Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Too my great sadness, lol.
“It is so dark and lovely in here,” Drusilla murmured in her usual breathy, dreamy tone, as she burrowed closer to a clearly pleased Spike on the chaise love seat, nestling her pale, peaked face into his shoulder. “I love the cobwebs… have you ever taken the spiders and let them run up and down your spine? It makes me shiver, as if a little bit of winter had come, just for me…”
“But of course!” boomed Gomez Addams from behind the love seat, where his wife Morticia lounged languidly in their sitting room. “Spiders are a perfectly ghastly way to ease our way up into full blown torture on each other! A little foreplay, you understand!”
“Foreplay,” Drusilla said dreamily, her slightly glassy eyes as vague as ever as she slowly began to run pale long fingers through Spike’s bleached blonde hair. “You must be a very good girl before you can go out and play, Drusilla. I’ve been a very naughty girl, and I must be punished…”
“Oh, what fun!” Gomez said heartily. “Shall we discuss our favorite techniques? Tish and I believe ourselves to be something of experts on the subject- we practice diligently!”
“Oh, Gomez,” Morticia said with gentle affection and yet admonishment, a blush present in her voice, but not in her pale cheeks. She smiled, a wan curve of lips that did not show teeth. “I am only mediocre. You, though- you have often made my heart nearly resume its beating.”
“Yeah, well, wouldn’t want to do that,” Spike said gravely. “Might want to slow it down a bit, mate, wouldn’t want to make her all good now.”
“Spike,” Drusilla murmured, moving her hand to run slowly down his chest as she continued to burrow against his side. “Have I been a very bad girl?”
“Yes, of course, love, the very worst,” Spike told her soothingly, stroking her long dark hair.
“Do I need to be punished?” she whispered breathily, her words drawn out and seemingly far away.
“Yes, of course, pet, but there will be time for that later. We don’t want to be too imposing on their hospitality,” Spike replied reassuringly. “No, wait, what am I saying? Of course we want to impose, that’s what we do. We’re bloody vampires!”
“Imposing is an insult to the highest!” Gomez said in delight. “We love impositions, don’t we, Tish? We live to impose!”
“Oui, mi amor,” Morticia said in her usual languid, yet highly sensual tone as she shifted herself on the loveseat, her tight, flowing black dress a sharp contrast with Drusilla’s virginal white one. Her husband, who had been pacing and bouncing on the balls of his feet with exuberant energy and a wide, rather insane and frightening grin, stopped in his tracks at her words, appearing as awe-struck and bedazzled as if she had just presented him with the head of the king of England.
“Tish… that’s French!”
Morticia shrugged modestly, her phantom-like smile once more curving her lips. Wild passion and excitement flooding his eyes, Gomez Addams hurried around to the other side of the couch, sweeping his wife up into his arms and beginning to kiss his way up her hand, her arm, her chest and neck, before making his way up to her lips. All the while between kisses, he was muttering with a near frantic frenzy, “Cara mia! My love! My dark goddess!”
Drusilla was watching them with utter fascination and pleasure, her eyes bright. Her hand had halted it caressing of Spike, and he looked from her to the still-intertwined figures of Gomez and Morticia, disgusted, resentful, and envious. Why was Dru so fascinated by them- was he not enough for her?
“Oh, for god’s sake,” he muttered childishly, “get a bloody room.”
Then, as a sudden thought struck him, “Do you have one? A bloody room, I mean? Like a sort of corralling station for potential victims? Sort of like a wine cellar?”
“Not yet, my boy,” Gomez said regretfully, finally managing to tear his lips from Morticia’s skin, although he still held her limp and placid form close to his. “But I can get you some blood, certainly. Where are out manners? Lurch!”
Suddenly came the loud, thudding footsteps of a very large… something… and a nine foot creature, very green, with a very deadpan expression on his face, appeared.
“Lurch, could you get our guests some freshly chilled blood?” Morticia, the ever gracious hostess, asked politely. “Do you have a preference as to the type, Spike, Drusilla?”
“AB with a shot of O positive,” Spike said, licking his lip briefly in anticipation and smiling contently at the thought. Drusilla nodded, breathing out that she would have the same.
Lurch returned shortly with the requested drinks, plus two for Morticia and Gomez as well. For a while there was only the sounds of Spike’s and Drusilla’s loud gulping and Morticia’s dainty sipping. Gomez had thrown his head back and downed his drink in one long swallow, like a college boy at a keg party. Spike had eyed him with some resentment, for this was something he had never been able to do without spilling. Lurch left the room as loudly as he had entered, causing the pictures on the walls to shake.
“Excellent stuff, mate,” Spike praised with obvious satisfaction when he had finished, leaning back contently and with exaggerated relaxation in the love seat. He wrapped one arm around Drusilla once more, leaning his head down to hers. “Some of those common little tarts we pick up off the streets usually, their blood just isn’t-“
His words were cut off with his high-pitched yelp, and he jumped to his feet, turning to look behind him. A disembodied hand rested on the sofa back, now lying there placidly after having just casually tapped him on the shoulder.
“What the bloody hell is that?!” Spike sputtered, more angry and now a little pride-struck than afraid.
“Oh, that’s just Thing,” Morticia said nonchalantly. “Come here, Thing,” she crooned, and the hand began to scurry over to her, coming to rest on her shoulder. She stroked it lovingly as Drusilla gazed at it, enthralled.
“Oh, isn’t it sweet,” she mumbled. “Spike, I want a hand…”
“You’ve got two of them, Dru,” Spike muttered, still annoyed at Thing’s startling him. “And mine as well. Is that not enough?”
“But your hand is still attached, and so are mine,” Drusilla pointed out. “And they don’t move like a big lovely spider-“
A loud explosion sounded from upstairs, making Spike jump and swear, looking around wildly while clutching Drusilla protectively against him. As smoke filled the room, Gomez laughed heartily.
“Oh, that’s only Granny, up to no good, I’m sure, the old witch!”
“My mother,” Morticia explained casually, “perhaps later you can sample some of her brews-“
Just then a very oddly dressed man, with a white ghoulish face overwhelmed by his bald head and darkly circled eyes, came half running into the room, followed by two children. The boy was blonde and pudgy, wearing a yellow and black striped shirt, and the younger girl was thin and solemn-faced, her black dress long-sleeved, and her dark hair was in braids. Both children were carrying steak knives as they chased the older man, who was bellowing hoarsely.
“Children!” Morticia cried, her voice a modicum of shock and dismay. “You don’t chase your Uncle Fester with steak knives!”
All three figures came to a halt, Uncle Fester panting madly, and the two children lowered their eyes, repentant.
“We’re sorry, Mother.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, a butcher knife or an ax is a much better weapon!” Morticia continued sternly.
“Aww, they’re so darling,” Drusilla cooed, detaching herself from Spike and going to softly touch the children’s faces. Pugsley made a face at her, causing her to giggle, and Wednesday just gave her a flat, grim stare. When Drusilla got to Uncle Fester, she rubbed his bald head slowly. Uncle Fester’s entire head turned bright red, eyes popping and jaw dropping in goggling astonishment and pleasure as Drusilla crooned, “So soft…”
“All right, Dru, enough already, give the man his head back,” Spike snapped, jealous- what was it about the Addamses and Dru’s fondness for them anyway?
“Yes, children, run along and play with your uncle now,” Morticia added. “And remember- butcher knives, not steak knives!”
“Yes, Mother,” Wednesday and Pugsley chorused as they ran off, dragging a still dazed Uncle Fester behind them. Morticia and Gomez beamed at Spike and Drusilla, their arms around each other lovingly.
“Two chips off the old blocks, the rotten little monsters,” Gomez chortled. “Say, we were talking earlier of torture- would you like to come with us to our dungeon? We’ve got it all- nail bed, electric shock, the rack, pokers, nooses, whips, chains- what do you say?”
Spike was intrigued in spite of himself, and it was clear from Drusilla’s rapturous beam and the way she clutched his arm that she was as well.
“I say let’s go,” he replied, and the two turned, following the Addams’s lead.