DISCLAIMER: Drusilla belongs to Joss Whedon and Creed comes from the Marvel playbox.
She smelt like cold death, grasping hunger and something that was insane. He knew insanity, he breathed it and walked it every day. Death he dealt and he knew it well, but he didn’t die. Hunger, crawled through his belly and raked red claws across the folds and ripples of his brain, sat back and roared. He knew what she was not, dainty little creature that had tripped her way into his room and his bed with a laugh and a flash of merrily crazy eyes. So small, her wrist in his hand. Fragile. Like a bird.
It made Creed want to snap it.
Large, claw-tipped fingers tightened around her wrist, and Drusilla’s eyes were so dark that he could almost fall into them. Pulled her forward against his chest, claws cutting into alabaster skin and scarlet falling down her arm. Sliding wetly along the smoothness of her, smelling like corruption and death, and usually he’d clean it off with his tongue, but she smelt dead. Which she was. No heartbeat. No breath. Dead as a doornail but still walking around. Whatever the fuck she was really, he had no idea, but he didn’t eat carrion. She was warm against him, melting and soft in his arms. The lace of her dress rasped softly against the softer material of his shirt, almost inaudible even to him.
“Scratch me, cat, scratch me so wonderfully,” lilting voice purring into his ear and he could smell her scent, something dead and wildly sweet. Snarled softly under his breath, and he knew that she was listening to his heartbeat, the way he breathed, all those things that meant he was what she was not. Alive. He could feel the scrape of sharp teeth over his jugular, and he leaped backwards, large hand smashing her to the floor with a slash of long claws. She looked up at him from the floor, and smiled a slow and terrible smile as blood ran down her face. Smiled at him like he’d just said he loved her and licked her lips clean of the rancid smelling red liquid. Clotting on her face and he snarled at her again, angry lion being pushed too far beyond what he felt comfortable with. Hated things he didn’t understand, that puzzled him, even worse he hated things that he felt he should know, and didn’t. Despite the dainty little heels she was wearing, she got to her feet gracefully with a swish of skirts and no problems at all.
Like something out of the last century, all petticoats and lace. Fashions today, they went around and around in circles. He never paid attention and just wore what he wanted to, but women were always more attentive to that sort of thing. Or else she was just bat shit crazy and dressed like a freak. He was more inclined to believe it was the last thing he’d thought. She was crazier then he was, and that was saying something. The woman stunk like death and insanity, and she was cold. So cold. Her blood didn’t flow right either, and he knew blood. Seen enough of it, and nowhere near enough at the same time. But he knew how bodies should work. Still wanted to fuck her blind though, bite her and tear that ridiculous pretension to life and dignity right off her back. Like those clothes she was wearing, something genteel. Hated things that looked like one thing and were actually another. Bitch. Shut her up with her smile and her big brown eyes like something splintered glinted from the back of them.
“Don’t bite me.” Of course, if he wanted to, he’d bite her all he liked. Claw out her stomach and play in her entrails if he felt like it. This’d be like shacking up with a viper, just as cold and deadly. Except the snake had never given off a bitch smell, prey scent, hurt me stink like this...woman did. Didn’t know what else to call her. Woman shaped, pretty little tits and hips and soft face, white skin. Couldn’t point at the dress and say that was what made her feminine since people didn’t wear what they should wear anymore. Damn fags. Fucking world changed and no one seemed to notice since they didn’t live long enough. Or they just didn’t give a fuck.
“Come here, kittykitty. Princess wants to play.” Little girl giggles and she was smiling at him, hands open in welcome as she stood there. Smile too sharp behind rosy lips, and he kissed her, mauling her mouth as his claws ripped away the delicate prettiness of her dress. She just laughed and giggled, like it was too much fun, even when he could smell the blood coming up from her skin, taste it in her mouth. Copper and dead, she tasted dead. But...sweet all the same. Creed snarled into her mouth, feeling her hands fumble with his belt buckle, finally getting it undone and cold hands slipping inside his shorts to cup his erection in her slim fingers and daintily painted nails.
“God damn, whore.” Her blush, so pretty on her cheeks, was a brief flash of heat. Like he’d paid her a compliment or something. Frail was messing up his head, and he didn’t think that it was on purpose. She was just that fucked in the head that nothing
she did made any sense. Except for this, her legs spreading wide as he pushed her down onto the bed. Laces and fragments of her dress framing the dark hair at her pussy as she writhed and sighed on the covers, dabbing at the blood painting her skin and sucking her fingers like it was chocolate sauce or something. Watched her with amber cat-eyes as he got rid of his shirt, toed off his boots and dropped his pants on the floor. Crawled across the bed to her, arms propping him up over her as she watched him, lifting one knee to rub gently across his cock. Blood, sex and death, filling up the air around him. Nuzzled at her breasts for a moment, catching her nipple between his teeth and sucking, pulling his head back with it between his teeth and knowing the skin was stretching to the point of pain that would see most women screaming.
“Oh yes, kitty, hurt princess just like that, oh!” she moaned breathily into his ear, fingers combing through his long gold hair in restless movement. Hips moving against his, her bush scratching against his belly as he snarled, tasting her blood dark on his tongue as he cupped her ass in his hands and pressed her in tighter against him. She was wet, he could smell it and feel it, cool skin moving against his body and she was begging for a taste of his blood. “Lion, oh, golden and glowing, oh yes, claws so sharp, cut me, kitty, oh!” Mouthing at his neck and he growled, warning her off before he moved off her for a moment. Didn’t trust her not to bite, and he wasn’t going to let her be doing that.
“Hands and knees, bitch.”
Crazy little bitch, on her hands and knees, ass up in the air wiggling and head turned to watch him as she smiled. Something in the back of her eyes...glowed. Put a hand on the back of her neck and squeezed for a moment, the lack of heartbeat disconcerting him again momentarily. Bit down on her shoulder, felt his fangs grate against bone, and she just moaned, pushing back up into him. Scrape of the fabrics of the dress he’d torn to shreds on her against his skin. Bit down harder, snarled into the wet soft flesh he was holding in his mouth between his fangs and then let go. Swallowed the gulp of blood that had flowed into his mouth and it coated the inside of his mouth thickly, something addictive in it, and he wanted to taste all of her. Devour her whole. Know everything he could about her. Drew back, claws sliding down her sides as pieces of lace fluttered down onto the bed sheets, not even raising a welt on her lily white skin. Ripped the waist of her dress apart and watched the rest of it fall away from her, settling on the bed like petals from a ruined flower. Her knees spread wider easily and he put his thumbs on either side of her folds, spread her apart and breathed in her woman scent. Licked deep, agile tongue twisting inside, and listened to her squeal, the sound of her nails digging into the mattress and ripping the sheets.
Deep and deeper, flesh cool where it was usually hot, still the same silky feel. Death scent coming up from where the smell of life usually abounded. No womb-smell. Tasted her, thick and wet as she responded, rasp of his tongue darting along the inside of her channel and the crinkles of her sex. Her hips were already moving, the grip of his hands on her thighs keeping her from thrusting back onto his face anymore then he allowed. Power and control were important. Had to have them, or you’d end up being the one who was controlled. His fangs dragged along her skin, opening up small grooves as he lapped at her, tasting blood and cream and woman. Dead woman. But that didn’t really matter as she babbled and squeaked and moaned, something about cats and burning and the stars were singing.
Dragged his tongue up from there through the crease of her ass, tasting everything of her. Oily dark taste of her there, as compared to the salty musk of her cunt. Bit at the round meat of her cheek and she wailed, suddenly kicking and hips bucking as she came. Licked at the bloody tooth marks he’d left and watched as they healed, so quickly. Frowned, wondered again, then decided that he didn’t care. She was small underneath him, as most women were as he draped himself along her back and gnawed at the bruise mark that was all that was left of the bite he’d left on her shoulder. Opened it up again, raw and bleeding and she was twisting underneath him and trying to get him inside her.
“Please, oh, please, kitty...”
“God, don’t you ever fucking shut up
There’d been a point where it had been amusing, but now her babbling was just pissing him off. Scraping his claws along the small curve of her stomach, feeling the skin split open under the tips as he dragged them back to her hips. A moment to just position himself, and then he pulled her back by his grip on her hips as he slammed his cock into her. Cold, and Creed growled into the bend of her back in distaste. Other then that, she felt just the same as any other bitch he’d had, clinging and wet around his dick.
“Meeeow...oh yes, scratch me, kitty. Kittykittykittttyyyy...” she mewled happily, before he shoved her face down into the mattress. Fuck, like he wanted to listen to that. All he wanted here was to get off. Muffled sounds from underneath him as he fisted his hand into her long dark hair, starting to move his hips in quick pistoning movements. Could still her anyway, when most whores would have had the decency to have suffocated. God damn it.
Bit her again on the back of her neck, holding her in place as he fucked her with quick jabbing strokes. More designed for his own pleasure then anything related to her. She was just there to be fucked – not to enjoy it. But he could smell, hear that she was getting there, making little ooooh sounds and arousal pouring off her. She actually liked
this. He grinned crookedly around the skin and muscle he was holding clenched in his fangs, blood spilling from his mouth and down onto her back in crazy spirals and lines. He could think of a few things to do with a woman who didn’t even seem to feel pain like other people did. The more he hurt her, the more she liked it.
That was fucking insane, but in a way he liked. And intended to take advantage of. She orgasmed with a muffled wail of shocked pleasure tainted heavily with pain, several times in quick succession by the way she clamped down around his cock in rippling rhythmic movements and he grunted, shoving himself inside her to the hilt as he finally came. Laid over her back, and licked thoughtfully with his rough tongue at the healing bite on her shoulder blade as he let up a little on the grip on her hair. She was playing with her breasts underneath him, rolling the nipples between her fingers and clawing at the skin with her nails while she crooned softly and out of tune. Something about lambs and a blackberry patch. He could feel the sweat drying on his skin, and he slid out of her and moved away to the small bathroom that was attached to the hotel room.
Washing the sex stink off was as impossible as ever, since it clung to skin like nothing else. At least to his nose. If he’d really had a problem with the smell, then he would have been pissed...but sex actually smelt good. Just loud, as far as smells went. Direct. There were very few things that were as down to earth and basic as sex. He ducked his head to direct the spray over his golden mane of hair, hating that fact that everything in this fucking world was just too small to accommodate his height. The soap that came with the room smelt like shit, so he didn’t bother with using any of it to wash himself. Just sluiced off, while he listened to the crazy bitch lying on the bed talk to herself.
During the next five days, he found out what she was. Fucking vampire. Like something out of a damn horror movie. He’d watched her skin bubble under sunlight, seen what a cross did when it touched her just between her perfect breasts. Two days after that, and the imprint was still there, dark and red like it was never going to go away. He’d let her fasten her mouth to his wrist and feed, dagger fangs sliding so neatly into the vein and the deep sucking pull of her swallows dragging his blood down into herself. Gave her the illusion of warmth after he’d had to pull her off and then fucked her so hard that they’d broken one of the slats underneath the mattress.
At the moment, she was dangling by her wrists from what had been the light fitting, while he sat and smoked a cigar. The whip marks over her body were slowly fading, but the deep sullen red of the scattered burns from the holy water was staying like a stain on her white skin. Kinda pretty, if you looked at it the right way. Her thighs were slick, wet. Every so often, she’d let out a soft moan around the gag of cloth he’d put in her mouth, wriggle her hips and try and get herself some friction by moving her legs together. Just high enough so that her toes were touching, but nothing else was. She was almost dancing in place, swaying like a tree in the wind.
Creed was getting bored of this. As interesting as it had been to find someone who could take everything he gave her and find some sort of pleasure in it, he was bored now. There was something about forced submission, making someone bend to him when they didn’t want to. Proper pain responses, the crying and the hurt noises. She just loved it. Any attention at all. And she was getting to be a whiny pain in the ass as well. Kitty this, and kitty that. Sometimes she’d actually call him by his name, but those moments of lucidity were few and far between.
She was just too much fucking work, and that was the truth of it. If he ever wanted a settled relationship, it wasn’t going to be with some fucking lunatic cunt who got off on pain. Which wasn’t even going into the fact that she was dead. Vampire or not, what she was, was fucking dead
. Not that he was ever going to. He’d leave that love forever true soul mate bullshit to the runt. That was enough reason to never want to touch it with a ten foot pole that was attached to someone else’s hand.
Rubbing his jaw with his hand, he got up from the bed and stubbed out his cigar on the ashtray. Time to move on. Besides, someone had contacted him about a hit. Which meant he’d be going anyway. This avenue of passing the time was exhausted. She should just be glad he didn’t separate her head from her shoulders before he left.
“I’m leaving,” he informed her, one slice of his claws shredding the twisted rope of sheets that was holding her on her feet. She dropped to the ground at his feet, head bowed as he walked away to get dressed. Sliding his belt through the loops of his pants, he could smell her blood on it and he grimaced a little in distaste. He’d just have to get a new fucking wardrobe, if everything he wore was going to stink like her. Grabbing his duffel, he headed for the door.
She followed him like a love sick cow.
Backhanding her across the face, he sent her flying across the room. The bitch got up and looked at him, face turning all ridged and fanged. Like he was scared of that.
“I don’t care what you do, but I’m leaving.”
It was getting to be sunny out as he walked out into the parking lot and then headed for the motel office. He’d pay the bill, and he’d even throw in payment for her until the night so that she didn’t get herself killed. See, he was being a nice guy. As nice as he could manage to squeeze out on occasion.
Apparently the hit was in Nebraska or something, middle of bum fuck nowhere. Should be a nice, easy kill. Maybe he’d swing in by Westchester while he was on the road, see how the runt was doing. Taunt him into a nice little scrap, kick his ass and then keep going. Problem would be keeping his buddies out of it. The X-Men were fucking pussies, not able to just fight one on one. They always had to be in a fucking team...
Thinking thoughts of blood and slaughter, Victor Creed threw his bag into the back of the car he was renting at the moment and then got going. Although the blinds at the room he’d been sleeping in moved, he didn’t give them a second glance as he gunned the motor and roared out of the parking lot. There was nothing there that he was concerned with anymore.