Drusilla Dances through the Universe
Crossover with various universes, femslash and het
Dru paired with:
Mal turned around and faced the woman who'd been pacing him for three blocks through the dusty border town. He'd be more suspicious--only she were so remarkably unquiet that he figured she couldn't be up to too much trouble. People who wanted trouble weren't likely to go spinning through the dusty streets and makin' a scene. Hell, even Jayne managed more silence when he was on the job.
Right now, she looked like one of them fancy dancers with her arms outstretched and her head thrown back so that the breeze stirred her long, dark hair. Her black figure was outlined by the light from the full moon that shone behind her. Waiting until the woman finally looked at him, Mal crossed his arms and considered her. "Somethin' I can do for you?"
She tipped her head and considered him. "You sing in my head." Bringing her hands up to her temples, she cradled her head.
Mal blinked as he considered that particular statement. "Gos-se," Mal swore as it occurred to him that he'd found another like River—or she'd found him, anyways. For a second, he considered just turning around and walking away. Serenity already had trouble enough with the lack of sanity she carried. Hell, most days Mal even counted himself among them who were a shade short of totally sane. He figured after seeing the death he had, he had excuse enough. But no matter how much Mal would rather avoid the trouble, he wouldn't leave a girl for the government to scoop up and torture. He might have lost the war, but he wasn't willing to lose this battle—not when it came to River or this new lost soul.
"How many of you folk did those gan ni niang make?" Mal's question was more for himself that for the girl. Of course, she wasn't rightly a girl, but if she'd had her brain rewired the way River had, she wasn't a full adult, either. The woman smiled, her eyes a little her large and her face a little too doll-like for actual beauty, but Mal had to admit she was a handsome woman. "Seems like they didn't bother with the ugly girls," Mal commented, and he'd never heard a better reason for wishing ugliness on your own children. To avoid the fate of River and this new girl, Mal would wish all his future children ugly... and he'd wish it on any he'd accidentally left along the way, too.
"You're like my boy, shining like a star," she said dreamily, like River in one of her spells. Mal looked around to see if they were getting any attention yet. So far, a couple of kids seemed the only ones like to care.
"Is anyone following you?" Mal asked, taking her by the arm. He hurried her down the street, pulling her sharply when she tried to stop and dance with the moon's reflection off a blacksmith's window. "Hey, are you listening?" He gave her arm a shake. "Is anyone following you or looking for you?"
"Your blood sings of hidden light and stars and rivers under the sand." She smiled brightly, her face childlike in the moonlight.
"Aiya. We'd best hope you're ahead of any of them government folk, or this may be a very short run," Mal said as he reached for his radio. Time to get the crew inside and Serenity's engines hot. The girl reached out and caught his hand in a surprisingly strong grip, keeping him from calling for backup. For a half-second, his guts tightened in fear and he scanned the street for a trap, but she had that same dreamy look, like she weren't even aware that his hand were mighty unhappy with how hard she was squeezin' it.
"Do you like blood?" she asked in a conspiratorial tone.
"Don't reckon I like any biohazard," Mal said carefully. He wasn't sure why, but his instincts were fairly screaming at him, even though he couldn't rightly put his finger on any particular danger.
"No one following," she said sadly, like she wanted some gorram government type followin' her. No explaining crazy folk, that's for sure. Her mouth drew down into a frown. "My own effulgent light wandered off into the dark and left me to spin topsy turvy." She let go of his hand, but then she threw herself at him, her arms wrapping around him like a child seeking the safety of a parent. "So long in the dark. So long to find a light."
Mal embraced her instinctively, not sure how he was supposed to react to this childlike grief. He really wasn't sure how he was supposed to react to the fact that his gorram cock was noticing her curves a little more than he was comfortable with. While he might like womanly curves about as much as any man who wasn't sly, he sure wasn't planning on taking advantage of some addle-pated woman who'd had her brain stirred up a bit.
She tugged at him, pulling him off balance, and they stumbled into the mouth of an alley before Mal managed to brace himself.
"We got to get moving," he said, reaching around to try and pry her arms off him.
"We really do," she agreed, her voice sounding different. Mal looked down at her, and her face had twisted into a monster's mask. He gasped, but before he could grab for his radio or his gun, she lunged at him, and fire burned through his neck. Mal tried to scream, but he couldn't. Familiar darkness rose up to meet him, and ghosts from a dozen battles danced through his vision as his limbs grew heavy and cold.
With his back arching and his legs trembling, he couldn't bear his own weight, but the small woman who he had hoped to save cradled him as easily as a babe. With one hand around his waist and the other at his neck, she rocked him even as her mouth sucked his life from him. Mal's eyes closed without his permission, and he knew that death had finally found him.
A voice drifted into his dying moments. "Shhh, Mummy has you, my beautiful boy." Mal's mouth tingled with the taste of power, and then he knew nothing else.
Shalimar stopped. In the silence, she strained to find the danger that lurked at the edge of her awareness. The sound of distant traffic and the crackle of electrical lines overhead filled her awareness as she used her powers to search the area. This was a poor part of town, full of empty warehouses and closed offices—signs of the current recession that had fueled so much hatred. People who might normally support the cause of mutants and speak up for mutant rights turned inward and suspicious when they found themselves losing jobs and searching for a scapegoat. Or in her case, a scapecat, Shalimar thought to herself.
Movement caught her attention, and Shalimar's sight shifted into feline vision. The night turned a sharp-edged blue, while the green trees and the red no-parking sign and the grey warehouse all faded to a brownish yellow. In this new world, Shalimar could see a new figure standing silently against the smaller gate house.
Immediately, Shalimar dropped into a fighting stance. It didn't matter if this was a Genomex agent or a mugger or a thief breaking into the warehouse and taking his last paycheck out in trade. Everyone looked at Shalimar with her blonde hair and her lithe, small frame, and they saw a victim. Hell, her own father had thought to lock her up and hide her rather than have people know his little girl had mutant genes. So many people had taken one look at her and judged her weak—and she had proved every single one of them wrong. If this stranger was going to assume Shalimar was a victim, she was going to teach him a lesson he would never forget.
The moment the figure started moving, Shalimar knew something was wrong. Rather than running or approaching in any sort of attack, the figure wandered toward her in a serpentine path. A cloak disguised the stranger, but when he had covered half the distance between them, he threw the hood of back and revealed a very feminine face and long black hair.
Maybe someone else would have dropped their guard, but Shalimar had been attacked by women more often than men. She simply shifted and studied this woman. She was guessing the woman was a mutant—probably a feral of some sort from the way she moved. Ferals, with their animal DNA, sometimes had a grace that mundane humans lacked, and this woman's every move was a dance. She was in love with her body and her power, a feeling that Shalimar understood intimately. Genomex might claim that mutants were dangerous, and mundanes might treat mutant blood like some sort of biohazard, pretended that their touch was a contaminant; however, Shalimar loved feeling the power she carried. And this woman did, too.
"Oh, such a naughty kitten," the woman said, her mouth twisting into a sly smile.
Shalimar answered with a smile of her own. "Maybe. That seems a little personal, though."
The woman had startlingly fair skin with dark hair and eyes. Shalimar watched as the woman's dark eyes flickered and yellowed, but instead of the cat's eyes of a feline mutant, her eyes were alien. Shalimar narrowed her eyes and watched as the woman's face shifted and deep ridges formed, giving the woman an almost alien appearance—like some vampire out of a fantasy novel. Clearly, this was a new form of mutant, but not one Shalimar had ever seen.
"I'm Shalimar," she offered, hoping to give this woman a reason to trust her. However, that didn't mean Shalimar wasn't ready for a fight.
The woman's head tilted to the side. "Manners, manners, and soft words." She stopped moving forward, her body swaying as she studied Shalimar. "When I creep through memories, I am Drusilla, but you and I are not interested in soft words. I hear your need. Your cat claws dance through my mind."
Shalimar was surprised. Drusilla moved like a feral, but if Shalimar took her at her word, she had psionic powers as well. "Maybe we should go inside, somewhere that I can call a friend." Shalimar started moving back toward her car. She was parked a good mile away, but that should be a short run.
Drusilla's weaving became more pronounced, and her arms bent into an attack pose. "Kitten wants to sharpen her claws. Good kittens always keep their claws sharp." Drusilla dropped her cloak to the ground, and Shalimar's own body reacted to the blatant challenge, to the beauty of the woman and the offer of a good fight.
For a half second, Shalimar felt the animalistic heat—the desire to throw herself against an opponent and challenge her. But she wasn't an animal. Taking a step back, Shalimar struggled to put those instincts aside. "We really need to call my friend."
"Three is a lovely number, but three would get all cut and mauled if he stood between us." Drusilla sang the words, and her body moved inhumanly fast, darting to Shalimar's left.
Shalimar growled her frustration and fell into an attack pose before she even realized that she was moving. She had to force herself to straighten up. "Damn. You really are hitting the instincts. You know, two ferals together are not always a good idea," she said, hoping a little humor would distract her from the growing heat and a desire to test herself against this interloper. She could feel the need for a fight like a scratch she couldn't quite reach.
Drusilla smiled as if she knew Shalimar's thoughts. "Which of us will bear her neck? The stars sing with such lovely thoughts."
Before Shalimar could answer or even spend much time worrying about the apparent lack of sanity, Drusilla sprang forward. With a snarl, Shalimar threw herself backwards, and drove her foot deep into Drusilla's stomach before leaping aside. A mundane would have dropped. However, Drusilla was no mundane; she snapped long, cat-like fangs, and smiled with undisguised glee.
"The cat's in the cream." Her hand cradled her stomach, but her body still had the fluid grace of a predator as she circled.
"We shouldn't do this," Shalimar pointed out, but she moved in counterpoint, circling with the woman. While she never seemed to lack fights, Shalimar rarely got to truly indulge herself. Always there was the danger of hurting someone—of losing control—but here was a feral who could match her. A little voice in Shalimar's head whispered that Drusilla might be able to even top her, but Shalimar doubted it. She'd never met a feral who could match her in a straight fight.
Waiting until Drusilla was near her cloak, Shalimar attacked, aiming her kick high and forcing Drusilla to duck and move back. Instead of getting tangled in her cloak like Shalimar had planned, Drusilla snatched it from the ground and flung it into the air. Shalimar had to twist her body away, and even then, she couldn't move fast enough to avoid the punch Drusilla concealed behind the fluttering cloak. It landed on Shalimar's left side, and drove the air from her body.
Arching her back, Shalimar let Drusilla push her to the ground, and then she flipped back up to her feet, attacking so fast that Drusilla couldn't turn to face her. Shalimar clawed, ripping Drusilla's shirt with one hand and she punched her low in the back with her other.
In any other circumstances, this would have ended the fight, but Drusilla bent almost backwards, a move no mundane could manage, and she caught Shalimar's wrist. For a second, Shalimar thought her arm was being wrenched from her body, and then she was sailing through the air, over Drusilla and toward a chain link fence. But Drusilla wasn't ready to let go of Shalimar's wrist, so right at the apex of her flight, Shalimar's arm was yanked back.
Shalimar screamed in both pain and frustration a half second before she slammed into the chain link. The entire fence rattled and shook from the impact, and before Shalimar could gather her wits, a heavy weight pressed into her back.
"My beautiful kitten drew first blood," Drusilla whispered in her ear. Shalimar shivered as a sharp nail traced the curve of her neck. The scent of her own blood mixed with the copper and earth smell of Drusilla's wounds. Lowering her head, Drusilla licked a cool trail up Shalimar's neck.
The shiver of lust and need that traveled Shalimar's spine was all instinct. Oh, she knew she shouldn't want this woman. She even knew that she was in real danger, but her body was reacting to the smell of the fight and the feel of a strong body pressing against hers. Drusilla laughed softly, her breath skating across Shalimar's damp skin sending tremors through her body.
"I burn." Drusilla's breathy plea didn't match the strength in the hand that gripped Shalimar's neck, pressing her face into the fence. Drusilla's other hand ran down over Shalimar's breast and then fingers slipped inside Shalimar's pants.
Shalimar panted, her vision a sea of blue and yellow, and the scent of blood filling her nose. This was pure instinct, pure feral need. As Drusilla's fingers crept into the damp heat between Shalimar's legs, Shalimar gasped.
Sharp teeth nipped at the back of her neck, and Shalimar roared and threw her head back. Her head slammed into Drusilla's, and for a second, she was stunned. She stumbled to the side, her zipper and button ripped open and her body tingling with a need to finish this fight.
Drusilla had one knee on the ground, both her hands braced on the concrete, and her nose dripped with blood. She brought her hand up to touch her wound, and then she looked at Shalimar with an almost lost expression.
"Will you play with me, even if I'm not beautiful?" she asked, her distress clear.
That startled Shalimar. She'd been prepared for a counter-attack, but this need for reassurance wasn't something she'd anticipated. For a moment, she looked at Drusilla. The woman's body was still feral, still dangerous, and still calling to Shalimar.
"You're more beautiful than ever," she answered, realizing that she meant it. With her yellow eyes and ridged face, with her dark hair and inhuman grace, Drusilla was everything Shalimar wanted in a lover. Shalimar just wanted to be the one controlling the coupling.
Drusilla smiled, and the blood took a new path. It traced the edge of her upper lip and then gathered at the corner before dripping down. Shalimar found herself watching the blood.
Slowly, Drusilla stood. Her shirt was ripped beyond repair, and she shrugged it off. Now her breasts were exposed, but she didn't seem to notice as she moved in for another attack. Shalimar offered her opponent a wicked smile of her own before moving to meet this challenge.
Drusilla lunged straight for Shalimar, and Shalimar leaped straight up. She tried to land on Drusilla's back and drive her to the ground, but Drusilla twisted and caught her by an ankle. This time, when Drusilla tried to physically throw her, Shalimar arched her back, reached down, and caught Drusilla's hair. They both fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and growls.
Sharp teeth cut into Shalimar's side, and she heard the fabric of her shirt rip before the evening breeze ran across her skin. Rather than defend herself, Shalimar drove her own teeth deep into Drusilla's shoulder.
Drusilla screamed, releasing Shalimar, and in a second, Shalimar had the woman on her back. She straddled her, pinning her to the ground. "So, is this how you thought the kitten wanted to play?" she demanded. She grabbed Drusilla by the throat and squeezed as hard as she could. The woman didn't even flinch. A little part of Shalimar suspected that Drusilla might have thrown the fight, but mostly, she just reveled in her own triumph.
Leaning down, Shalimar crushed her lips against Drusilla's, taking the kiss without asking permission. Strong hands ran up and down her legs invitingly, and Shalimar ground her body against Drusilla. Sharp fingernails scored across her stomach, and Shalimar reared back, snarling her displeasure. Rather than attack again, Drusilla bent her head back, arching her neck out as her hand pulled Shalimar's pants open. Reaching in, she caught Shalimar's clit between two fingers and rubbed. Shalimar gasped and arched her back in pleasure, but it wasn't enough, the need was almost desperate before Drusilla shifted, slipping her fingers deep inside Shalimar. Drusilla's thumb pressed Shalimar's clit, and her fingers stretched. Shalimar screamed as her orgasm finally started. She tumbled over into the muscle-clenching glory of a good orgasm. As Drusilla rubbed harder and drove her fingers deeper, Shalimar's orgasm grew deeper until she couldn't breathe. The pleasure was all that existed until that finally crossed over into pain.
Grabbing Drusilla's wrist, Shalimar forced her to stop and then collapsed onto the woman. Her body was heaving, her lungs gasping at the air, and now Drusilla's fingers turned gentle. They smoothed sweat-soaked strands of hair and brushed Shalimar's cheek. Part of Shalimar suspected she had been rather selfish, but she had earned the victory, and she had taken the orgasm. She had also lost herself in her feline nature to an extent she had never allowed herself before.
As her body calmed and rational thought slowly returned, Shalimar realized that they were laying half-naked in a part of town where they were both vulnerable. Considering how chilly Drusilla felt, she couldn’t be comfortable. Shifting her weight off Drusilla, Shalimar took a second to ghost her fingers over the woman's face. Drusilla closed her eyes and tilted her head back, her face the image of contentment and joy.
"I should call my friend," Shalimar said softly. Drusilla had a lot of powers, and she needed help, but Shalimar wasn't sure what to tell the rest of the team.
Drusilla's eyes opened, and now they had returned to a human shade of brown. "Tick tock, too late. The moon doesn't lie, but the stars said you needed to taste the cream, and it had been so long. I have to go." Drusilla sounded so sad that Shalimar reached out and caught the woman, draping her arm over her waist to hold her in place.
"You don't have to leave. I have friends who can help you."
Drusilla smiled with childlike glee. "All full of cream. Too full of cream to see the cow," Drusilla announced as if that made any sense. Then she carefully pulled Shalimar's arm off and stood up. She still moved like a predator as she walked over to retrieve her cloak. Shalimar shifted so she was sitting on the ground and watching. She'd conquered this beautiful creature. She had claimed the woman.
Drusilla turned around and looked at her. "The cat is too beautiful to be only for the night," she announced, and then, with speed that even Shalimar couldn't hope to match, she took off into the night, her cloak sailing behind her.
Shalimar was left sitting in the dark, her body singing with power.
Carlisle stopped in the parking lot. Esme had already left the vernissage, upset by a woman's sharp words to her crying child. Carlisle often regretted that he'd never be able to give Esme what she truly wanted, but he'd saved her life. He hoped that her life and his love was a fair compensation for the child she would never give birth to.
Honestly, he hadn't blamed Esme for leaving. He'd been rather distressed at the woman's uncaring attitude himself. However, he had appearances he had to keep up. He'd been forced to remain at the gallery and meet the new clinic's potential donors. Hopefully Esme was home recovering from her difficult evening, and he did not mind the walk through the cool woods. In fact, he enjoyed it so much that he decided to keep to the pine-cone laden path rather than to dash through the treetops.
"Head full of straw and tinsel," a voice called. Carlisle froze, searching the darkness. His vampire sight allowed him to track a dark haired woman as she drifted toward him. Obviously, she was a vampiress.
"Hello," Carlisle offered cautiously. She hadn't brought a coven, so hopefully she had sought out what he offered—life without killing, compassion strong enough to control the bloodlust.
"The stars sing, but you twist their music like a tin music box playing Il Bacio." The woman certainly didn't sound like she was asking for help, although she obviously needed it.
Carlisle smiled. "That's an interesting theory."
"Such pretty delusions, all woven in threads. So many threads they're like the Lilliputians tying down the good doctor. I spun threads once. " The woman stopped and started weaving back and forth, two of her long fingers pointing at him, her black nails soaking up all the light. "Look at me, Dearie. Be... in my eyes. Be in me." Her voice was a lilting melody that Carlisle felt himself surrounded by, comforted by. His worries slipped away like an old coat that he had allowed to slide off his shoulders. But as soon as the comfort came, he remembered Esme. He would not betray his wife.
Pulling himself from the trance, he stepped back, away from the seductress that had captured him in her gaze. The woman laughed.
"I will fight you," Carlisle warned.
"You weave such threads. Could you make me pure again, pull out the slivers of my daddy that fester under my skin?" She held a pale arm out for him to see, but there were no physical wounds. He suspected that her wounds were something she carried deeper in her soul. But then, Carlisle had been healing the souls of vampires for so very long.
"If you came here for help, yes, I can," he promised her earnestly. Whatever reaction, he expected, he hadn't been prepared for her rush, or the way her body felt like stone as she crashed into him, pinning him against a tree. Before he could react, he felt her fangs in his neck, drinking... draining.
Carlisle clawed at her arms, but she had already taken enough to weaken him. He expected death, but she just tilted her head back and looked at the moon, allowing him to slowly sink to the ground.
"All the world enthralled. Playing games in your head, but when you're dust, your world will vanish. All the thralls set free, all the patterns lost. The demons will no longer be tied down by the Lilliputians." The woman talked to the sky, abut Carlisle knew she meant for him to hear. She planned to kill him, and he could not gather his thoughts well enough to defend himself.
"I don't know what you're talking about. I can help you. I can make you feel pure," he whispered.
She looked down at him and tilted her head. "I miss Daddy's hands." She felt her own body, writhing lasciviously as though remembering some touch. But then she stopped and looked down at him. "Lies within lies. Eater of humans, weaver of lies." Carlisle looked at her and recoiled at the image. He was at the hospital, feeding from the leg of a dying patient.
"No, I never –"
He was devouring Esme in hungry gulps, her broken and drained child beside her.
"That isn't real." He shook his head and fought against the lies. She didn't seem to have half the strength of the vampires he knew, why could he not fight her?
"What you know are lies. You're lost within the song you sang for others. Let me show you the truth," the woman whispered. Images crashed through Carlisle—feasting on his father, murdering his wife, turning Edward in an orgy of lust before staring into the mirror and erasing his own memory.
"No," Carlisle said weakly. Edward and Bella were real. He could see her begging for eternal life, fighting to save the life of her half-vampire child. Only now Nessie was not her child, she was a demon, stolen from the arms of an eviscerated demon mother. Jacob fought over and over to free himself from the visions, and over and over Carlisle visited him at night, brushing his hair back from his face and helping the boy find his true place in Carlisle's world.
"No," Carlisle repeated, no longer able to find reality and fantasy. No, he couldn't have enthralled them all. They weren't monsters. They weren't—yet they were. He gasped for air he didn't need.
"The truth will set you free," the dark-haired woman said as she raised a tree branch over his head. Carlisle was still screaming when he turned to dust.
The demon circled in the back of her mind, his lust for power and blood tangled in threads of her confusion and pain and guilt and fear. As the demon writhed and strain to break free of the human bindings, she danced. She spread her arms and was five and spun in front of her father. As long as she could keep spinning, she would be always five.
Strong arms caught her. "Luv, that's sunshine. It burns. Remember how it burnt you in China?" The words were soft, like a mother's, but Dru's father was there, only now his neck was bloodied and his hands were tied behind his back and he gurgled out of a mouth that poured red with blood. Crying out, Dru reached for him, but strong hands at her waist pulled her away.
Strong, malevolent hands shoved her down onto the hearth of the fireplace. "I have something to teach you your place, lassie," the big man said, only he wasn't a man. He was a demon that tortured her because she was unclean. She had demon eyes that saw what no one should see, and now he had come to take her to hell. The man pulled the door open, and the woman was there, the blonde one with such cold eyes. She pulled a bound form through the door.
Dru cried out. Her sister's long hair was matted into cords red with her blood. Her hands were purpling from the tight bindings, and her eyes rolled wildly above her cruelly gagged mouth.
"Here's the game," the demon said, crouching down in front of her and reaching out to run a finger down her cheek in a mockery of kindness. Dru wanted to sink into the ground. She'd prayed to god for death many, many times, and yet he never granted it. He'd turned from her and left her to Satan. "If you can pleasure me, maybe I'll be willin' ta spare your sister there. Maybe I'll give her a quick death. If you displease me...." The demon's eyes flashed yellow, and Dru trembled. "Come on, now, girl. Surely you know how to please a man."
Dru didn't. She'd turned her head when the two demons had clung to each other in carnal lust. But she'd learned. For her sister, she'd learned.
Dru slipped to her knees and groped blindly for the demon. "Luv?" a confused voice asked. "Oi, you, get the fuck out. Make sure that entrance is secured. Pet, let's go in here, alright?" Voices blurred, large hands—small hands—brown hair—blond. Demons, demons, demons, even the demon tangled in the skein of her own thoughts. She found her prize, her torment, her goal. It was hardening under her fingers, the skin slipping back from the head, and Dru took it in her mouth. She could save her sister. She was damned, but she could save her sister. Her sister would never have to do this... would never have to lay there while a massive demon crushed her to the ground, his organ splitting her open until she screamed. She could save her sister.
Dru blinked, the taste of blood in her mouth, and the furniture different. They were in the bedroom. Her dolls were lined up on the bureau.
"Bloody brilliant, pet," Spike was saying, and his lips were red with her blood. Dru blinked, and one of her dolls became her sister—blood running down her legs and her wide, glass eyes staring at Dru. Why hadn't Dru been good enough to save her?
"Miss Edith doesn't like you," Dru insisted, hating those eyes.
"Shhh, it's alright, pet." Spike pulled her close, but Dru was gone again, lost in the memory of five, before she'd learned that demon existed, before she'd learned just how great her failure would be.