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Punk Love

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“Pet, I need you to give me a hand. I can’t go to CBGB’s looking like this.” Spike groaned. He knew he looked good but he was unfinished, though he wasn’t sure what needed to be done to his look. He loved his new vest filled with safety pins. It was bad-assed. One of the few things he learned from Angelus was the importance of looking good.

“Fix me first, Spike.” Drusilla settled on the bed, pursing her lips at him.

He got up, kissing her before sitting beside her. Spike painted her lips in crimson, following the gentle swoop of her mouth. His hand almost moved by rote, he had done this so many times over the decades. Spike loved her lips. He kissed her lipstick off before reapplying it. It wasn’t easy to get her eyes done. Dru had trouble sitting still.

“Let me do your eyes,” she said, running her hands through his peroxide-bleached hair. He had wanted her to fix it for him so he hoped this wasn’t making things worse.

His eyes narrowed. “What do you have in mind?”

“Glam.” She grinned.

“Like Bowie? Ducks, I’ll look awful in makeup.” Spike didn’t even want to imagine it. At least he couldn’t see it. Mirrors and vampires didn’t mix and it was a good thing, too. What Dru wanted, Dru usually got.

“You will be as beautiful as a god,” she assured him, caressing the sharp edge of his cheek.

“A god?” Spike smirked. “I can live with that.”

“I know.”

Drusilla expertly pried his eyelids apart and came at him with the black eyeliner. He winced before she even got it close to his eye. Dru pouted, but it wasn’t for him. “It’s too hard. Make me a fire, Spike. We have to melt it a little, like a schoolgirl in love.”

Spike flicked on the lighter, realizing she meant to put hot, black goo practically in his eyes. His balls tightened at the thought, but Spike wasn’t entirely sure if that was from fear of pain or a smidge of pleasure.

It took several lightings from the silver Zippo, Dru blowing on the eyeliner to cool it, before she managed to get his eyes done up the way she wanted them to be. However, eyeliner was only part of it. She painted his lids and lips dark. She even coerced him into black nail polish. He was glad Angelus and his tart, Darla, weren’t around to see this.

“You have the dusk of pure Hades on your eyes now, Spike.” Dru tapped one kohl-smeared lid. “But Miss Edith just gave me the best idea. She’s thinking it so loud, I have to hear it.”

Spike’s gaze lifted over Dru’s shoulder to her doll. He had tired of conversations about how porcelain couldn’t talk so he didn’t protest. Besides, sometimes the doll had very good ideas. “I’m listening, pet.”

Dru undid one of the safety pins from his vest. Before Spike knew it, she rammed it through his skin just above the scar the Slayer had given him. Rearing back, Spike howled.

“Damn it, Dru! You’re crazy.”

“Now your scar is decorated, so pretty.” Her tongue lapped at the blood running from the fresh wound. She sucked the safety pin into her mouth, giving it a gentle tug.

He ran a hand over her shoulders, hoping she wouldn’t get a wild hair and just tear the pin out. He could never tell what she might get up to. She let the pin go, her own mouth bleeding now.

Latching the pin, Drusilla swung away from him, running her hand over her short skirt. She hadn’t wanted to wear anything that exposing but he had talked her into it. He didn’t want her standing out at the club. “Do you really like this on me, Spike?”

Knowing Drusilla was utterly feminine and the harsh punk look wasn’t her thing, Spike took her hand. “You’re beautiful, pet, just like always.”

“Then take me away. I want to dance with the stars.”

And so she might, he thought, grinning; only not the stars she meant. CBGB’s garnered the celebrity sort of stars. “Come along then, ducks,” he said, knowing he now faced the daunting task of getting Dru onto a New York City subway without her killing an entire car’s worth of passengers, but it would be worth it.


The music was amazing. Spike put The Cramps right up there with The Ramones and the Sex Pistols. Poison Ivy was such a great name for the lead guitarist. Spike wondered if she was as fiery as her hair. The chicks in the club, drunk and coked out of their minds, were hot as hell. Spike had a hard time restraining himself from sampling every hot body in sight. Of course, Dru kept him dancing, but he doubted this was the sort of dancing she liked. He could tell from her expression that punk music and the crush of bodies weren’t her thing. Oh, how Drusilla loved the swing music of the Thirties and the slow dances of the Fifties. Spike had to admit he liked it, too, not so much for the music but for how happy it had made Dru. He loved the raw anger of punk music. He’d never heard music that seemed to fit him so well until he heard punk.

Yanking him close, Dru traced the outline of his lips with a painted fingernail. “I’m hungry, Spike.”

“Let’s do something about that then.” Spike grinned in the anticipation of the hunt. He followed Dru into the crowd.


There weren’t too many dark corners in the club that were open but leave it to Drusilla to find one. Two succulent teens were crammed around the table with them. At first glance, anyone would assume the teens were leaning into a warm embrace, faces half veiled by the girl’s long hair. Their corpses might not even be found until closing time. The girl had really loved his eyeliner-enhanced eyes. In fact so many had, Spike was going to keep the look.

From that same dark distance, it would look like Dru was just sitting on his lap, trying to suck his fillings – had he had any – out of his mouth, her body swaying to the music. An astute observer might realize what they were actually doing.

Her short skirt rucked up a little, Dru rocked on him. Spike thrust into her in time to the music. In this position the movements didn’t quite have the same power they would if he was free to pound into her like he liked to do.

“Something’s happening, Spike,” she whispered into his ear.

“I bloody well hope so.”

“Not that,” Dru said a little dismissively for his tastes. “Something bad is in the city.”

He scowled. He never liked it when she had a psychic flash in the middle of sex. It usually distracted her from the task at hand. “Yeah?”

“The Slayer is coming.”

He laughed against her neck, nibbling her. “Let her, love. I’ll deal with her just like the last one.”

Dru tugged on his hair, making him look at her. Her hips gave a little twist, nearly sending him over the edge. “I know. I love your eyes like this, Spike.”

”Then I’ll keep wearing the eyeliner,” he promised her, then grunted as her fingers snuck into his pants. For this woman, Spike would do just about anything. She massaged his balls and Spike spilled into her. After she eased off of him, rearranging her clothing, she looked down at him, smiling. Spike zipped up. “I’m peckish again, pet.”

“Still plenty to eat here.” She waved a hand to the crowd.

Spike laughed, taking her hand. How the hell had he gotten to be such a lucky guy?