Spike twirled in front of Drusilla, an arrogant smile on his full lips, his lips blood stained. Drusilla leapt off of the broken down couch and crushed his lips to hers, her tongue licking away the remnants of the Slayer’s blood from his teeth. She pulled back and grinned a mad grin.

“Tell me again! Tell me again!” She demanded, clapping her hands and bouncing in place. She grabbed the front of his new leather coat, her fingers digging into the dusty leather. She breathed the coat in, the smell of the Slayer wreathing around her skull. The wind whispered to her and she saw the girl’s face in her mind. “Oh…she was a lovely dark thing….”

“You saw all that, ducks?” Spike asked her, pressing a bloodied thumb to her forehead. She smiled and giggled huskily in her throat. With a movement like greased lightening, she pushed him down onto the broken couch, springs groaning and creaking. He licked his lips and invited her onto his lap with strong hands.

“The wind told me, my pet. It told me you broke that nasty Slayer’s neck. Like bones underfoot.” Drusilla clapped her hands under his nose as she settled down onto his lap, her skirts up over her knees.

Spike nodded, pushing his hands up under her lacy skirt, his dirty fingers digging into pale, soft flesh. She surged up onto his hand, inviting him in and he captured her lips once more. Drusilla threaded her fingers in his bleached, spiked hair, tracing the scar on his eyebrow with her tongue.

“I killed her right good, ducks. She had no prayer.” Spike whispered to her breasts, his smile wider than before as he thought of how she had fallen, how she had snapped beneath his hands. And the taste of her, dark and strong on his tongue as drank from her dead veins.

“Prayer is for the weak. The moon does not pray to the sun for warmth.” She whispered in his ear as she ripped out a handful of hair. Spike winced and pushed her down to the floor.

Drusilla giggled once more and threw back her head. She spread her legs wide and pulled her dress up over her thin frame. Spike sank slowly to his knees in front of her, pulling off the long leather duster and throwing it behind her.

With a growl, she attacked him, pulling him down on top of her, hands clenched and teeth bared. Spike smiled and gripped the leather coat beneath Dru, pushing hard, harder, hardest. Drusilla smiled and screamed.

Spike sat up. Dawn was approaching, but night was still king. He stood, stretching and yawning, his naked body glistening with sweat and other stains. Drusilla was curled up in a white ball on his leather duster, her black hair fanned out across the dusty, rotten floor.

Spike tilted his head and watched her sleep. She looked dead, her small breasts laying still, the lungs beneath motionless. Spike smiled a bit, the corners of his ruby lips lifting in a smirk. No matter how much he hated the world, there was one thing he loved. One thing that brought him home at night’s end.

The wide, decrepit balcony was calling his name. He slipped on his jeans and a spare shirt. He didn’t feel the cold, but old habits died hard. Stepping out onto the rickety overhang, New York City shined out before him. The City that Never Sleeps had a reason not to slumber. Things like him, things that went bump in the night and screamed your name. A police siren sounded across the city, echoing from the shining buildings and assaulting his ears. Spike sighed. No rest for the wicked.

Suddenly, pale spider-like hands creeped around his middle. Spike smiled and pulled Dru in front of him, his hands buried in her hair. “Smelled the dawn, did you pet?” He asked her in a tender voice.

“The sun wants to play. But he has to wait his turn.” Drusilla nodded wisely, her hands walking crab-like over the hard planes of his chest.

“Look at it out there. Slayer free. There’s nothing to stop us from destroying this city.” Spike said, spitting off the side of the building.

“I want to go back to Europe.” Dru said, her pout plain on her face. Spike scowled and pushed her away from him.

“I thought we were going to rule this city. That was the plan.” Spike said, annoyed.

“You should never laugh at a sleeping dragon. It is best to run and not to stay and wait for the fire.” Drusilla said in a hushed voice, her eyes wide as she looked down at the city below.

“I don’t understand, ducks.” Spike pleaded as she swayed to her own music.

“Dragon is coming. We must away. We must away.”

“Who is the dragon?”

“The dragon watches. He watched her. He’s always watching.”

“The Watcher is coming?” Spike said, his eyebrows rising in amusement. “His Slayer couldn’t kill me, what makes him think that he can?”

“I don’t think I can.” A strange British voice sounded behind them. Spike whirled on the intruder, incredulous.

A silvered man stood, crossbow in hand, a stake tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He spat onto the dusty floor and smiled.

“Dragon! Dragon!” Drusilla screamed hysterically, her hands going to her temples. She squeezed her eyes shut and backed up against the low balustrade.

“So, the Watcher comes.” Spike said, his tongue lolling out as he laughed in his throat.

“She will not have died in vain, fiend.” Magnus said, his green eyes blazing. “An eye for an eye.”

With that, he lifted the crossbow and fired. The arrow lodged itself in Dru’s shoulder. She screeched and fell backwards. Spike lunged for her, but she fell from the balcony before he could reach her.

Spike watched her fall, his face morphing as he growled low. He turned back to Magnus and screamed his defiance. The Watcher cast the empty crossbow aside and plucked the stake from his pocket.

Spike hit him with all the force he could muster, slamming the old man into the rotted wall. Magnus raised the stake, his strength failing him. Spike snapped his wrist with a squeeze of his hand. The stake fell from the Watcher’s useless fingers and clattered onto the floor.

“Kill me. Do it. Another Slayer waits for you and her Watcher will not let her lose. We shall never stop.” Magnus hissed at him, shaking in the vampire’s strong grip.

“But that’s where you’re wrong. WE will never stop. Kill a hundred and we’ll just get stronger. You, however, are a different story.” Spike whispered to the old man, his fingers finding his soft underbelly. “Kill you? What do we get?”

With slow, digging, jerking movements, Spike sliced the old man open. Hot, slippery ropes spilled from his stomach and over Spike’s hands. Magnus whimpered and his eyes rolled up in his head. Spike let him drop the ground, the wet, dead flesh slapping into the warm, dark blood.

“A big dark stain, that’s what you are.” Spike said, kicking at the old man’s corpse. With that, he ran from the room, stopping long enough to scoop up the leather duster on the floor. He ran down the stairs and into the dark night.

He lifted Drusilla into his arms, her head lolling limply against his shoulder. She opened an eye and smiled, her teeth blood stained. “You slayed the dragon.”

“Slayed him for you, ducks. Rest softly.” Spike whispered, as he pulled hard on the arrow lodged in her shoulder. She squeaked as it came free of her body, and then passed out once more. “Rest softly, sweets. Nothing’s going to hurt you anymore. Nothing but darkness and stains.” Slowly, Spike walked off down the street, Drusilla clutched in his stained hands.

THE END.