Days of Wine and Blood
By Laure Alexander
Spike tilted his glass to his lips and drank the remaining
Burgundy. It was an excellent vintage. He'd chosen the bistro for its
wine cellar, not its food, since none of his party could really taste
much of the food.
The wine, though...that they could taste. Fruity, musky, tart...almost as good as blood.
There was an idea.
"Oh
yes, luvie, when we're done slaughtering them all we can mix their
blood with the wine and drink to our hearts' content," Drusilla
whispered loudly, luckily in English. Chances were that none of the
other patrons had understood her.
At least none of them got up to flee.
It
was 1920 and they were in Paris. Drusilla had wanted to shop for new
frocks and Russia simply wasn't enjoyable since the Revolution. After
nearly two years of listening to Drusilla complain about dreariness,
he'd finally packed them up and moved them out of Moscow. They'd
traveled for nearly a year, leaving a trail of corpses behind them, and
finally wound up in the City of Lights where she could find the best in
fashion.
Spike had always liked Paris, even if the French people
did get his English nose out of joint. But, then, he was a vampire and
he could just kill them.
As he poured another glass of wine, he
glanced from beneath hooded eyes at their companion. It had been over a
decade since they'd seen her, but, of course, she hadn't changed.
Darla cocked one inquisitive eye at him and sucked a bite of heavily spiced chicken off her fork. "Yes, William?"
He bit back the name correction and smiled civilly. "Enjoying yourself?"
"Good
food, better wine, pleasant company, and the moon is full." At her
request, they sat at a table on the sidewalk, high up the side of
Montmartre.
"And you have your view," he nodded at the buildings
spilling down the hill and gaily dressed people doing the same. Music
from the cabaret across the street joined the mixture of
sounds--voices, the rumble of automobile engines, the clinking of
silver and glass.
"Grandmummy needs her view," Drusilla crooned, picking up a strawberry and popping it in her mouth.
"The
higher the better," Darla answered, brushing one finger across the
other vampire's lips, then tasting the lingering bit of strawberry
juice. "Sweet."
Drusilla grinned and leaned over to press her lips to Darla's.
Spike
watched with minor interest, noting the looks they were garnering with
even less interest. Stretching his legs out, he sipped more wine and
waited for the witching hour.
*****
By midnight, most of
the patrons had left the bistro for other pursuits and the streets were
empty of all but a few people heading home or to the cabarets and other
dens of iniquity, and, of course, the inevitable whores trolling for
customers.
Their waiter came with their bill, and that was a
good enough signal for the slaughter as any. Dragging the waiter inside
where three couples remained, along with the other wait staff and chef,
the three vampires made quick work of them.
They only screamed
for a few minutes, and, after no one came running, Spike relaxed and
picked up an arm to drain it into a glass, then went to the cellar to
find some more of that fine Burgundy. When he returned, Drusilla was
staring into the blood-spattered mirror behind the bar. It had been an
attractive piece, as most of the fixtures in the place. Someone had
spent some money to bring the elegance of art nouveau to this section
of Paris.
There was a really pretty nude lady lamp he was thinking of making off with.
Licking
her fingers, Darla stepped over a corpse, making sure her pretty silver
pumps avoided the pool of blood, and joined Drusilla behind the bar.
"What do you see?"
"...War, but not for many years. This place
will burn and there will be so much death." A pout formed on Drusilla's
lips. "And then the communists will take much of the world and turn it
very dull."
"Dru has issues with Communism."
"Outside of
the needless slaughter, they are rather boring. Why on earth would we
want to share everything equally?" Darla grinned and reached for a
bottle of brandy. Breaking the seal, she put the bottle to her lips and
drank deeply, then held it out to Drusilla, teasing her and dripping
the heady liquor into the other female's open mouth.
Settling
himself at a table with his mixture of wine and blood, Spike watched
his two companions laughing and drinking. He wasn't at all surprised
when they started kissing and the bottle crashed to the floor. Putting
his feet up on the table, he leaned his chair back and adjusted the
front of his tight trousers.
Both female vampires wore the
latest fashion--filmy dresses held up with narrow straps and falling to
mid calf, and stockings but no under things. Darla's hand was the first
to snake beneath the other's dress, but Drusilla quickly matched her
and they both tumbled to the floor at Spike's feet, mouths pressed
tightly together, hands fondling soft, wet flesh.
Spike drank in
the scent of their arousal and briefly closed his eyes as their moans
and whimpers filled the air. He opened them again to see Drusilla's
head between Darla's thighs, the layers of silk flung up around the
blonde's waist. Her legs were spread, and she had one hand on
Drusilla's head, the other cupping her own naked breast. She arched in
pleasure, her head rolling on the floor, blood staining her blonde
hair, and cried out sharply as Drusilla quickly brought her to orgasm.
Popping her head up, Drusilla swung herself around to face Spike and lasciviously licked her lips.
That
was all he needed. Reaching down, he yanked her to her feet and shoved
her over the table. Rising to his own feet, he pulled up her dress,
unfastened his trousers, and sank into her wet quim. As Drusilla braced
herself on the table, Spike pounded into her, which rubbed her clitoris
against the wooden edge. She moaned, groaned, whined and whimpered, and
he fucked her harder, driving the table forward inch by inch.
As he felt his lover clenching her muscles around him in orgasm, he gave a loud grunt and spilled into her in great shudders.
"You've
obviously improved," Darla said, applauding lightly from her sprawled
position on the floor. "That was almost...vicious."
Pulling out
of Drusilla and leaving her babbling her pleasure, Spike patted her
bottom and fixed his trousers. "Whatever makes Drusilla happy," he
replied noncommittally and picked up his glass to take another sip.
End
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