Title: Dreams to Sell

Rating : R

Summary: Drusilla finds a pretty new toy to play with. Post Chosen (Btvs)

Pairing: Drusilla/Xander

AN: Thanks so much to Dana for her beta on this. It was incredibly helpful.

 

Requirements/requests at the end.

 

           

 

            The night air is warm and tickles deliciously over her skin. She lets the body of the young man fall at her feet, taking care not to spill anything on her dress. It’s red silk this time. Grand mummy had wanted her to wear something more modern but the modern things don’t look as pretty. They don’t nip her waist in or thrust her breasts up.  Drusilla listens to the click-clack her heels make on the cobblestones of the alley. She loves Spain.

 

            Drusilla gathers her skirt and twirls, flaring it out around her. She tilts her head back and watches as the stars spin. She giggles and stops, leaning against a building. She raises her hand and rests it on her forehead. It was a pose Daddy used to like to sketch her in; of course she was usually naked when Daddy drew her, naughty Daddy.

 

            “Pretty broken boy, come to look for the dolly,” Drusilla sing songs to the night.

 

            She waits until the dizziness has passed and then skips (clickity clack clickity clack) down the alley and into the street.  She doesn’t know where she’ll find him but the stars do. They whisper to her and guide her. She claps her hands and coos when she sees him coming out of the tavern. He’s perfect, a beautiful, broken boy.

 

            Drusilla follows him at a distance. He reeks of despair, heartbreak and whiskey, just like her sweet Spike had the night she’d turned him. Some naughty girl had hurt the beautiful boy very badly. He keeps glancing over his shoulder and Dru doesn’t know if he realizes he’s being followed or he’s merely being cautious. He turns down a small, quiet street and she follows a bit closer.

 

            “Ring around the Rosie, pretty boy went and got broken,” she sing songs.

 

            He stops cold in his tracks, afraid to even turn for a moment. He feels her nails grazing along his bare arm and he closes his eyes, expecting to feel teeth on his neck at any moment. He searches for the stake tucked into the pocket of his cargo shorts. She stops him with a deceptively tiny hand on his wrist.

           

            “Uh uh, it wouldn’t be nice to hurt Mummy, not when I’ve come to take the beautiful, broken boy home,” Drusilla says.

 

            He swallows hard and she listens to his heart beat accelerate. Fear is mingled with his despair. She giggles, intoxicated on the scent of him.

 

            “Don’t worry. Mummy is going to take care of you. All the dollies are gone and Mummy misses them terribly. You’ll be my new dolly and I’ll take very good care of you,” she says.

 

*

 

 

 

            He doesn’t know why he let her lead him down the alley. He supposes it because of many things. It is because Anya is gone. It is because he wonders why he survived the battle, all the battles. It is because he is not a slayer or a witch or even a watcher. It is because Drusilla looks at him and not the eye patch everyone else sees. It because maybe, just maybe he wonders about the hold Angel and Spike has over one of his best friends. He lets her lead him down the alley and into a Spanish villa with all the drapes drawn because of many things.

 

 

            He watches her sleep. It is odd, she doesn’t breathe. He used to watch Anya sleep. She had been such a restless sleeper, talking in her sleep, snoring, tossing and turning. Drusilla doesn’t do any of those things. She merely lies in bed on her side, one hand clutching a doll to her chest. He runs his fingers over the curve of her hip. She has moonlight skin, that particular shade of white so pale it is almost silver. She smiles and giggles softly in her sleep, finally inhaling. She flings an arm out and he captures it. He can encircle her wrist completely with his thumb and forefinger. She is tiny, delicate and beautiful.  He brushes the dark hair off her face.

 

            He does not know what hold Angel and Spike had and still have over Buffy, but he knows what hold Drusilla had over Spike for over a century. She is needy. She makes him feel needed. She is weak and kittenish, at least in appearance and action. He knows that she could kill him with a flick of her wrist. He doesn’t wonder why she hasn’t, not yet. That would spoil this dream-like quality the entire night has held. He’s not ready for that to be spoiled, not yet.

 

*

 

            When she wakes up he is asleep. A smile curves her lips. She lies there and lets the stars whisper to her. Spike always told her she couldn’t hear the stars when it was daylight but she can and she does. They talk to her, whispering, whispering all the time. She looks at the long curve of his neck. It is corded and muscular and very masculine. His hair is longish and curls at the ends. She runs razor sharp nails through his hair, searing his scalp and almost slicing the skin. He wakes up with a gasp of pain and she soaks in it.

 

            “Pretty, pretty broken boy, I’ll make it sweet. Don’t worry, Mummy will make it go away,” she whispers.

 

            That’s exactly what he’s afraid of. He glances around wildly. His shorts are across the room, where he took them off last night. The only stake he has is still secure in the pocket of those shorts, all the way across the room. Dru’s fingers tangle in his hair. Too long, he thinks. Should have gotten it cut before I came here.  Her other hand glides down low, lingering around his stomach. Her cool fingers drift lower and wrap around his cock. He forgets about the stake in a rush of breath and then her fangs sink into his neck and he forgets about everything else.

 

            He gets it. He finally gets the power they hold over Buffy. He gets the reason Riley risk his relationship with Buffy. Came down too hard on him, much too hard he thinks. The rush of blood leaving, the cool body pressed against his, the utter helplessness. It’s flirting with death in the most amazing, sensual way. Everything in his body, inside his body is tugging upward into his neck and spilling out into her mouth. Oh. God.

 

            And then there’s nothing.

 

*

 

 

            He’s surprised to wake up at all. He’s even more surprised at the orange juice sitting in an old fashioned carafe next to the bed. His hand goes to his neck and he probes carefully at the bite mark there. He sits up in the dark of the bedroom. It’s impossible to tell if it’s night or day here. He grabs his shorts and slips them on. He immediately searches for the stake and finds it missing. He chuckles. Of course she wouldn’t leave him a weapon. He throws open the heavy drapes and isn’t surprised to find night has fallen outside. That means he doesn’t have long left and while Dru might be just crazy enough to not kill him the first night, he’s not betting on her having the same whim a second night.

 

            He scrambles for his shirt and the wooziness nearly knocks him to his knees. He has new admiration for Buffy adverting an apocalypse after such a massive blood loss. He rests for a moment, just long enough to let the wooziness pass and then pushes himself to his feet. He stumbles out of the bedroom with even less grace then normal and is pleased to find the hallway empty.  He creeps along the hall in what he assumes is a stealthy way. He knows from years of working with slayers, vampires and military type people; it is far from actually stealthy. It doesn’t matter if it gets him out of this villa alive.

 

            He stops, startled to find he does want to live. If someone had asked him honestly last week if he wanted to live, he would have shrugged and said sure as long as it was on a warm beach somewhere with Pamela Anderson, but he wouldn’t have meant it.

 

*

 

            She watches as her new toy stumbles out of the villa and into the street. She licks her fingers and mewls. Now she’ll have to find a pretty new dolly to play with. She could chase him down but then she’d have to punish him for being such a bad boy. She didn’t mind the punishing but it always brings about the same results, no delicious warmth to curl up against, no sweet blood to taste, no pretty boy to make gasp with pleasure and pain. The toys always were more fun before they were punished.

 

                       

            Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell,

            Angus is coming with dreams to sell.

            Hush now wee bairnie and sleep without fear,

            For Angus will bring you a dream, my dear.

 

            Drusilla sings to herself and she dips and sways beneath the moonlight. She turns to go back into the villa, her task accomplished for the night.

 

            “Sweet dreams, sweet dreams to sell, my beautiful broken boy,” she whispers to his fast retreating form.

 

*

 

            The bed and breakfast is as quiet as death when he arrives. It’s not surprising since death is the only one there. The body of the B&B owner is sprawled across the couch. He swallows hard. Her throat is ripped out, there’s no question it was vampires. He steps over the body of the owner’s husband to walk upstairs to his room. He’s got to get his things and get out of there before he calls the police.

 

            She’s lying on his bed, arms folded across her chest in a classic ‘rest in peace’ position. There’s a doll lying beside her. He swallows past the lump in his throat and steps closer even though he knows without a doubt he’s found what he came to Spain for.

 

            He digs a cell phone out of his pocket and calls the number in England, the one that’s on speed dial.

 

            “Yeah, Giles, the slayer…it’s a bust. The vamps got her first,” he says.

 

            He listens to the Watcher, nods and then hangs up. He throws his things in a rucksack. He stands by the bed looking down at the dead slayer. He glides his finger tips over her eyelids, closing the brown eyes forever. As a last moment thought, he grabs the doll lying in the crook of the slayers arm and tucks it in his rucksack.

 

            He glances at his watch. He’s got to hurry if he’s going to make the red eye to London that Giles wants him on as he runs down the alley he thinks he hears singing.

 

            Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell,

            Angus is coming with dreams to sell.

            Hush now wee bairnie and sleep without fear,

            For Angus will bring you a dream, my dear.

 

 

 

~Fin

 

Main character Request (up to 2): Drusilla
Genre: umm.. angsty/fluffy goodness
Human or Supernatural: supernatural
Rating (what will you read and what will you write?): read:anything as long as it's not dirty pure nc17/white: r max, not too comfortable with writing nc17 really
Romantic Pairing (list a 1st and 2nd choice or specify that you do not want any): Dru/Xander, Dru/Giles (even Dru/Lorne Dru/Spike )
Restricted Romantic Pairing (up to two pairings): Buffy/Spike Spike/Dawn
Requests (up to 3): No Buffy in the fic unless it's just a mention or something quick. No Dru death unless she is brought back or you really (really really) want to. I'd like it to take place post sunnydale going bye bye (and after Angel ended, we must know what happened to Dru ^_^ )
Restrictions (up to 3): Buffy, Dawn, and poor writing (ie: "dru walks to the corner and stands there and walks some more and is now at cemetary.")

 

It’s not terribly fluffy but I just couldn’t reconcile fluff and Drusilla both.