oh oh i love her so
btvs + tvd. spike/katherine.
567 words.
summary:"Birds like you never had much faith in me," Spike says.
note: it has been so long since i watched btvs i do not even know what i'm doing
Spike meets her first at the turn of the century in Paris. Spike's blood runs new and hot in his veins still. Angelus has been gone for years that pass like blinking minutes. Darla is – Darla went somewhere, by the sea if memory serves, exhausted and lonely. She took Dru with her out of pettiness, because she was tired of Spike and wanted to punish him, because if she couldn't have her lover she didn't want anyone else to have theirs.
Her name, she says, is Katherine; she speaks French with a perfect accent and plays up a wide-eyed innocence that Spike wants to rip apart with his teeth, even though he doesn't buy it for a second. Spike was recently a man named William who learned French in infancy and even studied it at Oxford but on purpose now he garbles it horribly.
He is young enough that she hasn't heard of him and he hasn't heard of her. He lets her seduce him into an alleyway and returns her fanged kiss with one of his own, startling a delighted laugh out of her lovely mouth.
They take out an orphanage for kicks. Dru would like this girl, Spike thinks.
*
Again in the cold, rough New York City of the mid-nineteen-eighties. Spike is colder and rougher too, hair ice blonde and the blood of two slayers on his hands. Katherine has short, tousled hair like Debbie Harry though the curl is fighting through the styling. Blood-red blush razors her cheekbones and her eyes peer at him with amused indifference through mascara-heavy lashes.
Drusilla is ill, a soft white skeleton in Spike's bed. He drinks drugs through the blood of club kids and finds Katherine in the flashing lights. "I didn't think you'd last this long," she tells him. She wears white fishnets, black leather.
"Birds like you never had much faith in me," Spike says.
Later she sits in his lap in an empty subway car and they trade bloody kisses, Spike's hands tangled in hair stiff with hairspray. She laughs as they fuck and buries her teeth in his neck, nearly rips his throat open when she comes.
*
A decade or so has gone by and she comes to the Hellmouth like they all do eventually. It's the mecca of the evil undead and they all make the pilgrimage at some point. Spike is sick with love for a white hat and he thinks he reads an answering emotion in Katherine's face. They share a cig outside the Bronze.
"What was yours called?" he asks and doesn't specify.
Katherine rolls her eyes, lips twisting, and Spike thinks if she ever stuck around, they could've done some real damage together. "At least mine wasn't a cheerleader," she says.
"When in Southern California," Spike says.
They fuck in the cemetery on the wide, sturdy slab of someone's everlasting rest. This is what he needs, meanness and blood, teeth and faces wearings inner demons. He needs a girl with dark hair and dark eyes who pins him down with a look, a bad girl, a girl like him.
But he still sees the shimmy of the Slayer's hips behind his tightly closed eyes and he's still fucked, totally fucked, a sheep in wolf's clothing and nothing more.
"Let's see if you make it another hundred years," Katherine says, a challenge in her voice and doubt in her eyes.
btvs + tvd. spike/katherine.
567 words.
summary:"Birds like you never had much faith in me," Spike says.
note: it has been so long since i watched btvs i do not even know what i'm doing
Spike meets her first at the turn of the century in Paris. Spike's blood runs new and hot in his veins still. Angelus has been gone for years that pass like blinking minutes. Darla is – Darla went somewhere, by the sea if memory serves, exhausted and lonely. She took Dru with her out of pettiness, because she was tired of Spike and wanted to punish him, because if she couldn't have her lover she didn't want anyone else to have theirs.
Her name, she says, is Katherine; she speaks French with a perfect accent and plays up a wide-eyed innocence that Spike wants to rip apart with his teeth, even though he doesn't buy it for a second. Spike was recently a man named William who learned French in infancy and even studied it at Oxford but on purpose now he garbles it horribly.
He is young enough that she hasn't heard of him and he hasn't heard of her. He lets her seduce him into an alleyway and returns her fanged kiss with one of his own, startling a delighted laugh out of her lovely mouth.
They take out an orphanage for kicks. Dru would like this girl, Spike thinks.
*
Again in the cold, rough New York City of the mid-nineteen-eighties. Spike is colder and rougher too, hair ice blonde and the blood of two slayers on his hands. Katherine has short, tousled hair like Debbie Harry though the curl is fighting through the styling. Blood-red blush razors her cheekbones and her eyes peer at him with amused indifference through mascara-heavy lashes.
Drusilla is ill, a soft white skeleton in Spike's bed. He drinks drugs through the blood of club kids and finds Katherine in the flashing lights. "I didn't think you'd last this long," she tells him. She wears white fishnets, black leather.
"Birds like you never had much faith in me," Spike says.
Later she sits in his lap in an empty subway car and they trade bloody kisses, Spike's hands tangled in hair stiff with hairspray. She laughs as they fuck and buries her teeth in his neck, nearly rips his throat open when she comes.
*
A decade or so has gone by and she comes to the Hellmouth like they all do eventually. It's the mecca of the evil undead and they all make the pilgrimage at some point. Spike is sick with love for a white hat and he thinks he reads an answering emotion in Katherine's face. They share a cig outside the Bronze.
"What was yours called?" he asks and doesn't specify.
Katherine rolls her eyes, lips twisting, and Spike thinks if she ever stuck around, they could've done some real damage together. "At least mine wasn't a cheerleader," she says.
"When in Southern California," Spike says.
They fuck in the cemetery on the wide, sturdy slab of someone's everlasting rest. This is what he needs, meanness and blood, teeth and faces wearings inner demons. He needs a girl with dark hair and dark eyes who pins him down with a look, a bad girl, a girl like him.
But he still sees the shimmy of the Slayer's hips behind his tightly closed eyes and he's still fucked, totally fucked, a sheep in wolf's clothing and nothing more.
"Let's see if you make it another hundred years," Katherine says, a challenge in her voice and doubt in her eyes.