SITE: http://www.verticalcrawl.com
DISTRIB: My site, list archives. Just ask first.
FEEDBACK: *taps foot expectantly*
SPOILERS: S4. Tara.
RATING: R
PAIRING: Spike/Tara, Spike/Angel.
SUMMARY: William the Bloody takes his first Childe.
Not beta-read. Just for the record.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
~Part: 1~
She remembers clinging to damp leather, panting against a shaking throat that gulped down mouthfuls of her own lifeblood. She remembers struggling with dwindling conviction, restrained in strong arms, held by solid hands. She remembers the feel of the cold brick against her back, crushing her shoulder blades, and she remembers the hard body pressing into her. She remembers the smell, and she remembers inhaling lungfuls of it, committing it to memory. She remembers moaning at the pain, at the closeness, and the finality of it. She remembers her lips latching, drinking, and she remembers wanting more. She remembers closing her eyes to the world, knowing she wouldn't fall.
She wakes up looking at peeling black upholstery, and wrinkles her nose at the immediate recognition of his smell. She feels strange but energized. She props herself up on her elbow and peers around herself casually. Painted car windows, vibrating softly with every bump in the road. Filtered sunlight makes irregular pattern on her legs, zigzagging up her bare calves to the dirty, bunched-up skirt around her thighs. Her bare feet rest against the car door, and she moves her toes to feel the warm vinyl. Her top is sticking to her skin with the lingering humidity of the previous night, and her hair does the same to her neck and cheeks. She reaches up absently and brushes the errant strands away from her mouth, observing everything about and around her from a pleasantly detached point of view.
"I'm hungry."
"In a bit, pet."
She smiles, lopsided, and nods, her back still to him. She lies down again, and folds her arm under her head.
There's no hurry.
* * *
When she lets her mind wander back to consciousness again, it's dusk, and the car door at her feet swings open heavily on its hinges. She rolls on her back and leans up on both elbows to study the man standing in front of her. He's the one with the smell, the one she knows, and he stands there with a shit-eating grin, looking at her with a million ideas in his head. He props both hands on the top of the door frame and appraises her silently. It occurs to her that in a different lifetime, her naked legs would've been an embarrassment. The moment passes, and her offers her his hand. She takes it and is pulled out of the confines of the car and into the orange glow of the evening, her crumpled skirt falling wrinkled around her legs. Her feet meet rough pavement, and she looks around, at the parked semis and RVs.
"Truck stop. We're almost there, but you need to feed."
She nods again, and steps past him, distracted by the sudden explosion of smell. Gasoline, exhaust fumes, grease from the express burger joint. Easily she pushes those smells away and takes in the more pleasant ones: sweat, bodies, and him, always him, his scent omni-present, veiling everything, hovering above her own skin, it seems. She squints, blurring the sharp edges off everything around her, something she isn't used to yet. She can see too much. It's overwhelming, and it's exciting.
She turns back to him, waiting for him to say something. He's lighting a cigarette, observing her carefully.
"You won't hunt here. Waste of time. Come."
He slams the car door shut and gestures with his head, walking past their car and away from the rest stop. They reach the edge of a small wooded area, where asphalt gives way to bright green grass, mowed but otherwise untouched. No one can see them here, unless they're paying attention. And they rarely are.
Spike settles down in the grass and tugs her down with her. He sits on his heels and pats his stomach in invitation, sucking on his cigarette one last time before flicking it away absently. Tara joins him and sits with her back to his lap and stomach, drawing her knees up to she can feel the cool prickly blades between her toes. He tucks soft blonde hair behind her ear and offers her his wrist, where the fresh wound is not quite healed yet. She runs inquisitive fingers over it, her touch feather light, and she feels his thumb caressing against her temple when she lets hunger morph her delicate features into pronounced ridges.
"Hurry up, luv..." he whispers soothingly. He wants them to be in L.A. in an hour.
She presses moist lips to his healing skin, sucking eagerly before sinking virgin teeth into family flesh. She holds his arm to her mouth with both hands, and his painted finger entwine with hers. His free hand smoothes her hair again then slips on her leg, feeling the cool skin from ankle to thigh. There is already something binding her skin to his, and her legs part slightly under his touch. He rakes gentle fingertips across her exposed flesh, then eases his arm away from her mouth.
He licks the wound close and keeps her against him a moment more, forearm wrapped protectively across her chest. She's beautiful again, and licking the corner of her mouth distractedly, peering up at the sky above them. A few stars are visible already. It's time to go.
Once in the car again, she sits beside him in the passenger seat and rolls down the window. She props her feet up on the dash and they ride silently the rest of the way. She watches the blurred scenery to her right. The loud rush of the wind accompanies Spike's fingers drumming on the steering wheel in anticipation.
~Part: 2~
Tara stops in front of the impressive building and peers upwards, cowering slightly at the sheer size of it. "Wow," she whispers.
"Gets old real fast."
Spike strides past her and into the front courtyard, where the pale stone walls of the hotel seem to engulf them both. Tara follows closely, anxious to get inside. She's hungry again, and the street noises have become too much for her for tonight. She has grown more and more restless in the car, and Spike promised her a nice surprise when they got to town. Tara found that she wasn't very patient anymore.
Spike pushes the double doors open and steps inside, stopping at the top of the small flight of stairs. His gaze sweeps the extravagant foyer. Tara sniffs the air, face hovering close to his shoulder.
"Find him."
"I... I don't..."
Spike throws a quick glance at her over his shoulder and taps the side of his nose with his finger. Tara steps back slightly, considering this for a moment, letting long seconds, heavy with silence, tick by. Then - there it is.
She reaches blindly to touch her fingers to the leather of her sire's coat, just for the contact, but steps further to the right, peering up the stairs with a sudden interest. Something pulls, strong; something she has up to now only associated with Spike, with wanting to be near him. This is a little different, like the feeling is slightly frayed around the edges. She feels Spike's eyes on her, and the same feeling, that new feeling, is there too, around him, pulling at him too. And the mix of all those feelings, those feelings that translate into smells and sounds and an almost physical pull, make an eerie kind of laughter bubble up from her gut and erupt in loud happy waves from her lips. Spike smiles, and Tara wants to jump and laugh some more and have him right there on the marble floor, but she remembers what he told her to do, and it occurs to her that she has to do it. Find him.
And so she turns and runs up the stairs, two at a time, with an energy she has never known in life, giddy, spontaneous laughter still rippling through her. He catches up with her and she runs like she's being chased by him, and it's exhilarating. She's running, barefoot with her skirt riding up her legs, and while she's never set foot in this building, she knows that he's in there, on the right, eighth door down. She isn't sure who 'he' is, but she needs to get to him, almost just as much as she needs the other to catch up with her. There's this knowledge she has that makes her run and laugh like this, something she was never sure of before, before him and before this; there is no question in her mind anymore - she fits in. It's almost visceral, and it feels good, mixed with the ever-present hunger and the arousal she now feels coursing underneath her skin at the mere thought of... family. Is that what it is?
She reaches the door and stands there motionless for a few seconds, taking in the sensations of boundless energy throbbing in her muscles, of knowing exactly where she is - and why. She resists kicking the door down by the smallest of margins, and instead puts her hand flat against the grainy wood of the door and pushes gently. The door swings open easily and Tara steps into the dark room, eyes searching.
"Hey, little girl."
Tara turns on her heels to face the voice, eyes squinting calmly as the tall figure approaches. He stops less than a foot from her and she needs to look up to meet his eyes. She does so without flinching, and sets off to memorise the human face of her patriarch. Tall, looming, dark, beautiful. Reeking of power and lust. She smiles up at him. He raises an eyebrow, amused. He stares her down a few moments more and when she doesn't break eye contact, he snickers. The sound sends chills through her bones.
"I should've known you'd pick someone just like you, William."
There's the creak of a Zippo by the door, and the smell of tobacco, but nothing else. The other man looks back at her and raises a hand to touch her hair. "Very well," he comments quietly, and her lopsided smile broadens as his palm caresses her head. "Very well."
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