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Moments in Sunnydale

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Summary: a gathering of unconnected, non-crossover moments that could (or should) have happened in Sunnydale. Ratings, season and characters vary by chapter/ficlet.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
BtVS/AtS Non-Crossover > GeneralLucindaFR1587,373035,1728 Dec 088 Mar 10Yes

Fragile Rose - Drusilla/William

Author: Lucinda
Rated t for teen
Disclaimer: William(Spike) and Dru belong to Joss Whedon & his writers.
Distribution: by permission.
Notes: word is fragile, object is rose. Set before the series began.

Drusilla stretched on the silken sheets, feeling the cool material caress her skin. She'd never had the opportunity to feel things like this in her mortal life, never had such luxury as silk sheets, silk and velvet gowns, necklaces of gold and pearls. She couldn't know if the silken sheets felt different now than they would have when she was mortal, though grand... Darla insisted there was a difference.

So many things had changed since Daddy had turned her. Some were little changes, of minor affect, such as the slight change in what colors most flattered her pale skin. The fact that mirrors wouldn't speak to her, wouldn't let her in or show her face was a larger change. Most of the time, that didn't bother her, as they'd never been her friends. The sunlight hated her now, the light clawing and burning at her skin.

"Evening, Dru," the soft voice of William caught her attention. In one hand he held a dark red rose, while the other hand was encased in a velvet glove. That glove was the only thing he wore, revealing a delightfully muscled lean body. Very different from the solidness of Daddy...

"Did you want to play?" he leaned forward, the rose tilted towards her. "Angelus is off with Darla, and I thought you might be lonely..."

"I'm no longer the soft girl who lived with flowers, prayers and sunlight. She didn't play the naughty games, and all the games she did play were light and fluffy, like baby kittens." Sometimes she wished that she was still that sweet girl, that she'd never caught Daddy's eyes. Never been broken and rebuilt into the woman she was now, never taught about the pleasure in pain. "Now the kittens have grown up, and they must have claws. Can you play with claws, sweet William?"

He offered the rose towards her, and the smell was sweet, rich and full of whispers of love, of devotion and golden honey. Drops of water glistened on the silken petals. She leaned closer, savoring the aroma.

The delicate petals burned her nose.

"You aren't the only one who's had to learn about pain with the pleasure," William's voice was low, and he moved the rose, brushing a fragile petal across her collar bone, the silken touch burning. One droplet of water spilled from the rose, trailing like cold fire over her skin. "I've always been a quick study."

The pain made her hiss, and she arched, unsure if she wanted to pull away from the burning against her pale skin, or wanted to lean into the sweet pain of the flower. The silken sheets were cool against her skin, and Drusilla let herself fall backwards, one hand clutching at the sheet while the other traced over the thin line of red and blistered skin where the water droplet had flowed, over her shoulder and down one pale breast.

William's velvet covered fingers followed her own, the velvet making his hand feel warm, a contrast to her own cool touch. "I think I'm learning how to play this game."

As Drusilla arched under his terrible blessed rose and velvet touch, she had to admit that William was a quick study. He blended passion and pain and pleasure, leaving her insides all twisted into a quivering knot. Unlike Daddy, he didn't leave her crying and whimpering, begging for just a little more, a little more pain, a little more pleasure, a little more... just a little more. Instead, he left her feeling like her insides had been scorched, burning away the sleepiness with pain and pleasure.

Lines of red crossed over her fragile skin, the rose petals shredded away to bright bits of color on the floor and the gray sheets. The green stem with black thorns rested on the bedside table, still dripping with her blood.

"You play wonderfully sharp games," she sighed, twisting a lock of his hair around her fingers. "Kitten had lovely sharp claws in his velvety paws..."

end fragile Rose.
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