DEDICATION: For my dear sister, MeriBeth, who longs to get Wesley into a similar position.
February 13, 2003
Switchblade smile, flashing in the gloom; he offers that one sign of playfulness before he is back to business, always to business, prowling across the short grass toward the necropolis, the stone towers of memory defining lanes and boundaries, names and icons like scattered remnants of once-flowing thought, and he reaches behind him for the smooth-as-glass touch of she who brings more warmth than that traitor sun, the icy queen who lights the furnace in his heart, whose hand he is still seeking . . .
She has stopped for the moment: the world was racing by faster than she was, and she's slowed down to let it lap and come 'round again. Funny that the world is a fish and a tiger and a bony unicorn all at the same time, yet it is, it is quite as slippery and as sharp and as demanding, and only the true experts can ride it with any facility. She is such: she knows its depths and its stares, knows how to make it belch forth mysteries and answers, knows the paths it has taken and will take. She watches, as only she can. For this moment it has stilled, and she spreads her arms, waiting for it to come 'round once more so that she may grasp it and ride.
The space where her hand should be is empty, and for a moment his heart stops and shoots down into his stomach. She is the only important thing, the only thing of worth on this junkheap existence, and he's somehow let her hand slip from his. Idiot! He spins immediately, tracing the route they took, and finds her just as quickly, the night wrapping most of her in shadows where she sits, but he can see the lovely mask of her calm, trance-filled face, and he rushes to her, wrapping himself around her, making sure she is comfortable, making sure that she—his very world—is kept close and happy.
She feels herself taken up by the world: it slips a man's hands through her hair, down her back, and then caresses her cheek. She opens her eyes to behold Wesley, the wonderful man, the light that gives her focus, and suddenly she doesn't need to grasp the entire world for she has his arms to steady her, his heart to listen to, his loving gaze to fall into. And she does, oh, she does, she has so wanted this for minutes and minutes and minutes, an eternity in her heart. She surges up and kisses him, tearing off his coat as she does, using nearly two centuries of experience to take him to the peaks of sensation in mere moments, and his heart is racing like her hands are racing, and then she is gliding her fingers over bare flesh, this white map she has committed to memory through days and years of exploration . . .
His grin is back and work forgotten—let the cemetery crumble and its undead populace run about, he’ll not be leaving Drusilla’s arms soon. He has gone from worry to arousal in just a moment, lifting her seemingly lifeless form and watching her come alight at his touch and dive forward to catch his lips with her own. He almost thinks that she’d planned this diversion from their mission, but he knows that his darling girl does not worry him needlessly. He joyfully, gratefully helps her to remove his coat and loosen his shirt as her hands sweep inside and dance along his ribs, tickling him slightly, bringing him instantly to a state of breathlessness and excitement.
Oh how delicious is this frozen night, castaway on the shores outside of the world’s business! They are here, alone, just she and her champion, wrapped in the darkness and curling into each other. With her mortal lover she exists only in the present. No one watches, no voice interferes as Dru’s darling Wesley strips off her blouse and runs his hot mouth down her neck, onto her chest, caressing each nipple with his tongue, and biting just when she wishes him to, when she surges forward in his arms. She flips him over onto the cool night grass and kisses him deeply, her face shifting to its vampire form while her tongue is in his mouth. He shivers from the feel of this supernatural addition to their lovemaking, and she chuckles into his mouth. When her eyes meet his once more she can see the excitement blazing from him, the burning need to join with her, to consume her, and feels that insistent tug in their consort bonding. She decides to turn the tables on him.
Wesley strains to flip his lovely girl over, to tear away her skirt and bury himself in her, but she has other ideas. Her vampire strength easily keeps him on his back, shirtless and panting, one slim but powerful hand pressed against his collarbone. Then her mouth rushes toward his chest, kissing and nipping him with her fangs as she goes, the light from her yellow eyes coloring the exposed skin in the night. Her hands caress his torso as her face moves down his chest, and he throws his head back and moans into the frigid air, lost in the sensations she is driving through him. Her hands leave his chest to grip the edge of his pants, sharp fingers tearing away cloth and leather to reach the hot, hard flesh inside. His cock is released into the night air and she is on it immediately, her hand moving up and down its length, careful not to cut or hurt him in any way . . . until it comes time to do so, of course. She takes a final nip at the flesh of his belly before moving down and releasing a cool breath against the warm flesh of his member. He jerks at the feeling, laughing in delight and expectation, and her splayed hand on his stomach keeps him on his back and at her mercy.
Dru tastes him first thing, her vampire senses allowing her to appreciate that far more than simple tactile pleasure. Her tongue wraps around the spongy head, and the pointed end of it runs just under the rim, where it meets the thin skin along its length. She has known many men and demons in her time and pleased each one, but her dear Wesley is special, a new and gorgeous treasure each time. She takes the length of him into her mouth, her fangs skimming along the sensitive flesh, and feels the electric jolt of it along their consort bond as Wesley unconsciously rises up to meet her, his pelvis pushing forward to drive as much into her as he can. She bobs her head along his cock again and again and again, sometimes running only her tongue alongside of it, sometimes allowing her teeth to tease him, never needing to pause for breath. Her hands and mouth bring him as much pleasure as they can, but when she senses that he is about to spend she pulls back and nuzzles against him as her face returns to his, kissing him sweetly with the promise of further pleasures to come.
He takes more than a few seconds to catch his breath, having to clear his mind after the assault of pleasure Dru has given him, which still sings along his nerve endings. He turns his head and looks into her leonine face, nuzzling against his neck and shoulder, demanding more from him. Wesley smirks and plans to do just that. He rises for the moment, Dru releasing a momentary growl of unhappiness, but it’s only to reach into his nearly-discarded pants. He pulls out his second-favorite tool and pops open the blade of his switchblade. Dru is already cooing at the sound of it, burbling happily into his ear when he lowers himself down next to her, his chest against her chest, his lips at her ear telling her what a special, beautiful creature she is. The knife is an extension of his hand, the blade he found and secured to himself because life had not given him claws; it is the black-and-chrome vehicle by which he becomes the monster in his heart. He dips the knife along the edge of her cheek then allows it to run down her chest, the flat of the blade skimming across her polished milky-white skin leaving only its coldness without tasting the blood beneath. It floats along her flat belly and comes to its purpose: the skirt she still wears. Wesley slips the knife beneath the fabric and starts to saw at it, harsh thrusts tearing away the skirt as easily as Drusilla ripped his pants from him.
Drusilla giggles at the freedom her sweet man has brought her, the nakedness with which she greets the chill night. She wriggles in his grasp while he does his best to hang onto her hips, laughing pleasantly along with her. Over his shoulder she can see that the tiger has returned, its burning orange flank pacing and yet watching her and her lover. He is the bounding, powerful, roaring force of the future, and she refuses to acknowledge him lest she be drawn back into the world and out of her consort’s warm embrace. Behind him, the fish looms, gray and silent, its flat eye reflecting all and offering no commentary, for it is the enormity of the past. Walking between them and through them, the bony unicorn picks its way delicately back and forth and all around, a skeleton that symbolizes the world of the dead. They are just masks created by her mind, symbols of the power that fills her mind and drives her to distraction—she knows this. And though she stopped in order to find them, Dru now wishes just a little more time alone, adrift here in the night with her consort, her love, her irreplaceable Wesley.
Wesley feels a moment’s hesitation in the lovely vampiress beneath him, as though she has seen something he hasn’t—but that’s hardly anything new with her. Just as he is considering using the knife to gain her attention, her eyes fix onto him, passion and determination flashing in them, and he meets them with his own fierce gaze. He leans down to kiss her and positions himself over her, feeling her hands manipulate him, until he thrusts into her and they moan into each others’ mouths. She is, as ever, a shock of cold that makes him even harder, her strength drawing him in. She is still very much in full vampire face, yet he pounds into her to demonstrate that he has strength of his own, that he is her deadly lover and worthy to share her bed, her life, her world. He caresses her face, wanting to be tender and rough at the same time, wanting her to feel every part of him, needing to be in her in every way as he could do with no other woman. He waits for her mind to capture his own.
Oh, she does love it when he is particularly rough with her, when the beast in his heart roars in passion and runs alongside her own demon, two monsters of different worlds joined in desire. But though their hearts are combined, there is still a universe of being that is left incomplete, the secret world of their minds which she can open to them both. It will sacrifice their private time, but they’re both ready for it. Her consciousness moves to the edge of where most minds stop, then vaults the barrier with ease—and she is once more flooded with voices, images, symbols, names, secrets, and opportunities. She is riding the tiger as her sweet Wesley rides her, mastering the flow of dead past and vital probability, the unicorn dancing between both. And she reaches to the mind closest to hers as an anchor, the circumference of her thinking expanding to include his own, the separate lives that were Wesley and Drusilla intertwining into a harmonious whole.
Wesley jerks as she makes contact, but it is only his lagging body that requires a moment to catch up to his mind; his soul gleefully sings as his beautiful girl joins them in a whirlwind of pleasure and consideration, time slowing for them both as they focus upon each moment with the combined power of their inmost selves. Each thrust he brings to her is magnified a hundred times; each flex of her vaginal muscles around his cock comes as a shared movement. And just as important is the love that flows between them, the brightness like a stellar stream that envelops them both, its warmth and closeness bringing a trust that nothing else could match.
And they come at the same moment, as always happens when their minds are locked. He shoots within her, filling her with heat, as she spasms around him. She wraps him in her powerful arms and flips them over, planting Wesley into the grass once more, her chest rumbling with a deep growl. Dru leans down and sinks her fangs into the left side of his neck, directly onto the consort mark, reinforcing it as she draws his blood. Wesley lies back helplessly, giddy and ecstatic and loving her entirely, being able to do no more than gasp and watch his breath come slowly out in pale clouds. The mixture of pain and pleasure is as delicate and perfect as the joining of their minds, and he would not give this up for the world.
As they lay side-by-side at last, after he’s pulled out of her, she pulls her mind out of his own, and he feels the loss just as she did when his heat left her interior. It’s the sad reality that they must eventually part, but he holds her hand to maintain what contact he can, and when he catches his breath he is once more able to sit up and pull her to him, her legs twining with his, her breasts pressed against his hairy chest. She looks down adoringly, running a finger along the lines of his face and inscribing invisible runes. He looks up into her eyes, which are no longer yellow but dark and deep, like the surface of a lake reflecting the stars. And he has the single best idea he’s ever considered.
“Drusilla, my love,” Wesley says. “Marry me. As I’m your consort, be my bride. I never want to spend an evening out of your embrace again.”
Her expression does not change—to her mind they are already married, after all. “Whatever you want, my Wesley, my sweet one,” she whispers. “When shall we do this?”
“I— I don’t—” His mind races. “Well, we don’t need anyone else. We’ll invite the AI team, of course . . . and Cordelia might even bring Connor. But I certainly have no family I’d want there with us at the ceremony. Would you want to invite Spike?”
Drusilla chuckles at him. “My childe is too busy,” she responds. “Baby is considering her baby—he won’t leave her. It’s not time for him to come yet.”
“Then . . . we could do it tomorrow night.” He laughs suddenly. “Valentine’s Day! Perfect!”
“The stars bless us, my love,” she whispers to him while he stares, mesmerized, into her lovely dark eyes. “We shall know more love and joy than the gods themselves.”
Wesley is completely overwhelmed and holds her tightly, speaking into her hair. “Drusilla, my ladylove,” he breathes, “my wife.” Then they merely hold each other as the night wheels above them.
An exasperated voice cuts through the darkness, interrupting their silent union. “I found them!” Cordelia calls. She steps to within a few yards of the couple, hands on her hips, her every move and look spelling out harsh judgment. “And you were right—they’re naked!”
Drusilla merely blinks at her, but Wesley openly laughs at the spectacle. “Cordy!” he says, arm around his lovely girl, not attempting to cover himself. In fact, his leg wraps around Dru’s, rubbing up and down. “You’re welcome to join us! We have something to celebrate, after all.”
The half-demon rolls her eyes. “No thanks. We have a mission, Wes--there are still a few vampires to kill around here, you know.”
“Have at it, then!” Wesley replies. “I’ll lie here with my beautiful bride and enjoy the stars.”
“Ooh, the stars,” Drusilla says. “They swing above us, my lovely rough boy. They dance in love.”
“As well they should,” Wes answers her, caressing her cheek and drawing her into a deep tender kiss. He breaks off to look into her eyes and say, “I love you, my darling, my wife.”
“And I love you, Wesley-my-Wesley,” Dru tells him. “You’re my hero, my prince. We shall dance with the stars tomorrow and be married in their light.”
“Married?” Cordy yelps, drawing closer to them. “Are you two getting married?!”
“Tomorrow night,” Wesley tells her, still looking into Drusilla’s eyes. “We will once more set new heights, precious. There’s never been a mortal married to a vampire. I never saw it even once in all my education as a Watcher.”
“Because such things don’t last,” Angel says, approaching them and not hesitating to regard the nude figures. “They aren’t meant to be.”
“Nonsense,” says Wesley, determined not to let Angel’s foul mood spoil the moment. “I’ll bet I could even find a prophecy that foretells it.”
“It wouldn’t be the first false prophecy you stumbled across,” Angel responds.
Wesley sits up sharply, fists clenched and switchblade in hand, finally responding as the old vampire wishes. But Drusilla sits up as well and glares at Angel. “Be quiet, Daddy,” she warns. “You leave my sweet Wesley be.”
Angel smirks. “Why should I?”
“Because I’ll tell,” Drusilla says, more clear-eyed and sane than Angel has seen her since she was turned, a sanity that Wesley has helped her reach when no one else could. “Cross me in this and I’ll tell you what you most don’t want to hear. Exactly when it ends. And why. And whose fault it is.”
The big man looks at her disbelievingly for a moment, as if daring her to do it. Then he feels the surety in her words and visibly shudders. “Alright,” he says, turning his back on the pair. “You didn’t ask me when you took him as consort, so I’d think you wouldn’t ask about this, either. But you’ll regret it. Just wait and see.” He then stalks off to find Fred and Gunn.
Cordelia looks at his retreating back and then back at the determined couple. “Whatever,” she says. “I’ll be there for you, Dru. We’ll get you a nice dress and do it up right.”
“Outside,” Wesley says. “Under the stars.”
Cordy flashes a brief grin before leaving in the same direction as Angel.
Wesley and Drusilla look at each other and then embrace tightly, finding the only security that each one trusts implicitly. “I don’t want to think about them, or prophecies, or anything else in this ruddy world,” Wesley mumbles. “I just want to marry you and call you my own.”
“I will be,” Drusilla answers. “I already am. My darling boy, I am at home nowhere else but in your arms.”
They kiss and fall back down on Dru’s outspread skirt, already on the road to more lovemaking before the morning drives them inside. Until that happens they have this night, and each other, and no considerations beyond themselves, the two of them alone and complete.
~Fin~