The Clavian Triptych

by Schehrezade

The scent was all over the hacienda that he had liberated from its previous owners and moved Dru and himself into.  

Sultry and sweet, it played on his honed senses. His sire had been fucking yet another one or ones in their bed –again. Spike grimaced and stalked straight into the living area, searching for something to mute the ever-present pain in the pit of his stomach and heart. He wondered if vamps could get ulcers as he pushed his way past the throngs of gits that Dru had invited for another party.  

He ignored the stares and muttered comments; his Spanish was good enough to understand the whispers. He wanted to leap onto the long marble bar and yell at them all, ‘Yes, I know I’m a frigging cuckold. Yes, I get that she’s upstairs letting god knows what fuck her.  Yes, I grasp I should do something about it’. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it; he was worn down and heartsore.  

Spike growled at a large Chitanous demon that reeked of his sire.  It clicked its mandibles at him mockingly and then chattered to its companion. Spike stared at the demon that looked like a massive cockroach walking on its hind legs and his eyes flashed amber.  He bared his fangs at the bastard and then ripped its head off in a fluid move that even surprised him.  

Ignoring the gasps and shocked murmurs from the other party goers, he punted the head out of the open French windows, and tossed the carcass after it. Not wanting any of its pale lilac blood to stain the marble floor of his latest home.  

It was a right smart place, all the mod cons a vamp could ask for with the added extra of a massive wine cellar. Just perfect for Dru and her obsession with torturing the local beauties and innocents.  She was a dab hand at being the bestower of pain, something the nancy boy bastard son of a potato farmer had instilled in her. Personally, he never liked to play with his food, nanny had taught him better than that.  

Shouldering his way past a cadre of vamps, he headed for the veranda and the comparative peace of the night. Spike took a long pull on the bottle of tequila hanging from his fingers. He grimaced at the memory of the bog-trotting ninny that his sire was still pining for. And punishing him for attacking and leaving Daddy to the dubious fate in store for him from the Slayer’s capable and steady hands.  So she made sure he could smell her latest fuck toy, every night a different one. Male, female, young and old – demonic or mortal, Dru was not discriminating. She just opened her legs to all and sundry, to punish him for siding with the Slayer. Despite himself, Spike smiled at the memory of the blonde firecracker that had kicked his granddad’s arse so soundly.   

 He sank down on the swing that Dru had insisted he gift her with, along with jewels, pretty girls in dresses and countless other things that she had tossed back in his face with a cold sneer. Sometimes he loathed Dru as much as he loved her, but her weird fascination with nesting really pissed him off.  

Spike laid back and deliberately rubbed his boots on the cushions. He dropped one foot down onto the terracotta-tiled veranda and swung himself back and forth. Spike grinned at the mess of the cushions, knowing that she would throw a fit over the dirt on her chintzy bits. Fumbling around in his duster for his cigarettes, he lit one and inhaled deeply.  He needed a moment of peace before he could face the inevitable tossing out of the gits inside and the oh so delightful confrontation with his sire in their bedroom.  He did hope it wasn’t another mucus demon, or even worse, a Chaos demon.  He was tired of the slime and grime that Dru was wearing like a second skin these days.  

It had been bad enough watching and listening to her shagging the poof in Sunnyhell, but some of the berks she was dangling in front of his resigned face these days took the biscuit. And yet, he still loved her and wanted her.  She was his Dark Princess and no matter what she did, he would stay faithful and follow her to the ends of the earth. Her willing slave. Spike sighed quietly, puffed on his fag and then took a long drink from the bottle.  He wished he’d had time to find something with a bit more kick to help numb the pain that was welling up within him.  

“Did you see what he did to Diego?” a camp male voice hissed.  

Spike opened one eye and listened to the two fledglings gossiping by the open doors.  

“I know. Such a disgrace, ripping the poor boy’s head off…it’s not like he was the first between her legs,” his companion replied with an equally fey voice.  “Also, you know his hive will not be happy.  They’d picked him out for the next stud for their Queen.  What will happen now, I wonder? Ohhhh, do you think there might be a vendetta?”  

“I doubt it.  Come on, there aren’t enough of the Aurelian clan left. The Master’s whore is long since dusted, and I heard she had quite a reputation too.  Could make a vampire’s toes curl with a flick of her tongue.  My sire told me that the Master kept her around because she was the finest cocksucker in the Western Hemisphere .”  

“Really? I hear she was quite a looker too, if you liked women, that is.” The second voice was now filled with disgust at the thought of a female being anywhere near him.  

“What a horrific thought. I mean, who would want a woman in your bed when a nice firm bodied young male tied face down is more than enough for a man?” There were some sighs and giggles that made Spike want to throw up.  

“What about the other one Angelus sired…Ink or something like that, he had a very silly name.”  

“Penn, you silly boy.” There was another giggle. “Well, last I heard he was rehashing the same kill over and over in Boston . I doubt he would even lift a finger to defend that one’s honour. As for that Navy boy, Lawson…well, less said the better.  There is something very odd about him and I know he wouldn’t bother to defend Drusilla’s honour at all… such that it is,” he added slyly.  

“Honour? She’s an utter slut. I heard that she is not even letting her childe touch her in punishment for letting Angelus get sucked into hell,” he whispered knowingly.  

“Hell? Really? Ohhh, how exciting! And the blond one just let his grandsire go without raising a finger to help?”  

“Oh, from what I hear, he did raise a poker to help--on the back of his grandsire’s head. And he sided with a Slayer of all things. All because of his sire.”  

“Well I never…helping a Slayer, how utterly repugnant. I would be so ashamed to be an Aureilan.”  

“I know. Me too.”  

“So, are the Mad One’s sexual games punishment? For him?”  

“I think so…what better way to punish your lover of a century by betraying him night and day with anyone and anything.”  

“Ahhh, are you talking about the delightful Drusilla? She really does taste of plums and sin. An intoxicating mix – sinful.” There was a smacking sound as a newcomer licked his lips in memory. “She is really quite magnificent.  Have you sampled her delights yet? She will sleep with anyone so don’t be shy to approach her,” a third voice chimed in. There was a clink of glasses as the three gossips toasted Spike’s sire and her prowess in the bedroom. A small part of him died in that moment.  

“Well, no.  We are monogamous,” the first voice replied huffily. He was greeted with a deep booming laugh in response to his reply.  

“Honestly, if she offers, take her up on it. Even if you are into boys, she rather likes to watch,” the third demon added. “There were four of us in her bed earlier and her stamina is really something to marvel at!” he exclaimed.  

There was another clink of glasses and the muttered toast from the third demon, “To Drusilla, the queen of the boudoir-- a slut after my own heart.”  

Spike gritted his teeth as the trio giggled-- and took a long drink form his bottle of tequila.  

“What of her childe? Why has he allowed her to disgrace their union so?”  

“Not mated,” the third voice said dismissively. “Also, I heard…” he trailed off dramatically. Spike could almost see the other two gossips lean forward in anticipation. They reminded him of the venomous bastards that had tortured William before Dru had saved him.  

“Ohhh… do tell, what did you hear,” tittered one of the vamps, his voice rising in excitement. “We won’t tell anyone… you know we are as discrete as a Sphinx.” There was a malicious edge to the gay vamp’s voice that set Spike’s nerves on end. He stood up and stalked off to the end of the gardens, unwilling to hear a list of his girl’s transgressions. He knew she was punishing him for all his imagined and real wrongdoings with the Slayer.  

Spike growled at the sound of her cackle and the over dramatic moans as she was pounded into the mattress by her latest conquest. The open windows above his head, where offering him no protection from witnessing yet again, her predatory sexual nature.  

Which were all good and well when they were directed at him. But now…now he was close to breaking point and ready to jack it all in.  

She was a whore and he was a cuckhold.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

Spike sank to his knees on the sand; he’d made his way down the path at the bottom of the gardens to the private beach that overlooked the Gulf of Mexico . He needed to be alone, away from all the nasty whispers and gossip. It made him feel weak – made him feel like the ponce he had once been. The tormented vampire took a long pull on his ever present bottle of tequila and knelt there as still as a statue.  

Spike stared straight ahead over the water and glared at the peaceful scene.  He wanted it to bash and crash, much like his own emotions. He hated his unlife.  Where had it all gone wrong? One minute he and Dru were skipping around Europe , draining it dry, and now he was sitting on a beach in Mexico clutching a half empty bottle of Tequila while his sire – the light of his unlife-- had her skirts up around her ears and was being rodgered six ways to Sunday by all and sundry. ‘And to think I thought the Poof was cursed when he got a shiny soul shoved up his jacksy…’  

He took another drink. Thoughts of his grandsire lead to much more confusing memories – of the Slayer.  Ones that seemed to always be teasing the edges of his mind. Her golden hair hidden under a black knit hat, eyes enormous in her solemn face and the truce that he had brokered to save Dru. Despite himself, Spike sighed at the memory of her face and the scent of her perfume.   

It had all gone wrong when he had made the deal to escape Sunnyhell with his demented bitch of a sire. The same truce that had lead to the hell he was living in - still loving his Ripe Wicked Plum to distraction and having his heart broken by the object of his affections nightly with her infidelity. The Slayer had loved Angelus despite everything he’d done.  Killing friends and innocents, fucking Dru and trying to end the world and yet she had loved him. Why couldn’t Dru have loved him no matter what? It wasn’t fair. He had only done it to save them, and she was punishing him over and over. Despite himself, Spike’s mind filled with images of the small blonde, and he sighed.  

“It’s not what you wished it be, is it?” A soft voice pierced Spike’s self-imposed sulk. It was papery thin and filled with the wisdom of ages.  

“Piss off,” Spike snarled. He was down to his last nerve and a gossipy granny from the party was not what he wanted. He wanted Dru back in his arms minus the entourage of shag buddies she was building up at the rate of knots.  

“Poor William.  All you have ached for is love, a pure and abiding one that will sustain your poet’s heart and soul,” the whispery voice cooed. “I have seen it.”  

“Oh, well aren’t you just spot on, oh wise one.  Silly bint. I don’t have a sodding soul to love!” Spike growled and picked up a handful of sand and threw is clumsily in the direction of the latest torment of his unlife. “Now run off and go play in the traffic,” he shouted over one shoulder, determinedly facing the expanse of water that mocked him with its calmness.  

There was a cackle of laughter and the old woman who had been hidden in the shadows of the trees surrounding the private cove stepped into the moonlight and Spike’s line of vision. She was a wrinkled crone with long, thick white hair that hung over her shoulders and down to her waist. She reeked of magicks and a power unlike any he had ever experienced. Spike eyed her cautiously over his shoulder.  She looked and smelled like a gypsy and he knew from personal experience that Aurelian males and gypsies meeting up lead to hair gel and rat breath.  

“You just keep your distance, Grandma.” Spike stood and turned to face her completely. He bounced on the balls of his toes, feeling more than a little feisty and ready to take on whatever the old crone threw at him.  

“One day she will tell you.”  

‘Well, ready to take on anything but that...’ Spike’s mind blanked and then he swallowed hard, tears appearing in the corners of his eyes.  

“She will?”  

The old woman gilded across the sand. Spike watched her, a sense of doom rapidly replacing the elation of moments ago. The old bag was not what she seemed to be.  She cast no shadow and it didn’t look like she had feet.  The hair on the back of his neck rose and he vamped out, golden eyes glinting in the moonlight as he growled a warning at the supernatural being that was approaching him.  

“That’s close enough, Grandma,” he hissed and took a defensive stance. She raised her head in his direction and Spike recoiled at the horrific sight of her empty black eye sockets. “Christ…” He shivered as goose bumps prickled all over his skin.  

She raised her hands and ghosted them over Spike’s face and chest. “Your Senorita is a pretty little thing, all sunshine and hope…” The Seer smiled slyly at Spike, reached over and tapped him on the end of the nose. “I see it, in your mind and heart…you have walked through worlds others have never imagined…your heart is glowing…glistening…effulgent.”  

Spike jumped a foot in the air and then stepped back from her waving hands. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.  She had repeated the same words that his darling plum had done all those years ago when she had liberated him from societies strictures and rules, showing him her world in all it’s blood red glory. “How did you—?”  

“I see it all.  Your love is very great, but misspent on the object of your affection. There is another.” The old woman smiled serenely at him, ignoring the agitation that was pouring off his black clad body as Spike paced back and forth.  

He stopped and whirled, jabbing an angry finger at her.  Her final declaration was one too many; there would be no one else for him except Dru. “Have you been at the wacky backy, Grandma? You’re stark raving bonkers.  Now why don’t you toddle off and get your meds sorted for the night like a good girl.” Spike waved his hands at her and managed to soak the old woman’s tattered robes with Tequila. “Oh…sorry luv,” he whispered sheepishly.  

“No matter, sweet William.  Still a proper boy under your leather and rebellion, are you not?” She smiled again and clasped her wrinkled hands in front of her.  

“God, shut it granny and piss off.  God, why do you women torment me?” Spike howled and threw the now empty bottle onto the sand in irritation.  

“She will tell you what you desire most to hear, William, but it will not be who you expect.” With that, the white haired seer vanished before his startled eyes. Leaving him with unanswered questions teeming in his mind and heart.  

In her wake, she left a vampire teetering on the edge of a path no other soulless demon had ever trodden.

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