Title: Untitled
Rating: PG
Warning: Some Spike/Dru
Summary: In an AU where Spike has killed the Sunnydale Slayer, Kendra, and set himself up as Master, a new Slayer moves into town and gives him a run for his money.
A/N: As of yet, this is just kind of an idea running through my head. I thought I’d give all of you seasonal_spuffy readers a little teaser.
After Spike killed the Slayer of Sunnydale, he stuck around a while. Dru was still a bit on the weak side. They’d just gotten their digs setup all nice like. Had a bunch of minions following his every whim. Un-life was good, why move elsewhere while the good was still going good.
It’d been close to two years when a new Slayer came to town. He’d been just about to seek greener pastures when news started flickering around about some tiny blonde hanging around the cemeteries. He heard about so-and-so and then what’s-his-height going missing, but they were lack wits so balls to them. Then it was Nick who disappeared one night. Disappeared from his post right outside the back alley door to the Bronze while Spike and a few hand-select others were at his usual table conducting business.
The next night it was the front doorman that got dusted.
“The front bloody fucking doorman, Dru!” A glass figure shattered against the wall, punctuating the outburst.
Drusilla’s pale gray eyes took in the shards scattered across the floor of what had been one of her newest presents. She pouted and looked back up at the extremely agitated blonde vampire pacing the floor.
“My people are supposed to be a bit more capable than that! She couldn’t possibly have been a Slayer for that long. It’s only been a couple years since I wasted that Jamaican wench. No fun at all, that one was.” He paused thinking back on his third Slayer for a moment.
With a shake of his head, he renewed his pacing. “Guess I’m just going to have to go ahead and bag my fourth.” He stopped, and looked at Drusilla, sitting on the bed, as if just realizing she was there. “What do you think about that, princess?”
Drusilla mournfully looked at the broken pieces of glass littering the floor. “Breaker,” she declared, low and with venom.
“Break her. Exactly.” Spike was looking at a spot on the bed, eyes distant. He snapped her fingers and his attention was back on Drusilla. “That’s exactly what I’ll do. Have a bit of fun, a bit of tease, before I do her in.”
His eyes followed the curve of her pale, flawless neck as it met collarbone, then trailed the crème silk lines of her dress to where it dipped between her breasts. “Thinks she can toss me about by killing my guards. The frail won’t know what hit her.”
He dropped both hands to the bed, walling her curled up legs, and pressed a kiss to her neck. “We’ll get a bit more excitement out of Sunnydale, yet.” She remained stiff, unyielding against his kisses until his hands joined in the seduction, sliding up her thigh and weaving through her long hair. “We’ll paint the town red one more time before we go,” he promised softly, pushing her down against the bed.
Drusilla looked up to the ceiling, past the pipes and the metal, into the clear night sky, into the stars, as his kisses wandered downward. Her eyes were open. Her eyes were wide open.
—
“I want to get inside next time. Really shake things up.”
Her Watcher regarded her thoughtfully before slowly shaking his head. “I think you’d be pressing your luck, Buffy. Everyone inside the Bronze are his people now. Except for the actual people, of course,” he added ruefully. He wasn’t anxious to push a showdown quite yet, particularly not in a place where everything could go wrong terribly fast. He did not want to repeat Rupert Giles’ mistakes.
“Wesley.” He looked at his Slayer, her features set, every line in her body stubborn and willful. “If I only stick to guys out by themselves, he’s going to think I’m scared. That that’s all I can do. Pick them off one by one.”
His brow furrowed. “You have a point.”
“Besides, Spike and all his evil minions won’t even know I’m there. They don’t know what I look like.”
“Perhaps not, but they can sense you. They can feel you much like you can feel them. And crowd or no, they will pick you out or force you to reveal yourself.”
Buffy looked dismayed for a moment before brightening. “Willow. She could do a spell.” Wesley looked at her doubtfully. “Like a cloaking spell, but just for Slayer tingles, not the whole me. Something that hides the supernatural.”
“Well…” Wesley started, consideringly, “It’s possible she might be able to whip up something to that effect.” He paused, and looked at the young, blonde teenager in front of him. Barely eighteen, she brimmed with youth, naïveté, and strength all at once. “Alright. If Willow can create something that adequately hides your Slayer imprint, then you can proceed to strike within the Bronze.” In a rare display, he smirked slightly. “If that doesn’t ruffle William the Bloody’s feathers than nothing will.”
“Oh, there will be ruffling,” Buffy said, fingering the print-out of an odd, old-fashioned picture of this notorious vampire. The Council had faxed it over to the library several nights ago. Wesley had called the picture a daguerreotype. When we finally go head to head, I’ll do much more than that.
When Wesley turned his back, she quietly slid the print-out into the pages of her textbook and dropped it into her book bag.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/250887.html
