fingertips along her lower lip. “I should whip you soundly for asking to be excused from games, my Spike.”
“Princess!”
A slim finger was waved in reprimand. “You know you are not allowed to run away from the game, my sweet,” she said, frowning as if he had committed a sin. “You know the rules.”
“Last time, there weren’t chains,” Spike grumbled.
Drusilla giggled giddily, her head rocking back. “See how you dance on air, wingless angel.” She traced erratic shapes in the air before her. “Prayers in vain and saintly kisses gone awry.” Her eyes snapped open and she laughed. “Little lords a-dancing! And you said you could not, my naughty little William!”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed a finger to her lips, vanishing from the doorway as quickly as a shadow by the light of day.
“Damn it,” he mumbled.
“What has you so disappointed, cheri?” Stepping back into the room, clad in nothing more than his oversized shirt, Herbert was apparently deeply engrossed in a heavily-bound book.
“Well, being left dangling from the ceiling in chains by a kinky bugger is a start,” Spike snapped, his neglected cock twitching wantonly as Herbert approached and knelt on the edge of the bed.
“Mm,” Herbert acknowledged, but clearly, he wasn’t nearly distracted enough by the book because his hand leapt out and caught Spike’s ankle, diverting the kick the younger vampire had launched at his head. “Now, darling, that was just rude.”
“Fuck off!” Spike snapped.
Herbert gazed up at him, the slow, deliberate smile curling his lips once more. “If I didn’t know that Drusilla would gut me, I would keep you, my darling,” he sighed. “Pretty and witty.”
Abruptly, the book was cast aside, landing with a heavy thump, and Herbert was on his knees before the chained vampire, his hands gripping Spike’s thighs, kneading them, his eyes fixed on Spike’s face.
Staring warily down at him, his sandy hair loose around his face, Spike was panting rapidly, his muscles tensing under Herbert’s touch, as the elder vampire leaned closer with agonising slowness.
Leisurely, Herbert traced the tight curve of Spike’s muscle from knee to hip with his tongue, nuzzling the smooth dip of flesh between hip and groin. His cool lips tracked a path over the tensed and quivering plain of Spike’s belly, never sinking lower.
“Bastard!” Spike growled out between gritted teeth, hips jerking.
Shaking his hair back from his face, Herbert laughed, a rich, wicked sound. “You do not want your reward?” he murmured, grey eyes dark, smirking at the befuddled look on Spike’s face. “For thou thyself art thine own bait.”
“Ha!” Despite the heat building in his belly and the delicious ache spreading down his arms, he still defiantly exclaimed, “You were wrong! Was sodding Donne!”
“Mmm.” Herbert brushed his cheek against the inside of Spike’s thigh, eyes half-closed, like a cat seeking a fond caress. Tilting his head just slightly, he stroked the tip of his nose lightly against Spike’s cock. “My clever darling.”
Letting his head loll back, Spike stifled a whine. “You’re a twisted bugger.”
Herbert laughed delightedly. “You are just as bad,” he noted, delicately kissing the tip of Spike’s cock.
“Says you!” Spike’s voice rose sharply in pitch and volume when Herbert’s hands slid to cradle his buttocks, giving them a squeeze for good measure, and Herbert’s mouth worked playfully about the young vampire’s prick.
Herbert rose much more smoothly than anyone standing on a mattress had a right to, his body sliding up every inch of Spike’s, until his knowing smirk slowly came level with the younger vampire’s.
“I do,” he agreed, pulling Spike’s hips hard against his, his loose shirt doing little to disguise the swell beneath. His lips touched Spike’s jugular, drawing a shudder from the younger vampire. “After all, you keep coming back for more, don’t you?”
“Not the point,” Spike groaned.
“You say that every time,” Herbert smiled, then sank his fangs into Spike’s throat, his grip bruising as Spike’s hips leapt against his hands, Spike thrashing as his climax struck him.
Panting, sagging down from the chains, Spike’s head lolled forward, strands of his hair stained by the blood pooling in the curve of his collarbone. “You bloody poof,” he mumbled vaguely.
Lapping innocently at the wounds he had opened, Herbert lifted his head and kissed Spike fondly on the cheek.
“I know,” he said happily. A flick of his wrist spun Spike and Herbert pressed to his back, continuing to lap at Spike’s bitten throat, his shirt somehow lost in the motion. “And you adore every minute of it.”
“Tell anyone that...”
Herbert laughed again, smoothing his palm over the younger vampire’s belly. “And you’ll kill bloody well me,” he said, mimicking Spike’s accent and playfully nipping his shoulder. “I still remember from the last... oh... five times.” A kiss soothed the pattern of bites. “And yes, I love you too, darling.”
8.8.8.8.8.8
She was fire and ice, bound in one.
Any thought he may have possessed of leaving young guest to her rest had been lost when she had glanced over her slim shoulder at him, silhouetted against the flames flickering in the grate.
Her lips had curled, her eyes had sparkled and he had been snared.
Approaching, his hands had loosed the stays of her gown, baring that glorious alabaster skin to him. It had slipped easily down her body, pooling at her feet.
Under his intent gaze, she had lifted one of those slim hands up and, with her nails, gashed her throat.
Like a shadowy torrent against the paleness of her flesh, tendrils of deep scarlet had snaked down over her shoulder, caressing a sensual path down her spine. Drawing her dark hair aside, she tilted her head in wordless invitation.
What words were spoken, he could not recall, or even if anything was said. With the reverence of a pilgrim approaching a shrine, he placed his lips to her throat, coming to his knees as he followed the heady trail with his kisses.
Her embrace - when it came - was eager, her lips capturing his hungrily, her hands touching him as one blind, seeking everything through light fingertips. His cloak was cast aside, flesh meeting flesh, her palm pressing to his breast.
“The silent drum still echoes,” she murmured, eyes misty and dreamy, a dash of her own blood smeared on her lips. “Never beaten, but still remembers.”
“For eternity,” he agreed with quiet sobriety, gathering her in his arms and carrying her to the bed that was hers alone.
Leaning over her, his long locks of silver slipped over his shoulders, mingling with the dark tresses spilled about her. Her arms draped about his shoulders, drawing him to her, her body as pale as the sheets on which she lay.
Even when the fire guttered and died, they lay, twined together.
Scarlet-tipped fingers circled upon his sternum until his hand was laid upon hers, pressing her palm once more to his still breast as he leaned over her and kissed her lips once more.
“Another echo?” she murmured, her expression calm and strangely lucid.
“Far more, dear one,” von Krolock replied, drawing his hand from hers and brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “But yours is a path that I cannot follow, nor is mine a path you can remain upon.”
“Lost in the woods,” Drusilla’s eyes fluttered closed, exhaling a trembling breath against his skin. “Waiting to find the gingerbread house. Huff, puff and it will all fall down when the big bad wolves come calling.”
“Perhaps,” The pad of his thumb ghosted along her cheekbone. “But you will be ever welcome.”
Lashes parting, she gazed at him. “Will you be Prince Charming under the moon, dancing with a Princess? No lost slippers or ringing bells.” Her fingertips touched his lips reverently. “Take away the pumpkin and the mice.”
“Of course,” Smiling against her fingertips, he smoothed her cheek tenderly. “But you should rest and I...”
“Little wooden boxes, all in a row, brass and tin and a little blanket,” she finished for him with a nod. “Can’t be sleepy when the music starts. When the music stops, you’ll all fall down.”
He touched his lips to hers once more, then von Krolock rose. He remained standing by the bed for a moment, gazing fondly at her. She was a even more beautiful upon the blood-spattered sheets, trails of scarlet visible on her alabaster skin, looking thoroughly spent.
“Would you have your William here?”
Arching, her fingers pressing to the sheet beneath her, Drusilla laughed at something unseen. “When the metal is no longer cold and nippy and he can skip and dance,” she said in a breathless whisper. “Soon, he will come running.”
Stooping to lift one of her hands and kissing her fingertips, von Krolock drew away reluctantly, though he could sense the coming dawn on the edge of his senses. “Then I bid you good night, dear child,” he murmured.
Already, the young vampire had curled into a kitten-like ball, limbs drawn up, her head pillowed on slender arms, beneath the silky blanket of her hair.
8.8.8.8.8.8
In the grand hall, music and laughter rang from wall to wall, the dancers weaving in complex patterns around one another, clad in a hundred colours, a thousand shades, some masked, others painted.
At the head of the hall, overseeing all that came to pass, von Krolock could see his favoured guest dancing once more. His lips rose in a faint smile at the focussed look on her partner’s face, her young William drawn into the whirl of colour and activity, apparently through no choice of his own.
“Do my eyes deceive me, Herbert?” he murmured to his son, who was lazily leaning against a pillar, eyes apparently on the same pair. “Or is one of our guests looking unusually impeccable tonight?”
“I have no idea what you mean, father.” Herbert examined his nails.
“I have no doubts that you do,” von Krolock glanced back at Herbert. “Tell me, how did you convince the dear boy to don such a fine suit?” His son’s smile told him all he needed to know. “And to dance too?”
Herbert laughed richly, tilting his head to admire the dark velvet he had most likely forced William into. “I can be very persuasive when I choose, father,” he said, grey eyes dancing. “And I suspect he wished to see Drusilla smile.”
“Who would not wish for such a thing?” von Krolock rhetorised, ignoring Herbert’s snort of amusement as he moved down the stairs and onto to the floor, the gathered guests parting before him.
Approaching the two young vampires, he was unsurprised when Drusilla halted their somewhat erratic movement and murmured something to her lover, then twirled smoothly away from Spike, straight into his arms.
“My Prince Charming?”
“As my lady requested,” he murmured, curling his hand about her waist, his other cradling her slim fingers.
“Until the moon goes to bed, then,” she purred, closing her eyes as the music began.
His own eyes slipped past her, von Krolock could see the relief on young William’s face, which lasted all of three heartbeats when - in a whirl of bright blue velvet and ruffles - Herbert swept him away in a minuet.
“Until the moon is abed,” he agreed with a smile.