Part of Prague Series
SUMMARY: Spike & Dru hit Prague. (Set pre-Sunnydale.) Easter eggs,
ballet and blood just your average vampire vacation.
CONTENT/WARNINGS: A little sex, a little blood. No chocolate.
RATING: NC17. (Slash)
DISCLAIMER: I am not now, nor have I ever been, Numfar. Not even a
little bit. The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui, Sandollar,
and David Greenwalt Productions, 20th Century Fox, and whoever else may have
a hold upon them. The situation is wholly mine, and I do not mean to infringe upon any
COMMENTS: Thanks as always to Herself & Spike's Bitches for their
The first time he set eyes on her she took his breath away. After more
than a century
spent travelling the globe by starlight in her company, Drusilla was
still the absolute centre
of his universe.
* * *
Time here - as everywhere - had wrought its changes, but in Prague
these changes felt
fewer and less substantial than in other capitals. The pastel shadowed
alleys still curved
into one another like the curlicues of an Alphonse Mucha maiden's tresses
and many of
the buildings' facades retained their antique grandeur, or had been
but in the few years since the Velvet Revolution Coca Cola signs had
every street and the ubiquitous McDonalds wrappers were starting to
Which was fine and dandy as far as Spike was concerned. Where McDonalds
sleek and vulnerable western backpackers were sure to follow
fresh-faced and reckless
and ripe for the picking.
After all the harum-scarum fun of the Balkans, Spike was thoroughly
enjoying the Central
European tourist boom. He hadn't thought it was possible to tire of
war-torn cities, but
after a few years of feasting in the former Yugoslavia and its environs
(they had avoided
Romania by mutual consent without ever mentioning Angelus) it had actually
pale. Spike loved carnage as much as the next vamp, but eventually
he had reached the
conclusion that it wasn't nearly so much fun breaking things that were
Besides, even in the dark he'd been hit by entirely too many bloody
although he always made a point of finding the bastards and breaking
their fingers one by
one before he ate them, the bullets still stung.
"Bugger this for a game of soldiers," he'd finally decided; and his
princess was inclined
to agree. The tremulous prosperity of Prague seemed suddenly very tempting;
here they were, having wended their way gradually through the High
and taken a circuitous route to the capital, stopping off to peer at
the mummified monks
in Brno and drink a few brewers in Pilsen. By the time they had reached
Bohemia it was
a few days shy of Easter.
The rural Czechs, it transpired, had a charming tradition of beating
their womenfolk with
wands of braided birch Îfor fertility' in exchange for hand-painted
eggs; this struck Dru as
infinitely more fun than gorging on glisteningly wrapped chocolates
and for several weeks
the papers were full of horrified headlines accompanying blurry photographs
leftovers. She collected the hollow eggs brittle shells brightly
wrought in delicate blues
and reds - and carried them tenderly with her when they travelled,
swaddled in layer upon
layer of tissue paper and tucked into the top of her anachronistic
"Their mummy didn't look after them, did she? But I'll care for them,
Spike. I'll keep
them safe and warm until they hatch into something strange and wondrous,
fine and fluttering to sing me sweet, sad songs."
He forbore to point out that they would inevitably be crushed to a
rainbow of powder
before long; and that no matter what love she lavished upon them they
would never quiver
and quicken into life. He was not one to interfere with his darling's
whatever fleeting form they might take.
* * *
It seemed to Spike when they stepped out of the train station that
the city was slightly
seedier these days there might be shinier shop-fronts and better
quality clothes, but
there was also an edge of despair that was new. With the social support
more people were slipping through the cracks into poverty and prostitution
and it would
be easy for a smiling Englishman or something that looked like
one to find pretty little
creatures who would never be missed.
He really couldn't have asked for a finer holiday spot.
* * *
ÎCoppelia' had not been Spike's preferred choice of entertainment
for their first night in
town ballet *really* wasn't his cup of tea but once she'd
seen the poster his girl had
her cold heart set on it. They relieved an affluent couple of their
purses, pulses and house
keys on the threshold of a convenient apartment with practiced ease;
stowed their baggage and the cooling corpses in their new accommodation,
then off to
the ballet they went.
The crowd outside the National Theatre was mostly made up of tourists,
but there were
also a fair number of middle class Czechs there to enjoy the occasion.
through the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea had Moses been
fond of black
leather and peroxide and Drusilla padded in his wake, deceptively
fragile in her
outmoded muslin frock. Queues, in Spike's opinion, were something that
other people; and although this view was not initially shared by the
ballet-lovers lining up
he glowered them into grudging silence, pulled out a stack of bills
with panache and
bought his beloved the finest box in the house.
* * *
The smell of crowds was always a little intoxicating. Spike fidgeted
in his seat, his gaze
drawn down towards the warm bodies gathered in the stalls, busy shrugging
jackets and scanning their programmes with no notion that they were
from on high with such predatory intent. Drusilla, who had brought
Miss Edith to watch the
pretty ladies, ran her fingertips over the dusty brocade and elaborate
turned to beam at him, dreamy-eyed. Mad as a March hare, his Dru, but
he loved her
beyond all power to express it. She was Shakespeare's dark lady, her
eyes nothing like
the sun; she was Beatrice and Roxanne and Ophelia and Alice in Wonderland
one, with her lips red as blood and her skin as white as snow.
She was also, regrettably, going to make him sit and watch a sodding
ballet when there
were countless far more exciting things a body could be doing in this
The lights grew dim, the audience hushed, the musicians struck up and
at last the curtains
rose. Spike was pleasantly surprised, but before long his attention
started to drift away
from the stage - where a cheery little variation on the Pygmalion myth
was being enacted
to eye the unwary men and women hungrily. He was intrigued to
discover, after several
moments spent scanning arched necks and exposed wrists, that he was
regarded with blatant interest by a dark-bearded fellow with shoulder-length
alone in the box opposite. A man of 30ish or thereabouts, broad shouldered,
solid and blessed with the countenance of Correggio's Christ - doe-eyed
and ripe for corruption; and he was gazing at Spike with an unmistakable
invitation on his foolish human face.
At his side Dru sat entranced, her eyes shining and her lips slightly
parted. Her sporadic
bursts of applause and improvised snatches of song were greeted with
disapproving glares from the rest of the audience. Spike flicked two
fingers at them.
Glancing back over at his admirer he found Beardy was grinning; and
him with a slow smile of such wicked promise that the other man was
on his feet and
heading for the door in seconds.
"He's in love with a *dolly*, Spike," Dru said in a carrying voice,
pointing towards the
stage. "Imagine if some silly man fell in love with Miss Edith!"
"Now that would never do, pet," he replied. Spike leaned forwards,
brushing his face
against the familiar curtain of her hair and inhaling her scent before
planting a quick kiss
on the stem of her throat.
"I'm just going to pop out for a drink, love. Can I get you anything?"
* * *
His new chum was standing at a urinal with his semi-erect cock in his
hand when Spike
breezed into the gents. The mirror thing was sometimes problematic
in these situations,
but all one really had to do was keep their eyes shoved in your face,
your belly button or
the wall. Spike was good at that.
Beardy glanced over his shoulder and met Spike's gaze in silence. Czech,
reasonably sure, but he really couldn't be bothered ascertaining the
provenance of his
snack; the man's glistening, hungry eyes told their own story as he
turned around. Not
bad. Circumcised, which probably meant Jewish Spike hadn't seen
cock for quite a while and grinned at the poor bald naked thing. (Odd
someone near your John Thomas with a knife.)
He crossed the space between them in a couple of easy strides and clasped
eager todger in his cool and practiced grip. Beardy gasped slightly,
the glimpsed wet
hollow of his mouth glistening darkly in the artificial light; and
then he leaned in to wrap
himself around the vampire, hands slipping under the leather duster
to grip Spike's ass.
His brown eyes were liquid and vulnerable, full of urgent lust. Perfect.
Spike grabbed the
nape of his neck and jammed his tongue deep between the full lips nestled
soft bristles of beard, tasting beer and cigarettes. It was a while
since he'd kissed one
with a beard, and the soft scratchiness against his skin slightly reminded
Spike of the
curls shrouding his darling girl's sweet cunny.
God, human mouths were so marvellously hot. . . Spike thought about
biting through the
soft flesh of the living tongue and drinking him where he stood, but
that would answer only
one of his cravings. The engorged cock he held was hot and wet and
attention like a good Îun as Spike fucked it efficiently with
his hand. Beardy moaned into
his mouth and Spike felt himself grinning slightly as he nipped the
base and held it firmly
for a moment; didn't want the little darling spilling on his jeans.
He shoved the fellow back
against the wall, releasing the rosy column of flesh, and quickly unbuckled
his own belt,
yanked down his fly and shrugged the jeans a little way off his hips.
Beardy's eyes were
glued to the vampire's prick and he reached for it enthusiastically,
but Spike was having
none of that.
"On your knees, chum," he said in English, shoving the man's shoulders
down brutally to
overcome any problematic language barriers. The tiled floor may have
hurt when it
slammed into his knees, but Beardy didn't seem to mind; and when Spike
handful of his dark mane and dragged his face forward the man impaled
his wet mouth
on the vampire's prick willingly enough. After the first few dozen
thrusts, however, Spike
felt some attempt at resistance; evidently deep throat wasn't one of
the man's more
cherished hobbies. The vampire knotted both hands in the human's curls
in up to the hilt, relishing the panicked beat of the pulse quivering
through the slick tongue
on his knob and the tickle of snorted breaths blowing into his curls.
He glanced down at
the Czech's flushed face and met pained entreaty in the wet, puppydog
eyes. Now that
was definitely more like it. Spike's outstretched arms framed the luscious
little image of
his own slick shaft sliding swiftly back and forth between the man's
taut lips, his own
coarse auburn hair grinding into the human's moustache. Not so saintly-looking
redoubled his speed, shoving into the hot flesh with bruising force,
and after a while he
was delighted to find his conquest beginning to weep. The hot salt
splash of tears on his
thrumming erection was what finally sent him and he jammed the man's
forward as he came, shivering as the throat muscles contracted convulsively
"There's a good fellow," Spike said a little hoarsely, "you drink it
all down. It's good for
There was a tiny pause and then Spike tugged the man's head back. His
penis slid out
with a messy sound. Whimsically he circled his hips, rubbing up against
astonished face and enjoying the contrasting textures of swollen lips
and prickly beard
upon his skin before dropping his prize down onto the tiles. He stepped
regarding the slumped human thoughtfully as he fondled his deflating
After a moment or two the dishevelled Czech stumbled to his feet, one
absently at his mouth; and his disregarded penis waved around miserably.
He looked like
he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards and then fucked by a passing
It was a look Spike was rather partial to.
The man's angry words petered to a halt as he took in the resurrection
of Spike's cock;
he jaw visibly dropped and he stared at the vampire in open disbelief.
"Perks of the job, mate," he said, slipping into game face. "We're
just getting started. I
*really* don't care for ballet."
* * *
Such was Drusilla's enjoyment of the show that she decided against
eating the prima
ballerina. During the second half of the performance Dru's comments
and singing had
attracted the irate attention of most of the audience. Spike, fresh
from his repast, briskly
snapped the necks of the attendants who ventured into their box to
protest; but he did it
discreetly, so as not to break his girl's concentration on the dancing,
and propped their
bodies out of the way of prying eyes.
Daria Klimentova had no inkling of how precarious her position really
was as she
quivered across the stage on pointe. Jana and Tomas, whose roles had
admiration, were not so fortunate. They were presently bobbing in the
shallows under the
Charles Bridge, quite oblivious to the pristine drift of swans paddling
serenely past their
noses. The dancers' non-appearance at the theatre the following day
would provoke a
frenzy of indignant backstage gossip and character-assassination long
after their hearts
had fluttered into stillness.
The dainty ballet pumps Dru was wearing were a souvenir, their satin
pallor misted with
only the finest spray of blood. She was itching to try them out.
"We have to waltz, Spike!" Her little frown was so earnest that he
wanted to pick her up
and kiss her into smiling.
"Your whim is my command, my sweet," he said solemnly instead; and
ado Spike laced his fingers with hers, clasped one of her sharp little
hips firmly with the
other hand and whirled her over the cobbles.
Dru's cream coloured skirts flew out behind her in the delicate arc
that he knew so well
and Spike found himself smiling after all; his girl had washed her
hands of fashion when
the hemlines started edging above the ankles. Much as Spike had enjoyed
receding tide of fabric that surrounded them over the years, offering
up the dimpled
knees and slender thighs of countless strangers to his gaze, still
he adored her
out-moded primness far more than any wanton display of anonymous flesh.
If Drusilla wanted to waltz, then waltz she should.
They swept along the Charles Bridge at a stately pace, earning applause
from the other
scattered late-night wanderers who were out enjoying Prague by moonlight.
the stacked roofs of the shops and houses of the Mala Strana were lit
by countless lights,
pulling the eye up Nerudova hill. At its peak the haloed Castle perched
above the city like
a Grimm brothers' illustration.
For the thousandth time Spike rejoiced in electricity. There were circumstances
candlelight and indeed gaslight were ideal, but in his opinion eternity
greatly once electricity became widespread. Easier access to cold beer,
for one thing;
and of course the electric guitar; but there was also the chance to
see architecture that
had been lost to him for so many years suddenly floodlit for the sheer
hell of it. Who
needed the sun?
When they were half-way across, Dru's fingers dug into his black leather
shoulder and he
quirked a quizzical eyebrow at her. "Faster!" she said imperiously;
and Spike's fond
"That's my girl."
Their dignified waltz quickly degenerated into a polka - Spike's steel-capped
always avoiding her satin toes - and soon they were spinning across
the river Vltava in a
giddy whirligig of swirling black coat tails and pale, billowing skirts.
irrepressibly in his embrace, cleaving to his body, clutching Miss
Edith and flinging back
her head to let the black streamers of her hair fan out behind her
in the evening air.