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Slayer Night

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Summary: Buffy's bored. Dracula's an asshat. Eric's confused. Spike just wants to get paid.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Literature > Southern Vampire Mysteries(Recent Donor)SweetChiFR1311,5122171,82223 Dec 1123 Dec 11Yes
Written for the 2011 LJ Wishlist
Requested By: Deepred
Fandoms: BtVS/SVM
Characters: Buffy, Dracula, Eric
Disclaimer: I own neither Buffy or the Southern Vampire Mysteries and have written this purely for enjoyment.

Slayer Night

The limo smelled like roses and had the softest leather seats she’d ever felt. Champagne sat near at hand, little fancy hors d’oeuvres that left her clueless as to their contents were artfully arranged on a silver tray next to it, tiny bits of chocolaty heaven next to that. Dracula was wearing a custom tailored suit of all black that made him look part gangster and part sex god. And Buffy herself was sure she’d never looked more beautiful than she did right now in her silky red dress.

She was also bored.


“Are we there yet?” She asked for the fifth time, her head falling back against the seat with a thump.

“Just about,” Dracula said.

She could feel his eyes on her, but after almost two months of traveling together, she was used to it. Drac definitely had a staring problem. But no matter how many times she pointed it out, he never stopped. He’d just say something cheesy about her beauty entrancing him. Lame.

“You said that the last time I asked.”

“And we were just about there then. It was only ten minutes ago.”

He sounded amused. He always sounded amused with her - like she was some kind of constant entertainment to him. It had gotten old the first week. She was sure that sometime soon it would lead to a situation where her fist would be interacting with his face.

“You’re not enjoying yourself?” He asked, sounding genuinely confused. He always sounded so damn fake that it was that bit of honesty that got her to answer.

“The first party was fun, the second was okay, the third was a little boring- You get where I’m going with this, right? We’re on, what, the tenth party now? This isn’t exactly what I thought I was agreeing to when I said I’d travel with you for a few months.”

“You’re arguing against being treated like a queen? Nights of elegance, dancing and conversation instead of graveyards, dirt and loneliness? You certainly are a… rare specimen.”

Her teeth ground together, that amused tone to his voice grating against her fraying self-control. She’d agreed to this - to travel with him for two months. She only had four more days to go, she could make it without breaking their temporary truce. That was the mantra she repeated to herself until she finally felt the limo stop at their destination.

The driver opened her door seconds later and helped her out (not that she needed it, but he just seemed so desperate to assist). She stepped over to the side to allow Drac to get out, brushing the silk of her dress to chase away any wrinkles while she took in her surroundings.

They were in a strip mall.

She could plainly see a Sam’s nearby and a drycleaner, then her eyes landed on the jazzy red neon sign - Fangtasia. Wow. Seriously?

“This? This is where we’re going? It’s not exactly up to your standards, is it?”

“No,” he answered with a slightly put-upon sigh. “But the owner of this establishment has thrown a party in my honor every year, so I thought I’d finally honor him with my presence. Don’t fret, we won’t be staying long.”

“Oh no, I want to stay,” she said with a tight grin. If he didn’t want to be here, then there wasn’t any place she’d rather be. “If he’s so dedicated, then the least we can do is stay for a while.”

He gave her that amused look she hated so much again and headed toward the door. She couldn’t help herself and stuck out her high-heeled foot quickly, catching his ankle and causing Mr. I’m-So-Smooth to stumble. He paused to straightened his jacket but didn’t turn around or react in any other way, much to her disappointment.

They entered through a plain red door, music pouring over them as soon as they stepped inside. A reverent silence had already fallen over the room by the time she stepped into the club next to him. She almost resisted rolling her eyes at the blatant hero worship on everyone’s faces. Almost, but not quite. There was a moment when her attention was caught by a huge, really hot, blond guy in a tux introducing himself as the owner. But the shine of a giant man-crush bright in his eyes, followed by Drac’s speech that was all about himself, had her losing interest quickly.

She instead took to studying the bar. It was much different than the other parties he’d dragged her to. They had been at mansions with chandeliers and marble and snooty vampires that Buffy mentally marked for execution as soon as her truce-time with Dracula was over. This was much more… festive.

The walls were a plain grey and the floor concrete, but it had been decorated to the hilt. Huge banners with, oddly enough, bears on them, hung from the walls and each table had elaborate flower arrangements. Buffy felt her good humor returning as she saw little decorative coffins and full sized stakes jutting from them. But that humor was wiped away with the sight of the throne in the middle of the room. She might’ve puked a little in her mouth at the thought of Drac sitting in it and loving every moment.

As the night wore on, Buffy did her best to avoid the crowd surrounding Dracula, preferring to hang near the back, as far from the blood fountain as she could get. The big blond guy, Eric, she thought his name was, sidled up to her. His eyes were an icy blue and his blond hair just begged to have fingers running through it. Too bad he was groupie for the world’s vainest vampire.

“Are you one of the brides?” He asked curiously.

“Brides? Eww… No.”

“You wouldn’t be pleased to be a bride of Dracula?” He asked in surprise.

“And be stuck with him forever? I think there’s a level in hell like that…”

“But you’re his companion?”

“You make the word ‘companion’ sound dirty, and there’s no dirty stuff going on between me and Drac. We’re just kind of traveling together right now.”

”She’s the Slayer,” a familiar accented voice said behind her in shock. She whipped around to see none other than Spike standing there, looking appalled at her presence.

“The Slayer…” Eric said softly. “I’d heard that, but… I thought it was rumor. He must truly be great to have a Slayer as a companion.”

“See? See what you’re doing! You’re adding to that git’s idiotic legend!”

“No, not companion,” she said, pointing an annoyed finger in Eric’s face. “Travel buddy. Or not, since I hate him. The only reason I’m here is because I thought I’d be learning stuff about myself, what I am. You know, getting in touch with the hunter within. It made more sense when he said it… But all we’ve done is go around to ass-kissing parties like this. The only thing he hunts is new ways to feed his ego.”

Spike looked placated by her speech, but Eric was positively scandalized. He opened his mouth a few times but no words actually came out, so she turned her attention back to Spike.

“And what are you doing here?”

He cracked his knuckles and looked over at the crowd where no doubt Dracula was sucking in all the compliments and worship like a sponge. “I’m getting my eleven quid back.”

Buffy snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“You get that he’s just parading you around, right? That he wants the world to see him with the Slayer on his arm. How he tamed you.”

Suddenly, it all made sense. The endless parties and shopping - it wasn’t him just thinking a woman would enjoy these things. It was him, once again, indulging his ego.

She leaned down and ripped her dress up to the thigh, then snatched one of the stakes from a nearby flower arrangement.

“Let’s go get your eleven quid back, Spike.”

Not too much later the red door to Fantasia swung open and two figures emerged. Both limping slightly, dirty and mussed, but also grinning.

“All that time I was running around with him trying to get in touch with my darker side, when all I needed to do that was kick his ass,” Buffy mused.

Spike paused in his money counting to throw an arm around her shoulders. “And what an ass kicking it was.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Right,” he said, dropping his arm quickly. “What do you say we get back to the old Hellmouth? Where vampires are vampires and Slayers slay?”

“And we’ll go back to being enemies?’


“Sounds great, let’s go.”

Inside the remains of Fangtasia, Eric blinked up at the ceiling with images of a whirlwind in a red dress dancing through his mind, a new obsession forming.

Next year, he thought with a fangy grin. I’ll have a Slayer party.

The End

You have reached the end of "Slayer Night". This story is complete.

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