By Fojiao2
Derek Bamford just killed his last person. He caught her unawares in her bed and, after a particularly vicious anal rape, flipped her over and cut out her liver with his curved knife. Her screams would have been horrific, if he hadn't taken the precaution of gagging her with her dead husband's hand. He now rises from the bed and holds up his reward to the heavens. Covered in blood, he fumbles with the zipper of his jeans and buttons himself up before leaping from the third-story window and landing smoothly on the sidewalk below.
It's the fifteenth liver he's collected in this city, and it would give me no greater pleasure than to spear him from the rooftop right now. All I can do is indulge in the fantasy of seeing the shaft shoot through his back, clipping two of his floating ribs on its way down, jerking him out of his forward motion and sticking him to the earth like the bug he is. It would be so bloody sweet. But no, Dru and I have to crouch and watch him leave, making our own silent way across the rooftops, never letting him drop out of sight. He's obviously enhanced by some sort of magic or he'd never be able to move with the speed and power that he maintains. But he's no match for Dru, and my experience gives me all the advantage one could need to stop such a sodding amateur.
We could have stopped him last night. We could have stopped him tonight. But when we found last night that he was traveling with a band of ghouls our plans changed. We would have to follow him back to his home and eliminate the band that pimped him or they'd just use another body to fulfill their goals. We'd taken our pleasure by eliminating the ghoul escort who had accompanied Bamford last night. They were three fools and we had a glorious spree knocking them into their base components. But tonight's business is more serious and we have to let Bamford and his escorts wend their way back to their home cemetery.
Ghouls are serious business as a rule. I'd rather face ten demons or a nest of vampires than a fully functioning band of ghouls. They have human craftiness without the weaknesses of vampires, almost as bad as an intelligently-led troop of zombies. But it's obvious by their use of Bamford to collect materials that they're still nascent and no bigger than a collection of 10-15 ghouls. A perfect size for Dru and me. That's why we've stopped in Houston on our way to visit Spike and Baby. Eliminating Bamford and his ghoul companions was originally supposed to be a night's diversion, but now that it's stretched into two nights both Dru and I have only gotten hungrier for blood and destruction. Tonight's diversion will be even better, and these ghouls are going to regret the very moment they caught our attention.
But we have no time to dawdle. We're following Bamford at a dead run across rooftops, leaping from foothold to handhold to slippery tile. We seem to be in a Chinese section of town, or so the signs and billboards here lead me to guess. I lean over a roof to spy Bamford meeting with five ghouls on a street corner when Dru picks me up with one of her powerful ivory fists and throws me to the left.
I get into it, sailing toward a rooftop across this broad street, a distance of more than forty yards. There was no way I could have jumped it, so my
ladylove gave me a hand. As I knew she would. Not for a moment did I think she meant me the least harm. It's just the way of the world with us. Both of us live in shifting realities where nothing is to be trusted and relied upon. Yet we've chosen to trust each other above all else, above reason or sanity or our own experience. We took a leap of faith and fell into each other. And we've yet to be disappointed.
My feet start to slide as soon as I land on the other roof, but I jab my javelin into the wood tiles and lean on it, steadying myself. Dru lands hard on the roof but a few moments later, the edges of her longcoat and her long dark locks flying forward as she arrests her fall. She looks up quickly to make sure I'm alright, and our eyes catch. My God she is beautiful, a pale goddess of strength, a daughter of the moon fallen into my life. I swing on my javelin and fall onto her, wrapping my arms around her torso to gain stability. She is as solid as marble, as sure-footed as if standing on pavement. Our eyes are still electric with the pure thrill of being next to each other. I'm a little out of breath from that exertion but it doesn't matter-I catch her lips with my own and we lose ourselves in the moment.
Oh, it's a sure temptation to forget any duty but this. When I hold Dru and stroke the unbreakable delicacy of her breast I tell myself that I'm insane to want to do anything else. Air, food, money; they're all nought but distractions that are trying to take me from the arms of my love. Why is it that we can't tear each others' clothes off and satisfy our passion on this roof, howling our pleasure to the moon? Why the bloody hell not? But of course, the answer comes to me: duty. There are evil beings getting away with murder here and if we don't stop them now there'll be little stopping them later. A working band of ghouls this close to Louisiana could do damage to my ladylove's childe. And that cannot be allowed.
I pull back from Dru's sweet mouth and scan the street below. No sign of Bamford. "Do you have their scent, lovely girl?" I ask her.
She smiles shyly, as if she weren't just thrusting her pelvis at me seconds before. I pour endearments on her every minute of the day yet they are never enough-I must tell her constantly how special and beautiful she is. And of course I don't regret it for a moment: I'll do it until we're both dust and then spend any afterlife searching for her hand. Her eye catches the moonlight and she nods. "They're not far, my Wesley. We'll wrap them up like spiders in our web and suck them dry."
"That we will, my jewel. Now let's be off."
We catch up with them at their cemetery, a jumbled collection of mausoleums and tombs, probably built because of the area's flooding. It's a surprisingly small boneyard, located at the edge of where a winding neighborhood road starts to be lost in pine trees. Barely two miles from here one would be surrounded in urban monotony, yet this place is timeless and cool with the trees in the night air. After the familiar canyons of Los Angeles it's good to feel lost again; we should visit the South more often.
As we watch from our perch on the roof of a mausoleum, Dru and I are hyper-silent. This close to the prize we cannot afford to let these ghouls slip away. The sight that greets us is exactly what we expected: a circle of twelve ghouls who await their human envoy. They are gray-skinned and thinly humanoid, with two rows of razor-sharp teeth and glowing green eyes. They are hunched forward and chanting, gathered around a boiling cauldron. A gap opens in their circle and Bamford steps forward, holding the fresh liver in front of him. The woman he took it from was heir to a long and venerable line of witches from Tierra del Fuego. If only she'd known it, and learned to use her gifts, she might still be alive. As it was her blood and flesh would be the catalyst for a spell that would have awakened a host of new ghouls.
Would have. But Dru and I are here now, and there's no time like the present to shatter their dreams of mastery. I stand and ready my javelin, grinning as I do so. Oh, the sweetness of this moment. To bring a dream to reality and spear this walking pustule-I've put it off too many hours already. I let fly and the heavy wood buries itself directly through his heart, knocking Bamford back from the awaiting cauldron, the liver dropped into the dust that is quickly filling with his lifeblood. I knew what the effect would be and have already made my way to the ground, Dru simply leaping from the mausoleum's roof and landing with bone-crunching authority on her feet. God, every move she makes is a poem. It's so rare that I can coax her out of wearing skirts, but the necessity of running across rooftops convinced her to join me in black jeans, a simple t-shirt, and a leather duster. She keens with delight as she rushes forward, diving into the mass of ghouls with her hands moving like saw blades to tear them limb from limb.
I don't have the advantage of her strength, speed, or ability to shrug off mortal wounds. But I do have my own specialities. I remove my favorite axe from its sheath on my back and step forward, ready to dismember these shambling flesheaters. Killing them for good and all is always difficult. Removing their heads is not even a sure guarantee, for if their body is close enough to it the corpse will move of its own volition and take its head back. The method preferred here is to cut them into enough small pieces that they simply stop moving, and the best way to do that is to concentrate on the joints. Wrists, elbows, shoulders, necks, waists, knees, ankles. My axe is perfect for the job.
I'm lucky: only three of their number start to move toward me, but they're the three largest. Dru is so involved in the fray that it takes the rest just to
slow her down. Looking over the shoulders of my adversaries I can see her grab a ghoul by its neck and toss it like a rag doll, smashing the length of its body on the pavement beneath her like a whip until its legs separate and the whole body starts to fall apart. Simply stunning. She is a wailing machine of death in their midst, shrieking and howling as she uses her hands, her feet, and her mouth to tear them apart.
Well, can't let her have all the fun. My opponents are now upon me, choosing to fan out and make my job harder. If I concentrate on one the other two
will rush me, yet the damage I'd do to all three at the same time would not incapacitate them. I choose the path of least resistance and bury my axe into the shoulder of the ghoul in the center, splitting it down to the middle of its chest. But I do not stand my ground: still holding the axe's handle, I scramble up the falling body and use its momentum carry me away from the other two ghouls. I yank my axe out of its heart and rush for Bamford's body. He's still twitching, and I remember that it really has been less than two minutes since he was hit. I retrieve my javelin and push the end into the hole at the base of my axe handle. A twist as the metal piece on the javelin rolls into its lock inside the handle, and now it's solid. I no longer have an axe: I have a halberd, giving me at least four feet of reach with the wide blade. I twirl the long handle over my head and bring the blade down on a ghoul that Dru has just thrown aside, severing its waist from its torso. It sneers up at me and I smash its face flat before severing the head and then removing both arms at the shoulders.
My darling girl doesn't need the help, of course. But I'd much rather cut up the bastards that are attacking her than waste my time on the hapless threesome who have yet to stagger over to where I am now. They'll get their death when I'm good and ready. Thinking no more on them, I wade into the pitched battle that rages around Dru, jabbing the sharp end of the handle into a protesting mouth and chopping the axe-blade into a shoulder on the other side of the group. The long halberd handle now stands before me like a balancing bar, and I use this moment to swing up onto the handle and use it as a perch while I draw a butterfly sword from the collection of blades strapped to my legs. It allows me to lean forward and chop the head off a ghoul that was just about to pounce onto Dru's shoulders. The head drops but the body keeps moving, and I leave the halberd to leap onto this body and start dissecting it with strong, straight cuts. I'm surrounded by gray flesh, legs and crotches in my face, but I concentrate on my task with the firm knowledge that Dru is right behind me and my halberd is only two feet away. In seconds it's merely a collection of parts, and I stand up ready to hack into anyone else who menaces me.
I see that the ghoul I stabbed in the mouth has recovered and taken my halberd for its own use. It steps forward, swinging the blade toward my head from far away. Its last mistake. I can't help but smile, and my "killer" looks at me in confusion. Long before the blade can sweep through where my head would have been I've ducked forward and covered the distance of the handle, bringing the butterfly sword into its gut. It drops the halberd in surprise and I catch the wooden handle before it can hit the pavement: I don't want any marks made on the blade. The heavy end makes a wide parabola above my head once more and I plant the javelin-point like a flagpole into my attacker just where the throat meets the chest. This allows me to pull the sword from its gut and then spend a leisurely thirty seconds or so chopping it up.
I then spin around to see if I can help Dru at all. I'm surprised-and somewhat pleased-at her state. The ghouls have not been easy on her, and have torn her coat off as well as ripped holes in her shirt and pants, holes that are giving me delicious peeks of her pale flesh as she moves. She stands atop a hill of body parts with a single ghoul punching her in the face. She's taking the punches with a grin, not really being hurt at all, though I can see blood dripping from a large gash on her forehead and down both her arms. Finally deciding to end it, she leaps up and brings a boot directly to its head, setting her other foot down on its shoulder and standing there, bring her full weight down. It crumples beneath her and she reaches down and throws arms and legs away like she were picking berries. Finally she grabs the skull with both hands and crumples it like a tin can, shaking the pulpy, bloody mess off her hands as she stands up.
She's devastating with those high kicks. I wish she'd demonstrate it more often and possibly get more respect from Cordelia than she does. But Dru is addicted to those full skirts, and such a move is impossible in them. Part of what I so love about her. She knows her strengths, knows her full power, and feels no need to show them off or prove herself to others. So much of her is hidden, and I alone have the key, just as she alone holds the key to my inner palace of darkness.
And finally the moment has come: the disappointment. There are still two ghouls left alive, the remainders of the three who tried to attack me earlier, but they won't be a challenge. We barely got ten whole minutes of fighting from this lot. What matters the bloody wounds and soreness we'd have afterward-if we could have had a sustained thirty-minute battle it would have kept us giggling to each other for weeks. As it is we appreciate how good this one has been and that we don't get all that many like it. Too little in this world can feed the need for thrills and pain that drive my lovely girl and me. Maybe we should try living on a Hellmouth sometime.
Now the two hapless, witless ghouls shuffle toward us, and I'm tempted to tell them to shove off. But I do my duty. I sweep the halberd's blade around and cut them both in half, then move forward with my butterfly sword to do the close-up work. A minute later I'm free to concentrate on Drusilla once more. Since I saw her state of dress I've been thinking about removing her shirt.
She knows what I'm thinking, of course, but won't look up to catch my eye. Dru studies her mound of anatomy, making sure that everything has stopped moving and stomping anything that won't be still. And casually, as if it were nothing at all, she rips her shirt off and uses it to clean her hands.
I gasp. She is simply the most gorgeous creature to have touched this sordid earth. At one and the same time, she knows this and yet is completely insecure about her loveliness. Maybe she thinks that I alone appreciate every nook and cranny of her sublime form and ignores the stares that men (and plenty of women) shoot her way as she drifts through this world. I don't know. The fact is that she knows the landscape of my mind far better than I know hers. It doesn't worry me. We haven't been together an entire decade yet, and I could spend a century plumbing the depths of her spirit.
I return the weapon to its place at my side and step forward, hands already aching to touch her breasts. She smiles coyly-no other face in the world can do it so well-and steps around me, not allowing me to touch her yet. She steps lightly to Bamford's body and kneels beside it, still on her heels. The action opens up a large rip in her jeans and reveals her silken bush, her labia spread. I'm fascinated by the sight of it, the sight of her unconsciously powerful beauty. I'm so entranced by it that I don't notice her motioning me to join her until she actually whispers, "Wesley!"
At once I'm by her side. She's gripping the dead man's head, shaking it in frustration, and now I know what she wants. It's a fact that, though most of his blood has leaked onto the ground around us, at least a pint will still be in the head because of the brain's absorbing properties. Funny what you learn living with vampires. The problem is how to get it out without spilling the thing. I hunch down next to her and caress her hands until she lets go, then brings them together and sets them in her lap. I have plans for that lap and those hands in just a few minutes. For now my baby wants a drink.
I swing the butterfly sword around and chop through the neck in one solid move. Slipping that glorious blade back into its sheath, I pull my switchblade from my boot and pop it open. I jab it into the back of the head, all the way to the haft, and jerk it in a circle to widen the hole. When I consider it wide enough I hand the head to Dru and she giggles, pulling it to her face and drinking from it like a coconut. Her head lolls back so she can drain every drop, and I find myself looking directly into the dead eyes of Derek Bamford, convicted serial killer, prison escapee, and wanted fugitive.
Too bad, mate, I think. You were good, living on the run for more than a year. The police were baffled, the FBI hoodwinked, and the public frightened. You were better than all of them and could have made quite a name for yourself. Too bad the ghouls saw such potential in you and used your skills to bring about their rising. Too bad you attracted my attention and got my ladylove sniffing after your trail. Because as good as you were, you weren't the best. And in case the winners of that category slipped your mind, well, one of them is sipping from your mind at this moment.
Dru chuckles, her mouth full of blood. She drops the head at her feet and I again get a clear view of her pussy, waiting tenderly for me. She swallows and says, "S-sipping from your mind," then giggles and looks at me through her long eyelashes. "Good one, Wesley. I'm good at sipping from minds."
I reach out and caress her cheek. "You're good at everything you do, my love." She leans her head into my palm and that's it for me: I leap onto her. Bowling us both over I lock my mouth onto hers. Tendrils of Bamford's hair and sticky blood remain on her face, and while this is catalogued into a part of my brain, most of me doesn't give a damn. I taste the cold blood that she just drank as our tongues swirl around each other. Strange how no one ever mentions the advantages of vampire strength in the realm of tongues. Should I ever become one myself I'll be sure to concentrate on exercising that particular muscle on Dru.
I keep my mouth connected to her delicious flesh as I sweep my tongue down her jawline and onto her throat, taking small nibbles along the lines of non-working veins I find there. I feel Dru's powerful hands at work at my waist, unbuckling my pants and opening me to her. God, I'm so hard I could punch a hole through bone. Her clever hands are already sliding up and down the length of my prick, dancing along my balls, a single palm juggling them with experienced fingers. I moan and attack her breasts, my own hands doing a fair amount of squeezing, my tongue dragging across her nipples, circling them, its fine point outlining them and pressing harshly into the areola, then laving them again with the tongue's rough flat surface. My hands, meanwhile, are kneading the flesh my mouth doesn't cover and not stopping to check for bruises. Now she's squealing with the sensations I'm concentrating on bringing to her. Beneath me, her own hands are doing some exciting exploring and squeezing, and I've been held in check too long waiting for this moment, I'm just about to-
Quick as lightning she rolls me over and leaps up like a fairy maiden, dancing away from me with vampire-speed. She's giggling all the while, singing to herself yet dancing to a completely different tune. I look up to the stars above me framed by pine trees and let out a long, trembling breath. There it is: my control. I have it back, and just when I was about to be lost. Having a psychic wife is good for many things, but the advantages in sexplay have to rank at the top. Still hard and more ready than ever to perform, I sit up and tear at the laces of my boots until I'm freed of them, then stand and shuck my jeans with a *clank* of cutlery. Naked and needy in the night air, I run toward the labyrinth of mausoleums to find my darling girl.
She's easy to discover, of course, because she doesn't stopsinging. I turn a corner and see her reclined on a tombface, having kicked offher own boots and ripped away the remnants of her pants. She is a moonlitnymph, a pale icon of SEX and DEATH, and I can taste her arousal from ten feetaway. I let my voice carry in front of me, paraphrasing Byron in one of ourfavorite passages. "You walk in beauty, like the night," I tell her, stoppingher song instantly, "Of cloudless climes and starry skies." I step forward andcontinue when I am by her side, my eyes roving over her pale loveliness. She iswaist-high to where I'm standing, like a feast awaiting me. "And all that'sbest of dark and bright meet in your aspect, and your eyes." My hands move oftheir own will to caress her breasts and then slide down her tight abdomen tobetween her legs.
"Wesley?" she whispers while I explore her thighs and kiss the skin around her navel. "What are you going to doooo?" Her tone is dreamlike, her eyes half-closed. It's an old game with us but one we never tire of. She cannot predict my movements on her if I act as soon as I think, letting my passion guide me. And it's always best to vocalize.
"I'm going to start," I tell her, "by climbing up there with you. Not on you, mind, but just around you. I might slip, after all, because you are so very, very wet. My lovely, icy queen of the night." Now Dru's eyes are firmly closed, and I let my voice carry her where I want. "Yes, I think we can do something with this wetness. Turn over, love. Now."
Dru is instantly on her hands and knees, waving her round and glorious ass at me, and I'm on my knees behind her, cock waving like a flagpole. I run my hands over her cheeks and say, "Oh, that's just right, my girl. You know where you want it. And that's-" I don't think about it, just do it: slap my hand on her right cheek, and bring my hand back to do it again-"Just where you'll get it. Ooh, was that a sting, my dear? Did it surprise you? Did-" Another hard spank-"That catch you off guard? Or was it too good?" I dip my hand into her cunt, coating my fingers and bringing that lubrication to her pucker. "I know what will make me feel good now." I work first one, then two fingers into her bunghole, twirling them, coating her inside and out. Then I give her a few more hard swats for good measure, and she coos for me, burbling her pleasure.
I break all contact with her, my hands leaving her body for the first time in minutes, and say, "Well, you know, it's getting late. Now I might not even-" At which point I grab her hips, ready myself at her ass and thrust home. Dru moans and writhes, her head seemingly very far away across the smooth expanse of her back, her midnight tresses shaking around her shoulders. Good idea: I reach out and grab two handfuls of her hair, pulling her head back while I piston into her rear. There is deep eroticism in putting a vampire into a position where her throat is so exposed, as we both found out long ago. I'm not merciful in the slightest, really yanking on her hair for all I'm worth, forcing her to arch backwards. "This is what you need, what you've needed all night," I tell her. "I wanted to take you on that rooftop, to make you scream across those city streets. I would have let your chest dangle over the edge while I reamed you proper from above, just like I'm doing now. The bastards below would die of jealousy. You'd have torn half the shingles off that roof, have let us both plunge to the street below, I know it. We'd have cracked our skulls on the sidewalk but I'd still make you come, my lovely, I'd have buried myself in you as my dying act and taken you right over the edge, cumming into death, right past it. We're both bound for it, love, joined at the hips into eternity."
"Wes!" she cries.
I stop cold. "You know not to call me that, dear heart. You sound like my mother."
"Wesley! Oh, my dear boy! My blood jewel!" she wails.
I give her hair a particularly hard yank and then start driving myself into the cold depths of her ass once more. "That's nice, love, but be quiet: you're not in the driver's seat now. I think we BOTH-" *smack* "KNOW!" *smack* "WHO!" *smack* "IS!" *smack*
I get a low throaty chuckle from her for that one, and I grin fiercely myself, lost in the sensation of thrusting into her. I indulge in this silently for some minutes, accompanied by Dru's trills and squeals, before I pull out. I turn over and rest my back on the tomb's gritty surface, then hook an arm around my girl's waist and pull her sopping cunt down to my mouth, drinking from her. I coat my face in her juices, rubbing my cheeks against her honeyed center before bringing my lips back to hers. My tongue delves inside her, separating her fat, engorged folds to tickle the more delicate parts deep within. As my nose bumps her clit, Dru sits up on her haunches, her feet on either side of my head, her hands circulating through my hair. I grab her hips and pull her closer, my mouth working to bring her the maximum amount of pleasure, my teeth even scraping her lips to guarantee that baseline of pain that we both enjoy.
When Dru comes she roars like a lioness, her head thrown back to cry to the moon and sky, her dark mane whipping around her head. She stands in ivory splendor, arms open, keening into the night, and below her I can only look up in admiration of everything that she is. She looks down at me with her game face on, a lion in form as well as deed, predatory eyes yellow and glowing, fangs extended. "Oh, bring it to me, my love," I tell her through my grin.
She takes two steps backward and plunges herself onto my cock, her firm cunt muscles gripping me and pulling me into her irresistibly. I arch my back to meet her, the rough face of the tomb already cutting into my back and arms. I'm not sure I can even feel my legs, so powerful and possessive is the force that has latched onto me. But I meet her thrust for damaging thrust, knowing that I'll be the first injured but not really caring.
Suddenly her face is directly in mine, ridged forehead just inches from my own, mouth snarling, amber eyes searching, her mind poking out and rifling through my own. It's always the same-this moment of intimacy only heightens her natural distrust, and no other moment could better reveal the truth of her partner's thinking. So of course I open myself to her completely, let her investigate every corner of my consciousness. I give her access to what no other being on the planet could wrest from me with the harshest tortures known to demonkind. Freely and unhesitantly I invite her in.
It only shows her how deep my love for her is, how much she is truly a part of me. It clearly demonstrates that I would have no life without her, that I would die for her a hundred times over, that I will end my life on the day she loses hers. Unforgivably disappointed with the world I was given at birth, I've chosen to be reborn and to make Drusilla my world, to live in the sunshine of her smile and the shade of her open arms. Spike and Angelus choose to build fine homes and surround themselves with family; they are both fine men, and I respect them deeply. But the only home I have lies in the lap of my darling girl. Her embrace is the hearth to which I shall always return. Where she is is comfort and love and my sole protection from the cruelties of reality. She knows that she can trust me with her heart, with everything that she is, and our minds caress and dance in the surety of our love.
We are both shocked from this interior joy by my coming, my body arched toward my crotch and almost beyond my control as I shoot gouts of life into her. Every hair on my body is tingling with the electric thrill of it. Our nervous systems are linked through her mind, making Dru come at the same time, and she roars her pleasure into my ear, shocking me, which in turn shocks her. We're both lost in sensation, rocked on an ocean of sound and orgasmic thrill in the darkness, cut off from the rest of the world. It takes minutes for us both to regain our senses, to even feel each other. Like always, we've had the best goddamn orgasms of our lives.
I'm still panting heavily, my body trying to recapture some order after the endurance race it just went through. The part of my brain that never quite looks away from its watch is already considering how long it will be until dawn, whether Dru's longcoat is still mostly intact somewhere, how we'd find clothes for her if it wasn't, where we could go to sit out the day together, etc. etc. The rest of me doesn't give a bloody damn. My lovely girl is curled up with me on the tomb, her eyes glowing with love and gratitude, and I pull her to me for a deep kiss.
Not bad for an evening's diversion, eh?
~Fin~