The blood dimmed tide

So, a little late because i was off gallivanting in Germany with bill the boyfriend/fiance/bloke but better late than never.

My fic for the incomparable viciouswishes's down and dirty PWP femmeslash ficathon.
Darla/Drusilla
R/NC-17/I have no clue



Title: The blood dimmed tide (which is a line from Yeats' 'The Second Coming' because i am both a reader of poetry and a pretentious person)
Author: Me, gentle_thorns
Rating: Somewhere around the R/NC-17 mark. Definitely the kind of thing you won't see on TV before 10pm... although the watershed ain't what it used to be.
A/N: For lafemmedarla who wanted season 2, dark. I assumed she meant season two Angel, because Darla didn't appear in season two of Buffy and my brain had a hard enough time writing this as it was. Thanks to viciouswishes for the encouragement and the beta. Also to Robyn for not freaking when i told her i had to write porn and therefore couldn't watch movies with her all night. Having said that, Robyn, if you read this, please pretend you didn't, ok?


Even before they split up for japan and guilt, respectively, when the four of them were still killing their way around Europe, Darla would never have described herself as one of Drusilla’s most ardent admirers. She resented the way the girl seemed to entice her Angelus and was irritated by the unceasing insane ramblings that she was forced to put up with for his sake.

At most, if she was sure no one would overhear her, particularly Drusilla herself, she would perhaps be found to remark upon the useful nature of the girl’s visions. Only in the most cursory way possible, of course.

She had learned to close off her heart even as a human, when a poor girl had to make herself useful if she wished to eat. The only useful thing Darla had known how to do as a young girl was lift her skirts and entice a man with her beauty. True, Darla’s own beauty had proved lucrative but it was not the life she would have chosen for herself. Drusilla had been given a gift that would have surely prevented her life from ever turning that way, and she had wasted it. Feared it.

Darla had been human again. Alive. At least until she died her natural death, and Drusilla had taken that away from her. She wished the woman had come for her sooner, come when she had still wanted this, when she was courting death.

So it turned out that she wasn’t supposed to repent and live happily ever after. She had always suspected as much.

They stand in the middle of the road, fighting each other (or perhaps themselves), Both of them lost. Spike gone and Angelus gone and just the two of them together to remember.

For a moment, she hates Drusilla again.

But Darla is grateful for Drusilla, for having something real to hold onto, for having her life back. Her strength back. She takes the other woman into her arms and holds her as she shakes with sobs.

Then a truck driver ruins their happy reunion, and they have to kill him.

***

They kissed among the dead bodies, Drusilla’s mouth brushing against hers. Blood and decay. She tastes Lindsay’s blood, and Darla laughs and feels alive again.

Their tongues tangle, cold and dead, and Drusilla’s mouth moves down to her neck. Fangs bite into her and suck borrowed blood out of her arteries. She breathes an unnecessary breath, breathes in fear and death.

They sink to the floor together, Darla’s knees giving out beneath her. Maybe it’s euphoria at being herself again; maybe it’s simply the pull of Drusilla’s mouth on her neck. They pull off their newly stolen clothes, sticky with equally stolen blood.

They lie amongst the dead and dying, amid the lawyers who brought them back together. Drusilla slides down her body, eyes looking back up at her as she moves and Darla remembers that old trick. Be in me, she thinks to herself, which is just too fucking appropriate for this situation.

Drusilla’s teeth find her again; slide into an artery in the top of the thigh that Darla doesn’t know what to call. They didn’t educate whores, even high class whores who disguised themselves as ladies, and she never bothered learning about the human anatomy. There were so many other more important things.

But Drusilla’s tongue laps up her blood, and Darla wants it higher, wants the tongue to be licking at other parts, twisting inside her.

Drusilla’s cold fingers are inside her, where she craved them and she wonders if this desire was in her before. Sublimated under her relationship with Angelus and William. She looks into Drusilla’s eyes, and she is inside Drusilla. She sees faces: Angelus, Lindsay, the Master. And then Drusilla comes back.

She looks into the dark eyes and around at the dead bodies, laughing in ecstasy. She is alive. On the inside of her thigh, blood mixes with a slippery white liquid where she has come too, and Drusilla licks the mixture off her skin.

***

They lie amid the bodies, tangled together. The only ones left. They plot to get Angelus back, to get Spike back.

They think of the countries they have yet to explore, the people the four of them have yet to massacre. Drusilla wants to visit New Zealand, says something about little men with large hairy feet living there, but Darla has no idea how they would get there.

They dine on the leftovers and then break their way out of the cellar. It was too easy.Angel only thought to keep the lawyers in, not to stop them from getting back out again. They will bring him back to the darkness soon. He is almost there already.

They kiss and leave the house hand in hand.