Disclaimer: Sorry kitties, I don't own anything. Well, I own this fanfiction, but that's as far as my ownership goes. Let's keep that our little secret, mm'kay?
Warnings: Gore, violence, a hint o' lust
Setting: This happened sometime in the 1800's, back when Drusilla, Darla, Angelus, andWilliam the Bloody werestill together.
It was a magnificent party.
Couples danced lightly around the place, filling the ballroom with the smell of overpriced perfumes and frilly dresses. The candles on the wall seemed to ignite the air for romance and nobility, casting a heavenly glow over the gossipers that clustered each borderline. Not that that differed from any other ball - this was just another excuse for the higher classes of society to show off their money, nothing too special. Well, nothing special about the dance itself.
Underneath a white pillar, Spike awaited patiently for his lover to arrive. This was supposed to be their night together, no pesky distractions from Angelus and the lot. It was their outing, their romantic evening, and he'd be damned if he'd let Angelus get in the way of it. That little ponce had tried to steal his pet one too many times, every time he thought about it a swear rang through his mind, along with a fresh pang of blood lust.
Yet another woman regarded him as she passed, her bleached corkscrew hair mounded on top of her head. Why, even the thick makeup she wore failed to conceal her homely appearance, the fake beauty mark on her face looked more like a tick than an accessory! Most people of high prestige looked similar to this, with their synched tight corsets or their pricey overcoats failing to make them better looking - just more snobby.
He forced a smile at his onlooker, and she quickly turned back to her date of the evening. Even he had to admit he envied her a little, at least her partner had bothered to show on time. Of course, he pitied the poor bastard who took her, and he didn't seem any happier about it either. He chuckled slightly before his thoughts returned to Dru.
Speak of the Devil.
Floating gracefully across the ballroom, she clasped her gloved hands in front of her in the best of manners. The peach dress she wore poofed outward in classic elegance, it's silk seeming to glow in the candle light...
"... Wait!" Spike thought, suddenly alarmed. "I've never seen her in that dress before. When did she get that?" A noose of jealousy strangled him as a single name rang through his head, answering his question: "Angel."
He didn't bother wait for Drusilla to meander his way, he quickly stalked over there before he lost sight of her. Pushing his way through the ocean of lace, he eventually arrived next to that beautiful creature in apricot satin, the one he so sorely loved.
"William!" She replied dottily, flipping a fan open to shield her face. "Guess who I am?"
"Not the time, Dru," he responded to her tomfoolery, not in the mood for her childish games ... at least, not until he knew the origins of her attire. The fan was forced closed by one of his strong hands, in turn summoning a pouty face from Drusilla.
"I've never seen that dress before." He inquired, trying to make his curiosity seem innocent.
Those chocolate eyes lit up as he said that, completely erasing the disapproving look she had. "Do you like it? Really?"
He replied with a nasty smirk spread across his features, the kind of gloating look he gave fallen enemies after a fight. "Where did you get it?"
"Why, from Angel! Where else?"
A slight hiss escaped Spike's teeth when he heard that name. That Goddamn Angel, always trying to make him jealous of Dru ... and the fact that he succeeded only angered him more!
He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth before continuing on, as if trying to lick away any harsh words. "Never mind about him. Let's just dance."
Drusilla smiled gratefully and held her hand out to him, the white lace of her gloves coating her fingers perfectly. She loved dancing, Spike knew this. Whenever he'd check in on her, she was usually twisting about to some song no one else could hear, her body swaying perfectly to it's enigmatic rhythm. Now she could show everyone else what beauty she had inside, what talents lived beneath her lithe exterior.
They wandered a little further into the crowd, both of their hands clutched together as they swayed with the rest. Yet even now, Dru's attention seemed to be focused on something else.
"Drusilla, what's the matter?"
"My dress. You hate it?"
"No! No Dru." Spike reassured her, hating to see her insecurity. "It's beautiful, pet, really."
"Y- you mean that? Am I pretty?"
"Love, you could make Aphrodite jealous." He assured her, knowing that green feeling all too well.
Drusilla squealed in delight at his compliment, she knew she could always count on her William to say something sweet. He loved her, she knew this. Everyday he would dote upon her like a queen, giving her presents and lavishing her with attention. Still, she couldn't help but feel butterflies when Angel gave her a gift...
She frowned once more, and her grin was replaced by a look of concern. In fact, it seemed like Spike was dragging her through the dance steps instead of trying to keep up with her - it was as if her feet were chained to the ground.
"Dru..." He cooed like a teasing schoolboy.
"You're not dancing."
She whimpered slightly, pressing her head to his shoulder in a scared child fashion. "I'm worried about Angel."
"Dru!" He winced, his sudden volume making her retract slightly. The two locked stares, and she continued despite his protests:
"He usually likes this sort of thing - these festivals. Why didn't he want to come?"
"We. Hadn't. Asked him!" He snapped, punctuating each word with a fresh spit of frustration. Knowing very well that he'd upset her again, he added with a sweet whisper, "This is supposed to be our night out, remember? No Angel, no Darla... us, baby. Just us."
That jack-o-lantern smile slowly spread on her face again, her feet starting to pick up pace with the music. The tunes seemed livelier now, as if she was dancing on those very strings to make the music thrive, her steps fueling the passion behind each chord.
Passion. That's the emotion that takes hold at night, passion! And oh, those after hours was immersed in it, the very stars seemed to scream it's songs for the world to hear. That wasn't the only shrieking to be heard - not yet, but the silent songs they rang out were deafening with a primal desire. Tunes that could make the blood boil, your very will to live seemed dwarfed by the urge to be free...
Drusilla could feel it, and she knew Spike did too. Those icy eyes seemed set ablaze with a wanton appetite for blood, lust, destruction - and more blood. Yes... so much blood. Their dancing seemed to kindle these thoughts into plans, loose reassurances of what they should do. What they had to do. What every creature of the night yearned to do! To slice. To feed.
The pair didn't even notice the automaton dancers around them, their movements carefully choreographed and each bow precise. Their faces were expressionless - emotionless, even, as the tipped their partners back and forth in a series of bland gestures. It was a hall of mirrors; everywhere you looked the actions were exactly the same, a kaleidoscope of black and white dancers.
But not Spike and Drusilla.
The faces seemed to whirl around them as they spun in circles, maniacal laughter echoing through the air. Dru unleashed her dancing demon from within, those slim hips moving in erotic rings as William's fingers touched her corset, feeling the laces, feeling the silk - being reminded of Angel. That gown seemed to summon his envy with each thread, a sort of electricity which his lover picked up on like a blood hound. The way he was protective of her was flattering, a constant reminder that he loved her with all his unbeating heart, insanity 'n all.
"You seem to have perked up a bit," He smiled, lust revealing itself on his sharp features.
"Mm hmm..." His ladylove moaned, loosing herself in the emotion of each moment. On the danced, with Spikes strong arms caressing her slender frame, his hard chest pressed against her own as they writhed to the orchestra. They fit perfectly together: Black against white, leather to lace, floral to musk - a balanced masterpiece that no one else could craft.
They may have not noticed the other dancers - but the others sure noticed them! The lovebirds stood out like a match struck in darkness, the emotion that sizzled between them matching the awe of their spectators. Even a cellist seemed to miss a string in surprise, enthralled by the creatures of darkness and their midnight escapade.
There were gasps from the surrounding aristocrats - they even stopped dancing! Like Moses parting the red sea, they surged backward to give them room to maneuver, wondering what trick they would perform next.
And still, the two never noticed.
Spike locked a hand with Drusilla and she spun outward like a missile, twirling about with balletic grace. What years of training classical dancers took to learn this dance was completely exhalted in these vampires... but they only needed emotion to make them tick. Just passion in it's purest form.
Dru's hair, woven on top of her head in strands of pearls, threatened to come undone at the slightest thrash. Upon seeing this, Spike undid the clasp that bound the strands when she came close to him, setting loose her chestnut locks like a dam giving way. Pearls flew everywhere, their clanking noise accompanied by the gasps of onlookers.
Yet still, they danced!
Faster and faster, furiouser and furiouser. No amount of twisting was good enough. They had to keep going, just keep spinning... but that goddamn outfit didn't reflect the shimmering light to Spike, only Angelus' face!
Spike jabbed the garment just below the corset, his nail slicing all the way around as Drusilla twirled. With a defeating hiss the fabric let loose, pooling at her feet in a lake of peach silk.
Gasps escaped the crowd again, but only a laughing smile graced his beloved. She wore a number of petticoats beneath it, and even still there was another layer of clothe to take it's place - yet Spike felt satisfied with his small victory, like he just cut Liam himself.
"Animal!" shouted a bewildered man from their audience.
Without warning, Drusilla and Spike stopped. No signal, no exhaustion, their bodies just froze in place as they stared at one another. Even the musicians were stunned at such rapture being abruptly ended, and they stopped playing. A disturbing hush filled the ballroom as William the Bloody spoke these words:
"You know what would make this more fun?"
In an instant the two shot away from each other. Pushing off each others hands like competitive swimmers, they charged separate ends of the ballroom, murdering the first person they came across.
"Play! Play!" The crazed prophet commanded the musicians, who didn't bother to resist her commands, lest they be murdered next.
Blood spattered everywhere as Dru clawed a girls face like a wild cat. She ripped, tore, and mangled her onlookers in a rabid frenzy, not even looking at who she dispatched. Just slicing. Stabbing. Killing at will.
Yet they continued dancing!
In this disturbing palace of murder, the pair continued their waltz on separate ends of the carnage. The sounds of necks snapping drove them to a sadistic bliss - a high only a vamp' could experience.
Spike pummeled the fool who called him that name, showing him the real meaning of the word "animal". He could feel the bones cracking under his knuckles, he could see the fear painted on their faces - before he pulverized them, that is. This was the destruction he "lived" for!
"Oh My G...!" The woman didn't get out the sentence before Drusilla slashed her throat. She slumped to the ground in the red liquid, with her murderer dancing over her corpse like the mad woman she was.
She gyrated around the room, swinging her hair, waving her hips, feeling all sorts of lusts rejoicing inside her. Spike loved it. Throwing bodies aside to get to her, the sunset satin was quickly ripped off her remaining outfit. The kisses he planted on her neck burned with want, she could feel the longing in each one, the lust, the intensity... it was intoxicating.
Like a drug, they wanted more. They needed more. They had to have more! His hands made their way up her ribcage, touching her, wanting her, needing her, the zest so hot inside him it was torturous.
She cackled blissfully, and spun around with an arm outstretched. Her polished nails made contact with a victim behind her, who had begun to rise from the sea of death around them, trying to escape - and failing miserably. Neither demon would have any of that, not at all.
Their destructive outing continued, littering the dance floor with severed heads and pools of crimson. Broken bones poking through skin, eyeballs without owners... nightmarish visions of death and chaos resided here, in the newfound realm of bloodstained lace.
More and more, the two danced.
Drusilla was ecstatic, her bare feet tracing designs in the ponds of red... her high heels were embedded too far into someone's skull, so she hadn't bothered to retrieve them. Besides, their fabric was long since stained, and looking for something scarlet in that room was like looking for a needle in a haystack.
The musicians stopped playing, having fainted from the violence surrounding them. Apparently, seeing any intestines besides the ones on their instruments was too much for them... and yet neither minded a bit. They danced on anyway.
"It's beautiful!" The vampiress remarked, taking off her torn gloves. Her chest rose with a deep breathe, fully taking in the scents of copper and decay, entranced at the wonder around them, the one that they created.
A chuckle escaped her partner in crime, and he wrapped his arms around his love's middle once more.
He tore off another layer of the dress he hated, watching it fall to the ripples of blood below. It soaked up the fluid like a paper towel, the quilted-quicker-picker-upper for their festivities that evening. She was wearing only a white slip underneath that, having shed all others than the corset during the feud, and the hem of that ghost-like garment was pasted to her pale legs in the scarlet paste.
There wasn't a living soul left in the room, they had ravaged each body until no vein remained intact. A pudding of macabre images and entrails, it would be a heavenly buffet - for a cannibal.
"I want more," she chided, nostalgically remembering each wound she inflicted.
"I don't think there's another living thing in town, thanks to you."
Her mouth dropped slightly as her hand touched her collar bone. "I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me!"
Another laugh came before he locked lips with her, tasting all the passion his sweetheart had to offer. The way she moved under his touch, the friction of her body slipping against his own... it was enough to drive him madder than her with want. Her desire must have rivaled his own, the way she leaned into him as if falling, trying to loose herself in his touch. The way those long fingers stroked his neck, rubbing his cold blood as if commanding it to flow again in a mock semblance of life - made Spike melt. They were as dead as the corpses in that room, no more life brewed in them than the bodies at their feet. They had been deceased for so long, thriving as monsters of the undead...
And yet they never felt so alive, swimming in that ocean of blood and silk.