she bites through your dried, lean meat

nc-17 | rape/non-con | vampires doing vampire stuff

Somewhere outside of Vienna, a taste in your mouth that is more coppery than usual, and Dru is communing with the night sky.


You shove her back, meaning to grab her neck - as if you could somehow choke her - but you end up with your palm on her chin, your fingers on her mouth. She bites down, hard, as she fucks you, and when you come, it's like sunshine behind your eyes.

"Mummy tastes like poison."

She pulls the stake out of you, smooth and wet and streaked with blood, and before you can blink, she lifts it high above your chest. You disarm her in an instant. You might have broken her wrist.


You shove Angelus out of the way, out of the house; he trips, tumbles to the ground, and you're not graceful enough to avoid his body. You fall, and then there's the horrific weight of burning wood on your back. You scream, you scream, you scream, until strong hands lift you up, until they drop you in the little lake next to the house. Water slides into your lungs, and even though you don't need to breathe, it still feels unpleasant. Uncomfortable.

You rise covered in water plants. You dump it all out of your lungs, onto his shoes.

He's smiling. Spike is laughing. Drusilla is glaring at the house.

Skin is crawling off your back.

"Bad Daddy!" Dru shouts at the burning building. "You do not eat the pigs from your own hen house!"

"Told you not to buy that dress in Paris, didn't I?" Spike offers you a hand, but you pull yourself up without his assistance. You spit on his pants. "Went right up in flames, it did."

"Might as well take your dress off," Angelus says. "Not like it's coverin' much now anyway."

You barely hear him, because she's still screaming at the house, still not making sense, and you know. You're certain. You slap her, but she doesn't react. Her eyes are wide, her mouth open.

"You set it on fire, didn't you? You tried to kill us."

Awareness, barely: Spike, angry, trying to get to you. Angelus, laughing, preventing him.

"The house was not properly built." She leans in, as if revealing a secret. "All the walls started in the same spot, ended in the same spot, all the same wall. Won't stand properly. Had to burn."

There is a limit, even for the undead, as to how much pain you can endure before you need to shut down. You crash into it, fall into it, aware, barely, of your breasts spilling out of what's left of your dress.


"You like it. Don't lie," you spit in her face as she weeps. She's weak, pathetic. Your back is still fresh, baby skin not yet ready for the world. She throws you back with force, and you cry out, skin against silk against wall, and the pain is so intense that you almost pass out.

"Mummy is always spinning falsehoods." She's standing over you, stake in her hand, underskirts torn. With her free hand, she scratches her own leg, leaving streaks of red. "Mummy wants to play, doesn't want others to risk their money."

She misses your heart. It's on purpose.



The nun is trying to scream, noise muffled by the cloth in her mouth.

"We could dump them." He slams you against the wall, nearly splitting you in two with his cock. "On the street. In the river. Not much matterin' to me."

"Bored with your toys already?" You gasp as he rams into you, harder, harder, harder. Your back is sore, your chest still healing. Everything hurts, even as he makes every part of your body sing, shake.

"Girl's not as fun as she used to be. And the boy ne'er was my idea; you know that."

A real scream, not the muted noise she's been making. She's fleeing, running through the church, and if the fact that she's been stripped of her habit concerns her, you can't tell. Bulges on her body bounce as she tries to escape, but he beats her to the door.

"Darla, Darla, Darla," he moans. "Have you forgotten how to make decent knots?"

She turns around, runs for the other door, but Dru appears, blood dripping down from the corner of her mouth.

"Is she still a nun," she asks, "if she's not wearing her God clothing?"

Angelus leaps over a pew, lands right behind the nun, capturing her hands and holding them behind her back. You hear bones cracking and she screams.

"Still tastes as sweet, I assure you."

Moments ago, he was talking about leaving them behind, but now he offers her first taste. Dru's mouth closes around the limp peak of the nun's breast, and he's grinning at you as blood drips down the nun's stomach.

It's not jealousy. It's resentment, annoyance. You rub yourself where he was, where you're sore, where it stings.


She brings you a brunette with large breasts and wide hips. For dinner, you think, but no - she wants to play.

Just a taste (or five) from her neck, while Dru kisses (bites) a path up her legs, and you're playing with large, flimsy breasts. She moans, moves as if she's trying to get away, but you hold her still until her body trembles once, twice, three times.

There's something powerful about that, too, almost as powerful as taking life.

You have your fun as well. She's not as good at Angelus, or Dru, even, but your vision blurs just enough to satisfy you.

Dru drains her until she's weak, making sounds like a baby cat, then slices open her arm and teases her with it. So close, then she pulls away. Again, nearly getting blood on her chin. The woman shakes, whimpers, begs, but Dru will have nothing of it.

It's disappointing when she dies. Like a candle being snuffed out, nothing more.


You are tired of nuns, so while Angelus & Spike raid the convent, you wander to the home down the street, help yourself to the darling, darling children.

The taste of a five-year-old is still on your lips when you return to where you left them, in time to see Angelus and Dru on the altar, putting on a show for their audience of weeping, praying idiots. She sings, Dru sings, then goes completely limp. He collapses on top of her, one hand still gripping her breast.

Jealousy is a mortal emotion. You're not even sure who you'd envy, anyway. If you were that stupid.