Large PrintHandheldAudioRating
using
 paypal
Twisting The Hellmouth Crossing Over Awards - Results
Rules for Challenges

Kitten

StoryReviewsStatisticsRelated StoriesTracking
Ficlet(s)

Summary: Dean caught a certain someone's eye. Too bad for him. (20 Minutes w/Dru)

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Supernatural > Drusilla-Centered(Site Founder)JinniFR1522,783183,3056 Jan 0717 Feb 07Yes

Kitten

Title: Kitten
Author: Jinni (jinni.tth@gmail.com)
Rated: Pg13
Disclaimer: All things BtVS belong to Joss Whedon, et al. All things SPN belong to Eric Kripke, et al.
Notes: Inspired by Kayla Shay’s Dean/Dru manip. Also a 20 Minute challenge response.
Summary:
Wordcount: 745

START: 5:50pm

Goddamn. Son of a bitch!

Dean’s head was fucking pounding. No wonder, considering he was pretty sure he’d been hit with a two-by-four as he got out of the car.

Funny, the two-by-four had looked a lot like a hand. A woman’s hand. No way in hell he’d been taken down by a chick, though.

“Your mind… so dark… it sings… it cries…”

The voice came from the darkness, taking Dean by surprise. He jerked against the restraints that held him, trying to get a glimpse of whoever – or whatever – was speaking. A woman, then. So much for his masculine pride. That knock out shot that had taken him down? More and more likely that it had been dealt out by this chick.

Well, damn.

“Who’s there?” he called out, trying to sound like he wasn’t worried. He was, but he wasn’t going to let this bitch know it. She’d taken him down without even a fucking struggle, tied him up, and now had him at her mercy. His hands were bound too tight for him to even try to go for his pockets, assuming that she’d left him anything in them that would do him any good. At this point he’d even settle for his cell phone so that he could call Sam and let him know something was up, even if that meant that he had to admit he’d been taken by a girl.

“Mummy’s here.”

A hand slid over his shoulder, from behind, and Dean couldn’t mask the startled yelp that escaped his lips. Fuck, but she was quiet and fast. She’d come out of nowhere. He twisted, jerking his head around as far as he could to see his captor.

Pale. Dark hair. Eyes that looked a little unfocused, but definitely had something behind them. A hunger and fire that wasn’t friendly. She was wearing a lacy white dress that did nothing but wash out her already pale skin.

She looked dead.

Vampire. Definitely a vampire. Or zombie. But he was going to go with vampire. Made sense. The strength, that look in her eyes like she didn’t know whether to kiss him or bite him. Goddamn vampires. And he was getting the feeling that she wasn’t the let’s play nice with humans kind like Lenore had been. Now there was a vampire that he wouldn’t have minded meeting again. This chick? Not so much. She had the scary going on in a serious way. And that grip she had on his shoulder was fierce, tight, and bordering on fucking ow.

“I heard your pain. Whispering in the night. A kitten crying for it’s mummy. Meow,” she murmured airily, leaning into his face. Her breath reeked of blood, and Dean’s stomach flipped in a nauseating roll. The nails of the hand that hooked in a playful swipe near his cheek were painted dark red, like dried blood. Long and sharp, he got the feeling they could cut him open from neck to stomach if she took the notion to do so.

“Sorry ‘bout that, lady – but I’m no kitten and I don’t need a mom. How about you let me go now?”

Her face dropped, eyes going droopy and sheltered, darker still than before. Not in a friendly way, either. Man, hopefully Sammy would get one of his oh-so-helpful visions and come racing to the rescue, because damn, he couldn’t see a way out of this. Unless he could sweet talk her, that was.

“So – what’s your name?”

“You can call me Mummy,” she purred into his ear, tongue darting out to lick the lobe. Instead of being even remotely sexy, the gesture just made Dean’s skill crawl. He fought off a shiver of revulsion, trying to keep up the play acting. If he could convince her to untie him, he might stand a chance.

“All right,” he drawled, leaning back as much as he could with his arms behind his back and his ankles tied to the legs of the chair. “I’ll call you mommy. But what’s your name, darlin’?”

Again the breath was back, blowing over his face. Cold. Dead. Rank with death.

“Drusilla,” she murmured. A finger ran over his lips, teasing them open when he would have just as soon left them closed. If she kissed him, he didn’t know how he’d manage not to fucking vomit. Breath mint, anyone? “An’ you and I are going to dance in blood, kitten, while the stars sing our names.”

END – 6:10pm
Next Chapter
StoryReviewsStatisticsRelated StoriesTracking