The Need To Breathe
words 975
pair darla/spike
disclaimer on profile
AN Historical fanged four prompt from nekid spike on lj AN2 I liked the idea, don't know if I presented it as I wanted to.

The two of us didn't deal much with one another. Despite the fact that we're related; great grandmum and great grandson. And despite the fact that we, all four of us, were sometimes forced to exist in spaces tighter and closer than humans should ever be housed.

'O course, the fact that we weren't humans – not anymore – kind of obliterated that concern of tight/closed spaces. Or the need to breathe.

But, yeah, as I was sayin' me and Grandmum? Never all that close.

'Cept for those times when we were really close.

Those times when we were, for half a second, left alone. Times when her pet (Angelus, the dark bastard) and my mum were off enjoyin' themselves.

Occasionally, at times like this, Darla would call my name. Her voice sweet, honey'd and framed with darkness.

And against my will – I'd come. And cum.

It would start with her voice, soft and lilting, "Williammmm." Dancing in my head. She would call to me, just to me, her focus, and her mind, alllll on me. Out of revenge? Out of frustration? Out of an unspoken desire?

Only, what kind of demon doesn't speak of their desires? Desires are all we – vampires, at least – are made up of. Desire and need. For blood. For excitement. For heat. For someone to remind us that there is more to life than the night.

For the oxygen floating around in their veins.

All desire.

So, no, when she called to me, first inside of my mind, and then vocally – with a whisper – as I push into her room – it wasn't desire that sparked in her eyes, or worked at her throat, it was... just... need.

I'll give you need.

And really, need was enough.

"C'mere my boy," her hands beckon to me. Rather dainty hands for such an accomplished killer.

And when I'm standing before her, she lifts her bare hand to my cheek, blue eyes meet blue. And that 'spark' in her eyes? Lights something in mine.

It won't last long. It'll be extinguished – darkened and cooled – before Dru and her Sire come back to whatever hovel/cave/inn/castle we currently inhabit. But for a few seconds, minutes, hours, it's there. It's a flame.

Her hand trails down my jaw, to my throat, her fingertips brushing lightly across the two faint, but permanent marks on my neck; the sensation shoots directly to my stomach. Heat sensation. And my cock jumps.

"And how is my boy today?" The question is asked, but I don't bother to answer; I'm pretty certain she doesn't really care. The question is just a faint, leftover nicety from her humanity. And as I've mentioned, we've definitely left humanity behind.

Most of it anyway.

Her hand is trailing down my chest, and then lower. Much lower.

"I was thinking, William, that you, and I could... spend a little time together tonight. Just... the two of us."

My only response is to grin – full fangs on display – and pull her closer; one of my hands at the back of her neck, tilting it just so, the other hand at her waist, pulling carelessly, fiercely, at the laced stays of her dress.

She bares her neck even further to me, letting me lick and graze there, occasionally the tips of my fangs scrape the tender skin.

Darla isn't submissive. Not normally that is. (And never for Angelus). She likes to be in control. She can play, she can tease, but she doesn't truly like giving up control. But, every once and a while, at times like this, when it's just her and me... just her and me... she lets me have my way. Let's me bend her to my will. My needs. My wants.

Under my breath I curse the abundance of silk and lace and corseting that covers her frame, but within seconds, I find myself grinning like a school boy when I find her bare bottomed beneath the heavy skirts.

"Someone's a naughty lil' witch," I mutter in her ear, and I'm rewarded with a lilting little laugh.

"And someone," her hand caresses at the front of my pants, "is a big, big, bad boy."

I lift her onto the edge of the bed. "The biggest and the baddest."

I drop to my knees in front of her spread, bared legs, licking my lips hungrily before settling in for one of my favorite treats.

The tip of my tongue passed over her clit in a quick promise of more to come then I flattened it and swiped along the length of her open mound. I began a steady, slow assault, my nostrils flaring at her scent. Vampire or human, a woman's scent goes... yeah... right to my core.

I feel her hands tugging at the waves of my hair, and I hum against her. I lift my hand, the one that isn't busy handling my hardened cock, and I tuck two fingers into Darla. She was more than damp. More than slick. She was drenched. Wet and silk slippery for me.

I curved my fingers upwards and she keened.

"That's... mmmmm, my boy. Mmmm."

I keep at it, my fingers pumping, and curling, and stroking while every once and a while I tease her clit with my tongue. My goal – my only thought – is to have her cum. To make her forget that Druscilla was probably bobbing her head over Angelus' turgid cock at this very moment. To make her forget that I'm a substitute for her childe. To make her forget his name and only... only remember mine.

I give her what she wants.


And she gives me what I want; a form of revenge. A moment of forgetfulness. Succor for the demon.